“He is not here; he has been raised, as he said” (source)

It’s true. It’s all true. Christ is risen!

That’s the only that needs to be said today. In some ways it’s the only thing that can be said. That Jesus has been raised from the dead is the only thing I really have to tell you today. Nothing more. Nothing less. It’s the same thing the angel told the two women who went to Jesus’ tomb. He didn’t tell them once but twice. “He is not here; he has been raised.” “He has been raised from the dead.” It was true. They saw Jesus. They touched him. They heard his voice. It was all true.

St. Matthew doesn’t offer much more than that in his account of the gospel (Matthew 28:1-10). He does not explain how it happened, only that it did. He is more interested in us living the truth of this story than he is in us knowing the details of the story. The truth of this story, as he tells it, is earth shaking. It changes the ground on which we stand and the way in which we live.

Every year I come to this day wanting only one thing. I want to be told and reminded that the story is true, that it can be trusted, that it is a reality in my life. I suspect that’s what you also want and why you are here today.

Why do I say that? Why do I come here every year wanting to be reminded the story is true? Why do I think that’s what you want?

Because a couple of weeks ago I was the priest at a funeral for a seventeen week stillborn child. Because early last week I talked and prayed with a women who was going to sit and wait at the bedside of her dying mother. Because a few days ago one of my very best friends called and told me his dad’s surgery had not gone well. They discontinued life support on Thursday. Because I have experienced the pain and devastation of Holy Week in the liturgies of the Church and in the circumstances of my life.

That’s why I come here today wanting to be reminded this story is true. And you know what? I never leave here disappointed. I always leave here knowing that the truth of Easter – life, light, joy, hope – is greater than the truth of what brought me here.

And I don’t for one minute think this is only about me. I think you know exactly what I am talking about. I don’t think you are any different from me. Every one of you could name a darkness you have faced over the last year. Some of you are today sitting in the midst of darkness. I may not know what your darkness is or has been but I know it’s real.

That’s why I think you come here today wanting to be told and reminded that this story is true. And you know what? You came to the right place. You will not leave here disappointed. The angel’s message to the women in today’s gospel is the Church’s message to us today. “He has been raised from the dead.” It is still true.

The story is true. You can count on it. It’s for you and your life. It was true yesterday, it is true today, and it will be true tomorrow. Sometimes it takes months or even years for resurrection to free us from the tomb and pull us out of the darkness but it will. That is the promise of today. God never leaves anyone in the darkness of the tomb.

The stone has been rolled away from the tomb. The day dawns with a new light. The earth quakes in celebration and joy. Christ is risen and in him so have you and I.

That’s why this place is filled with light, candles, flowers, and alleluias. Those are not just decorations and songs, they are God’s truth about your life and my life. They are the signs of Easter truth and resurrection reality.

That truth and reality will be expressed in just a few moments when we baptize Emily, Davis, and Amelia. I want you to look at the beauty of their faces and the innocence of their lives. Lose yourself in the wonder, awe, and miracle of creation and human life. See all the potential, possibilities, and discoveries that lay before them. Name and offer your best prayers, thoughts, hopes, and joys for their lives.

What you will see, name, and do is the truth of Easter in their lives. That truth is as real for you as it is for them. Their baptisms will mirror for us Easter truth in our own lives. The only reason we can baptize those three children is because it really did happen. “He has been raised from the dead.”

Today reminds us that the light of resurrection always prevails. Darkness cannot overcome the light. Regardless of who you are, the light prevails. Regardless of what you have done or left undone, the light prevails. Regardless of your doubts or beliefs, the light prevails. Regardless of your life’s circumstances, the light prevails. I can’t tell you how it happens but I know it does. The light of resurrection always wins. Everything about today says we can trust that.

That changes everything about how we live. We now live everyday as Easter. Christ’s resurrection is not a one day celebration. It is a way of life. It means every cross flowers with new life, every tomb becomes a womb of new birth, and every darkness has been overcome by light.

It’s true. It’s still true. Christ is risen!

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Holy Week Sermons

• Life-giving Turmoil – A Sermon for the Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday, Matthew 21:1-11
• Taking our Share in Jesus – A Sermon for Maundy Thursday, John 13:1-17, 31-35
• Hell Awaits – A Sermon for Good Friday, John 18:-19:42
• The Morning After – A Sermon for Holy Saturday

One of the great Easter traditions is the flowering of the cross. People bring and place colorful fresh flowers on a drab wooden cross. What’s behind this? Is it just a pretty decoration? Well, it does look beautiful but there are also some beautiful traditions and meanings associated with the flowering of the cross.

The sixth century hymn (#166) we sing on Good Friday celebrates this beauty with these words:

“Faithful cross! Above all other, one and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom, none in fruit they peer may be.”

The tree of life in the Garden of Eden has often been seen as a prefiguring of the cross. Some legends even say that the wood of Christ’s cross came from the tree of life or from a tree that grew from seeds of the tree of life. There is another legend that says at Christ’s death the cross burst into blooming flowers. Art work from the sixth century shows a flowering cross.

I don’t know if any of this really happened but I know it all to be true. The point in all this is that the cross of Christ is the new tree of life and every cross now flowers with new life. Death has been defeated and Christ is risen. Alleluia!

Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path

Last evening, May 1, our parish celebrated its feast day, the Feast of St. Philip. The evening included Holy Eucharist and a dedication and blessing of the newly completed labyrinth and prayer garden using the liturgy below.

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Through the ages, Almighty God has moved his people to set apart holy places for prayer and to recognize and celebrate God’s presence in those places. With gratitude and thanksgiving for this labyrinth and prayer garden, Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path, we are now gathered to dedicate and bless it in God’s Name.

Let us pray:

Almighty God, we thank you for the beauty of creation, for making us in your image and likeness, and for calling us to be your people and follow you on the path of holiness and life. We offer this work of human hands, Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path, to be set apart and blessed as a place of prayer and worship, discernment and discovery, healing and reconciliation, celebration and thanksgiving, to the praise and glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

A Litany of Pilgrimage (the congregation is invited to offer the following petitions)

O God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth,
Have mercy upon us.

O God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy upon us.

O God the Holy Spirit, Sanctifier of the faithful,
Have mercy upon us.

O holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, one God,
Have mercy upon us.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God,
Be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope.

Holy Archangels, Angels and, bodiless powers of heaven,
Be at our side to guide and guard us on our way. 

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Accompany and pray for us.

Blessed Philip, patron of our parish,
Accompany and pray for us.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of faith, hope, and love for all who walk in the ways of virtue and discipleship,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of prayer for all who walk in the ways of relationship and union with you,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of silence, stillness, and solitude for all who walk in the ways of presence to and knowledge of you,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of transformation and growth for all who walk in the ways of seeking and longing,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of thanksgiving and gratitude for all who walk in the ways of celebration and joy,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of wisdom and discernment for all who walk in the ways of confusion and darkness,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of hope and consolation for all who walk in the ways of sorrow and grief,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of courage and perseverance for all who walk in the ways of fear and anxiety,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of strength and encouragement for all who walk in the ways of weakness and discouragement,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of rest and refreshment for all who walk in the ways of busyness and weariness,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of forgiveness and reconciliation for all who walk in the ways of guilt and estrangement,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of healing and restoration for all who walk in the ways of illness and brokenness,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of friendship and welcome for all who walk in the ways of loneliness and isolation,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide.

That Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path may be a path of life and resurrection for all who walk in the ways of death and loss,
Lord, hear our prayer and be our guide

The earth beneath our feet,
Bless to us, O God, 

The path whereon we go,
Bless to us, O God.

The people whom we meet,
Bless to us, O God.

Celebrant:   O God, you called your servant Abraham from Ur in Chaldea, watching over him in all his wanderings, and guided the Hebrew people as they crossed the desert. Guard all your children who, for love of your Name, walk the Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path of life. Be our companion on the way, our guide at the crossroads, our strength in weariness, our defense in dangers, our shelter on the path, our shade in heat, our light in darkness, our comfort in discouragement, and the firmness of our intentions; that through your guidance, ‘we shall never cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.’ Amen. (Sources: Adaptation of The Codex Calixtinus, 12 century; quotation from T.S. Eliot’s Little Gidding)

Psalm 23 (spoken in unison)

The LORD is my shepherd; *
I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures *
and leads me beside still waters.

He revives my soul *
and guides me along right pathways for his Name’s sake.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, shall fear no evil; *
for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; *
you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over.

Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, *
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

The Blessing

All:   The Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night (Exodus 13:21).

Celebrant:   Show me the path of life;

People:   In your presence there is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore. (Psalm 25:3)

Celebrant:   Let us pray,

Almighty God, whose Son, Jesus Christ, said to us, “I am the way, the truth, and the life:” Bless and make this labyrinth to be a sacred path that reveals his way, his truth, and his life, that it may lead and guide us to you. In him be always near us that we may find you in this place. Through him draw us to you when we come to seek comfort and wisdom, to be supported and strengthened, to rejoice and give thanks. With him may we walk this path that we may be sanctified and made one with you and with one another.

Send your holy angels to help and defend us on life’s journey. In our earthly pilgrimage may we always be surrounded and supported by the love, prayers, and witness of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Blessed Philip, and all your saints in heaven and on earth.

All this we pray through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

All:   The Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night (Exodus 13:21).

Thanksgiving

Celebrant:   We give you thanks, O God, for the gifts of your people, and for the work of many hands, which have built Camino Sagrado/Sacred Path and beautified this space to be a place of prayer and contemplation. Accept and bless all we have done, and grant that in these earthly things we may behold the order and beauty of things heavenly; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Dismissal

Celebrant:   The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen. Alleluia, alleluia. Let us go forth in the name of Christ.

People:   Thanks be to God. Alleluia, alleluia.

(The resources used in developing this form of blessing include the Book of Common Prayer, a prayer from the Iona Community, and the references identified in the text above.)

Pentecost by El Greco (source: Wikimedia Commons)

“But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’” They sure looked drunk. They sounded drunk. They acted drunk. But Peter denied it. “We’re not drunk,” he said, “it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.” So which is it? Were they sober as Peter said or were they filled with new wine? (Acts 2:1-21)

Yes. Yes is really the only answer to that question. They were not drunk but they were intoxicated. They were sober and filled with a new wine. That is the gift and paradox of this day, the Feast of Pentecost.

So I want to ask you a question but don’t answer it just yet. The question you first hear probably isn’t the one I am asking. What are you drunk on this morning? What intoxicates your life?

Once upon a time I was drunk on success. I was on the fast track and intoxicated with becoming the youngest partner in my law firm, the guy with the most billable hours, the one big clients requested by name.

Once upon a time I was drunk on busyness and exhaustion, intoxicated with self-importance and the need to prove myself.

Once upon a time I was drunk on fear, intoxicated by self-doubt and self-criticism.

Once upon a time I was drunk on toys, intoxicated by a bigger boat, twin engines, and the open gulf waters.

Once upon a time I was drunk on perfectionism, intoxicated with being right, doing right, and having my life put together in a neatly organized and beautifully wrapped package.

Once upon a time I was drunk on the need for approval, intoxicated by what others thought and said about me.

Once upon a time I was drunk on knowledge, intoxicated with figuring it all out and getting the right answer.

Once upon a time I was drunk on …. Well, by now you’ve probably figured out where this is headed. You get my point. So let me ask you again, what are you drunk on this morning? What intoxicates your life? What is your drink of choice?

I wish I could tell you I have quit drinking. On my better days I have or at least I have cut way back. Some days, however, I slip. I take out a glass, fill it full, and drink deep. The thing is I’m just as thirsty when I finish the glass as before I drank it. So pour me another one. Line them up. You know what I am talking about, right? Maybe you’ve done the same thing.

This is the intoxication that poisons and distorts our lives. It causes us to stumble and fall. It blurs our vision to the holiness and beauty of who we really are and who we are to become. It’s the self betrayal by which we do the very opposite of everything we say we want.

I don’t think any of us really want to live that way. That is not God’s intention or desire for our lives. That’s not the life Christ lived or the one he offers us. We need sobriety. We need to get sober.

Pentecost is the sobriety that frees us from this intoxication. It is the power of God to change and transform lives. This sobriety doesn’t mean we stop drinking, however. It means we drink a new wine. At Pentecost a new spirit, the Holy Spirit of God, fills and intoxicates us. We are intoxicated by God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s grace, God’s generosity, God’s beauty, God’s deeds of power in our lives. Pentecost is a day of sober drunkenness. How’s that for a paradox? Sober drunkenness.

Let me offer a few examples of what I am talking about. Recently, I was at the doctor’s office. Another patient was making a payment and scheduling her next appointment. She finished and started walking away when she came back to the desk and said to the two young women there, “I am so sorry for the way I have treated you. I know I have been hard on you and difficult to deal with.” That was a moment of Pentecost. It may not have the drama of a rushing wind, tongues of fire, or foreign languages, but it was filled with the power of God to change lives. In that moment she was sober to and from her past and intoxicated with compassion and concern for others. Sober drunkenness.

Think about a day you fell in love. It may not have gone anywhere or it may have developed and lasted for years. Regardless, it was a day of sober drunkenness. You were completely sober. You mind was clear and convinced. Your eyes were focused. Your intentions were strong. At the same time you were completely swept off your feet, crazy drunk in love. You knew this was it. You tasted it. You wanted more of it. And you couldn’t even name what that “it” was. That was a moment of Pentecost, the power of God filling and changing you. You might say, “Well that was just emotions, feelings, and hormones.” Maybe so but that’s not all it was. You felt, if only for a moment, what it was like to lose yourself to and find yourself in the life of another. You were filled with a spirit that was not your own, one that you did not create and could not control. You were enflamed with the love of God.

Have you ever received a gift that caught you so completely by surprise that you were left speechless? I mean the kind of gift that is completely undeserved, unexpected, and unimaginable. It wasn’t just an object or an action that you received. It was a grace that took you to a place of sober drunkenness. You were dizzy with love, joy, and gratitude and at the same time completely grounded and clearheaded about the significance and meaning of the gift. That was another Pentecost and the wind of God’s generosity had blown through and somehow changed both you and the giver.

This kind of stuff is happening all the time. It’s always Pentecost. It’s all around us. It fills us. Pentecost is not just an event in the history of the Church. It is that, an event, but it is also a grace that precedes, fills, and follows the event. The grace of Pentecost transcends time, space, and the circumstances of our lives. The Spirit of God is continually being poured into our lives, bringing us to sobriety and inebriating with the new wine of Christ’s life. Pentecost is a gift and a grace to be lived. Living under the influence; that’s what Pentecost is about.

So tell me about your own life. What are the moments of sober drunkenness? Where is Pentecost happening for you?

The sober drunkenness of Pentecost fills our lives to the brim with love. It opens our eyes to the mystery of God and the wonder and beauty of life. It softens our heart and calls us to find ourselves in the lives of others. It allows us to stand in that most holy place of our truest and most authentic self.

That’s why we celebrate this Feast of Pentecost. That’s why we began today’s liturgy praying a litany to the Holy Spirit. That’s why we follow Jesus. That’s why we remember the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Philip, and all the saints, and ask for their prayers. That’s why we celebrate people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Archbishop Oscar Romero. That’s why we find certain people so attractive and we want to be like them and have what they have. That’s why we showed up here today.

We come here today to be reminded of and give thanks for the pentecostal reality of our lives, to get sober and drink new wine, and to be sent out to live under the influence.

What I am about to tell you may sound a bit strange. It might even sound as if I am being unfaithful and inappropriate, especially today, the Feast of the Holy Trinity. I think it’s important, however, even necessary. Ready? Stop thinking about God. You probably didn’t come here today expecting to be told to stop thinking about God so let me explain what I mean.

Last week I met with a gentleman who comes to see me for spiritual direction. We eventually got around to a recurring question for him. It comes up about every three to four months. “I don’t understand the Trinity,” he said. “It makes no sense to me. I don’t get it, one God in three persons.” He’s neither the first nor the last to struggle with that question.

I didn’t say anything, I just nodded my head. After a while he broke the silence. “You’re not going to explain it, are you?” I still didn’t say anything, I just shook my head. We sat there for a bit. This time I broke the silence. “So tell me,” I said,” what would you do if one day you finally got, it all made sense, and you completely understood the Trinity?” “Well,” he said, “I’d probably come up with another question, another problem to be solved.” Knowing full well that the pot was about to call the kettle black I said to him, “You think too much.”

I have become increasingly convinced that we spend too much time and effort thinking about God. That’s not just an observation. It is also a confession of one who loves thinking about God. Maybe we should spend less time thinking about God and instead simply be with God. Here’s what I mean. Would you rather be with the one you love or think about the one you love? Would you prefer your relationships be defined by love for another or information about another?

We do not think our way into relationships. In today’s gospel (Matthew 28:16-20), Jesus does not say that we are to make disciples of all nations by telling them to think about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He says, “baptize them;” immerse them, plunge them, wash them, soak them in the name, the very attributes and qualities, of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. This means we are all to live trinitarian lives. How could we not? How could it be anything else? We have been created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26-27) who is a trinity of persons.

There is a sense in which thinking about God keeps us from being present to and with God. In some way thinking about God distances us from God and sets up a subject-object duality. That is the very opposite of trinitarian life.

We think about other people when we are not with them. We think about our children who have grown up and moved out. We think about our spouse when we are away from each other. We think about our friends when we are apart. We think about our loved ones who have died. But in that moment when we are really present, when we have truly shown up and offered all that we are and all that we have, we’re not thinking about the other person, we are one with them. It is a moment of love, intimacy, and union. It’s not defined by life or death, distance or geography. It is defined and made possible for us by the eternal life and love shared by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Who is the person with whom you have the closest, deepest, most intimate relationship? Picture him or her and your relationship. When you are with that person you are not thinking about him or her. In moments of ecstatic love, you look at him or her and see yourself in his or her life and he or she does the same with you. We open ourselves to each other. We give ourselves to the other and receive the other into ourselves. That is the trinitarian life. It is the choreography of love and it’s happening all the time.

In the midst of an honest, real, and meaningful conversation we’re not thinking about the other person. We are with them and they are with us. A single life envelops and flows between us. We don’t make that happen, it just does. That’s trinitarian life.

When we are rolling on the floor, laughing, and playing with our child or grandchild we are not thinking about them, we are completely open and present to their life and they to ours. The line between their life and our life gets blurry and there is only love. That’s trinitarian life.

Sometimes we see the world through another’s eyes and their joys or sorrows take root in us as if they were our own. When that happens we are not receiving news or information about another, we are sharing a common life. We are loving our neighbor as our self. That’s trinitarian life.

Every now and then we are immersed in prayer and no longer conscious that we are praying. We no longer see ourselves talking to or thinking about God. Rather, our life is one with God’s and we are participating in the life of the Holy Trinity.

Each of these are moments when we can honestly say, “I love, therefore I am.” These and a thousand others just like them are trinitarian moments. Love for one another and faith in the Holy Trinity are integrally related. You cannot have one without the other. As Bishop Kallistos Ware has said, a genuine confession of faith in the Triune God can only be made by those who show mutual love to one another. Our love for one another is the precondition for a Trinitarian faith and a Trinitarian faith is what makes possible, fosters, and gives meaning to our love for another.

The Holy Trinity is not a concept to be explained, numbers to be calculated, or a problem to be solved. It is a life to be lived, a love to be shared, and a beauty to be revealed. Stop thinking about God. Live the life, share the love, reveal the beauty.

Love triangles. I want to talk with you today about love triangles. You know what I am talking about right? You’ve seen the pictures and headlines on the tabloids in the grocery store check out lines. Love triangles are often the subject of movie plots and sometimes they are the circumstances in which a crime is committed. They are also a part of our lives. The question isn’t whether we are in a love triangle. We are, probably several. The real question is one of priority, commitment, and loyalty.

In the classic love triangle there are three people. One is stuck between two love interests. The two love interests, knowingly or unknowingly, are competing with each other and vying for the time, attention, energy, and love of the third person.

In today’s gospel (Matthew 10:24-39, Proper 7A) Jesus holds before us a couple of love triangles. “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” In the first triangle there is Jesus, us, and our mother and father. In the second triangle there is Jesus, us, and our children. These are by no means the only love triangles of our lives. Love triangles can involve anyone or anything.

Every love triangle confronts us with two questions. What is your most important relationship? Whom do you love the most?

After hearing Jesus’ words it’s not hard to figure out the right answer. The right answer is Jesus, but what is our lived answer?

I would like to think that my lived answer is Jesus. I would like to say with confidence that Jesus is my most important relationship, that he is the one I love most. Love triangles are places of struggle and conflict. Regardless of what I would like to think or say, what does the evidence of my life show?

What about the ring on my hand and the vows I made to Cyndy? Do I choose Jesus over Cyndy? How can I do that? As hard as it may be that’s what Jesus said I must do.

According to my calendar this parish is my most important relationship. That’s where I spend more time than anywhere else. The parish and Jesus, however, are not necessarily the same thing.

If you were to look at my checkbook you would say, “He’s got a thing going with the HEB Grocery Store. That’s where he spends all his money.”

If you knew the thoughts that fill my head and some of the choices I’ve made you might conclude that I love myself more than anyone else.

I’ll bet you know what I’m talking about. We’re probably not that different. Our lived answer reveals many different love interests.

If, however, Jesus asks us to love him more than our own parents and children, our own flesh and blood, then he also does so with everything else about our lives. There can be only one primary relationship in our lives and Jesus says it is to be him. His demand for primacy is not limited to our mother and father or our son and daughter. It’s a primacy over everyone and everything in our life. He could have easily continued the list.

• Whoever loves friend more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves work more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves power, reputation, or wealth more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves country and flag more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves politics, agendas, or ideology more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves church, denomination, beliefs and practices more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves self more than me is not worthy of me.
• Whoever loves anyone or anything more than me is not worthy of me.

So tell me, what are the love triangles in your life? What is your most important relationship? Whom do you love the most?

Today’s gospel holds before us and confronts us with the many love triangles in which we all live and struggle. It demands we make a choice. Does that mean we must reject our parents, our children, our spouses, and all other love interests? No, that’s not what Jesus is saying or asking. Jesus is not demanding exclusivity but he is demanding priority. Jesus refuses to be just another one of our many love interests.

Jesus’ refusal to be just another love interest, his demand for priority, is for our own good as well as the good of our love interests. We can only ever have one primary relationship. That one relationship gives us identity and our lives meaning and direction. It becomes the lens through which we see the world, each other, and ourselves. It is the foundation on which we build our lives. It guides the choices we make, the words we say, and the ways in which we act and relate. It sets a trajectory for our lives and determines how we love. Why then would we want it to be something or someone other than Jesus, God embodied in human life, flesh, and blood?

So how do we reconcile the right answer, Jesus, with the lived answer of our lives? How do we pick Jesus over our child, our spouse, our mom and dad? How do we look into their faces and say, “I love Jesus more?”

I know a woman who figured that out and I will never forget what she said. One day she told her husband, “When you love God most you love me best.” There is great wisdom in what she said. It breaks the triangle. No one is left out, excluded, or rejected. God, not ourselves, becomes the source and origin of our love. This is the love by which we take up our cross and follow Jesus, the same love with which Jesus loves us.

I want to love my wife best. I want to love my sons best. I want to love my parents best. I want to love you best. I think we all want to love as best we can. We do that only when we choose Jesus first.

We love each other best when we love God most.

A priest was visiting with a new parishioner and asked, “How’s your relationship with God?” The parishioner says, “There’s not much to tell. I like sinning. God likes forgiving. We get along just fine.”

That story is an adaptation of some lines from W. H. Auden’s poem, For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio. In the poem King Herod’s responds to the magi’s news of the Savior’s birth and the grace and forgiveness it brings with these words:

Every crook will argue: ‘I like committing crimes. God likes forgiving them. Really the world is admirably arranged.’

I sort of like the “admirably arranged” world Auden describes. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. It doesn’t ask much of me. I can make my apology to you when I’ve done something wrong or hurtful, offer a quick “Please forgive me God,” and go on about life. It’s business as usual. I get to do what I like and God gets to do what God likes.

What about you? Does this sound familiar? Do your life and faith sometimes express Auden’s “admirably arranged” world? At times this is how I’ve lived my life. I’ve seen it in the lives of others.

The problem with an “admirably arranged” world is that wounds aren’t healed. Relationships are not put back together. Lives are not transformed. Nothing really changes. Too often we settle for an “admirably arranged” world Instead of becoming, as we prayed for in today’s collect, “a holy temple acceptable to [God].”

We’re not, however, the first or the only ones to think or live this way. Before Auden wrote his lines St. Paul dealt with the same issue in his Letter to the Romans. “What then? Should we sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means!” (Romans 6:12-23, Proper 8A)

Icon of Christ the Pantocrator (Ruler of All)

Our relationship with God in Christ is more than an admirable arrangement. We have an identity with Christ. “Whoever welcomes you,”Jesus tells his disciples, “welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me” (Matthew 10:41). By our baptism we have been immersed in Jesus’ death and resurrection. We share his life. We have been Christed. We speak with his mouth, see with his eyes, walk with his feet, touch with his hands. That means we now re-present Christ to the world. We live his life in this time and place.

Sometimes, however, we choose not to live that life. We turn away. We deny ourselves the life Jesus has given us. We live less than who we most truly are. St. Paul calls that sin. This isn’t simply a question of good or bad, right or wrong, keeping or breaking rules. Ultimately, it’s a choice between life and death.

Maybe that’s why St. Paul is so adamant in his Letter to the Romans. Christ is our way and our life. We are a part of him and he is who we are and who we are to become. In some way St. Paul is telling us to become who we really are.

• Do not sin.
• Do not be an instrument of wickedness.
• Present yourselves to God.
• Be an instrument of God’s righteousness.

St. Paul is like the parent who says to his or her child, “I expect more of you. Do this. Don’t do that. You can do better. You are more than that.” As a child we hear those words as harsh, critical, judgmental. Loving parents, good parents, however, say those words seeing more in their child than what he or she sometimes sees for himself or herself. They are words that call their child into the fullness of life, to be whole, complete, and fully alive. That’s what St. Paul is doing.

I am uncomfortably grateful for his words. He challenges me to examine my life and see the ways in which I have denied myself the very life I say I want. He reminds me that I have a choice and so do you. We are responsible. We choose what our life will be like. We choose to whom we listen. We choose to whom we give ourselves and our obedience.

This is not to deny God’s grace. Grace is absolutely real. But it is not a get out of jail free card. Rather, grace is the power of God’s love and the means of God’s presence that enables us to make a different choice, a better choice, a choice to live and to love as Jesus. That is something an “admirably arranged” world can never give us.

The crook of whom King Herod speaks will forever be sneaking around, hiding in the dark, and living in fear of being found out. That is no way to live and it is not the life Jesus offers. That kind of life is a living death. It leave us empty, hollow, and impoverished. We weren’t meant for that.

We have been freed from that, freed from the power of sin. We are now free to live Jesus’ life, eternal life right here and right now. Now go live that way. Receive the gift. No more sneaking. No more hiding. No more fearing. No more admirably arranged lives.

From Blessed Paul Giustiniani as quoted by Dom Jean Leclerq in Alone with God (p. 113);

‘The Lord lifts up those who fall’ [Ps. 145:14]. I never tire of repeating this word, which is the foundation of all my hope. I have fallen, Lord, but You are my God and my king: According to your infinite Majesty and boundless Goodness, lift me up and I shall live again.

See also Get Up Again.

Blessed Paul Giustiniani (source)

A Thanksgiving for America

Almighty God, giver of all good gifts; we thank you

• For this nation, our heritage, and for calling us to be the United States of America;
• For the founders of this country, the liberty they won for themselves and us, and for the torch of freedom they lit for nations then unborn;
• For the natural majesty and beauty of this land;
• For the great resources of this nation;
• For the diversity of people, races, cultures, languages, religions, and beliefs that fill this country;
• For the men and women who have made this country strong and for the men and women who in the day of decision ventured much for the liberties we now enjoy; and
• For the faith we have inherited in all its rich variety, for the freedom to express and live by that faith, and for the many ways in which you manifest yourself to and reveal yourself in the peoples of this nation.

Grant, O Lord, that we may receive these and all the many blessings you have bestowed upon us as sacred trusts and gifts, that we may hold them with an abiding and deep sense of gratitude, and that by your grace we may be strengthened to maintain our liberties in righteousness and peace for the good of all people. All this we pray through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

(Adaptation and supplementation of the Book of Common Prayer)

A Blessing for America

Holy God, we have gathered this day with joy to celebrate and give thanks for America and your abundant blessing of America. May we never know a day in which America is not blessed. Continue to give us your blessing. God, bless America.

• Bless us with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships so that we may seek truth boldly, love fearlessly, and live from deep within our hearts.
• Bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, prejudice, and exploitation of people so that we may work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.
• Bless us with indifference to race, nationality, and religion so that we may break down the walls that separate us and be united as one people.
• Bless us with sorrow for our misdoings, our injuries to others, and the misuse of our freedom so that we may seek peace, make amends, and heal broken relationships.
• Bless us with tears to shed for all who suffer pain or loss, for the poor, the hungry, the homeless, for refugees, and for the victims of violence and war so that with generosity and compassion we may reach out our hands to care for and comfort them and turn their sorrow into joy.
• Bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in our country and the world so that we may do what others claim cannot be done.

(Adaptation and supplementation of “A Franciscan Blessing”)

Bless us and keep us; make your face to shine upon us, and be gracious to us; lift up your countenance upon us, and give us peace. (Numbers 6:24-26)

God, bless America. Amen.

The Sower (image source)

We often speak, and rightly so, of the gospel as the “good news,” the good news of Jesus Christ. God in Jesus has entered the world in a new way bringing new life, offering new hope, and inviting us to become a new person. That it is good news, however, does not necessarily mean it is welcome or easy-to-accept news.

I think about the young man who came to Jesus seeking eternal life. “Sell your possessions and give the money to the poor,” Jesus tells him. He went away grieving because he had many possessions. (Matthew 19:16-22) I think about the disciples “who turned back and no longer went about with [Jesus]” saying, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (John 6:60-66) I think about the religious leaders and authorities who planned to arrest and kill Jesus. (Matthew 26:3-4) I think about Peter’s trifecta of denials. (Matthew 26:69-75) I think about my own struggles to believe, embody, and live the good news.

Sometimes I would much rather fit the gospel into my life than fit my life into the gospel. Too often I would rather interpret Jesus’ life than have him interpret my life. I am more comfortable trying to understand the gospel than surrendering and giving myself to the gospel. The gospel challenges me. It challenges the way I see myself, you, and the world. It challenges what I believe and the way I live. It challenges my private concerns, interests, and desires, with those of Jesus. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. I don’t think I am the only one it challenges.

The gospel challenges people in every age and every place. It always has. It did in Jesus’ day and it still does today. It challenges us to think, see, do, and be differently. It challenges us to change. In some sense to really hear and understand the gospel ought to make us uncomfortable. I’ve come to believe that that discomfort is God’s grace leading and guiding us to a new way, a new life, a new world. It is the seed of God’s life planted in each one of us. And that is good news. Let’s not turn away from the challenge, the discomfort, or the good news of today’s gospel.

So how might the parable of the sower (Matthew 13:1-23, Proper 10A) interpret our day, our time, our world circumstances? Where does it make us uncomfortable? What is so challenging about a sower who went out to sow?

We could answer those questions in a thousand different ways but here’s one way. What if a sower went out to sow and over the last nine months planted more than 52,000 seeds in our land? What if God is sowing himself in our land through the lives of the immigrant children? What kind of soil are we offering them?

Some might say I am stretching this situation to fit the gospel. I don’t think so. This wouldn’t be the first time God has revealed himself through the life of a poor child. This wouldn’t be the first time God as a child refugee has fled the violence of his hometown.

The seed of God’s life and presence comes to us in lots of different ways. Sometimes we ask for it. Other times we don’t. Sometimes we recognize it. Other times we don’t. Sometimes we’re receptive and open to it. Other times not so much. Regardless, the seed has been sown. That’s a given. It’s a given in today’s parable and in today’s world. The variable is the soil. The variable is us. There is a range of receptivity to the sowing of God’s seed that Jesus describes as four conditions of soil.

Isn’t that what this parable is teaching us? And don’t our many responses to the immigrant children only validate the truth of that teaching? Watch the news and you will see volunteers with open arms saying, “Bienvenidos,” protesters with signs saying, “Return to sender,” and everything in between.

A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed,

• Some children landed on a path. They thought it would take them somewhere. They hoped it would take them to family, a new home, and a new life. The path was a dead end. They found no home. They received no welcome. They were carried off.
• Other children encountered rocky ground. But it was ok. They were accustomed to living between a rock and a hard place. Besides there were some soft spots between the rocks. At first they sprang up. People wanted to help and do the right thing but then they got tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. It was too much, too hard, too demanding. The children couldn’t put down roots. They couldn’t endure. They fell away.
• Other children fell among thorns. They were tripped by political agendas and posturing on both sides. They were cut by thorns of fear, anger, prejudice, indifference, and self-righteousness. They were choked by the thorns of other’s concerns for themselves, their land, and their possessions.
• Other children were received and enveloped by the soil of love, compassion, and acceptance. They were nourished with and by a life they couldn’t give themselves. They grew and their lives bore fruit.

So what do we do with all these children? I don’t know. The parable of the sower does not give us the answer. I do not have and I am not offering a particular answer. I have only the challenge of the gospel.

The parable of the sower challenges us to stand inside the gospel. That means if we are to hear this parable at the level which Jesus spoke it we cannot just watch the news and make a judgment about others; the children, the volunteers, the protesters, or anyone else. The four soils Jesus describes are inner landscapes, conditions of the human heart. We must, therefore, examine our own hearts. We must reflect on our own soil’s condition. We must consider what soil we offer the seeds God has planted in our lives, regardless of who they are, where they came from, or how they got there. This isn’t about only the children. It’s about all people, all relationships, all circumstances. What soil are we offering them to stand on? What is the soil of our heart?

All those kids? They call it a border crisis. I don’t believe that. It’s not so much a border crisis as it is a crisis of the human heart. Some of the children will probably stay some will be sent back. Immigrants will come and immigrants will go. I don’t know when or how the situation with all these children will be resolved but I know this. Until we open ourselves to the planting of God’s life in our hearts, until we are receptive to God surprising us, until we are willing to be inconvenienced by the sowing of God’s seed in our world, until we take seriously the challenge of Christ’s gospel and feel the discomfort of his good news the crisis of the human heart will remain.

Hear then the parable of the sower.

“Where, then, did these weeds come from?” (Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43, Parable of the Weeds, Proper 11A)

Who has not at some point asked that question? You may not have used those same words and you may not have spoken it aloud but I’ll bet everyone has, at some time or another, asked the question.

• Maybe you’ve read or watched the news and wondered, “How did our world get in this shape? How did we get to this point?” It’s one headline after another; the shooting down of the Malaysian airliner, the escalation of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in Gaza, the conflict around the refugee children coming to American soil. It seems the world is going crazy.
• Maybe life’s circumstances have left you asking yourself, “How did my life get like this? What has become of me?” We could all list the hurts and wounds of life, the betrayals and resentments, the addictions, fears, and loneliness. On and on the list goes.
• Perhaps you’ve faced the death of a loved one, a devastating illness, or other tragedy and want to know, “Why, if God is good and loving, did this happen?”

“Where, then, did these weeds come from?”

Tacuina Sanitatis, 14th century (source)

We often live with the assumption that if we do good, work hard, and be nice everything should work out as we want. That’s the illusion with which the slaves in today’s parable live. “Master,” they ask the farmer, “did you not sow good seed in your field?” Of course he did. They know he did. That’s why they are so surprised when they discover the weeds. The weeds have shattered their illusion. This isn’t supposed to happen. “Where, then, did these weeds come from?”

There is an urgency to their question. They want to know what happened and who is responsible. So do we. That’s what we want to know when we discover weeds in our fields. We want an explanation and someone we can blame, hold accountable, and even punish. Far too often we see that in our political bickering, our Facebook posts, and our privately held opinions. Jesus, however, seems less interested in this approach than we are. He doesn’t give it much time or attention.

“An enemy has done this,” he says. That’s it. He doesn’t explain it. He doesn’t identify or name the enemy. He doesn’t give instructions to find, drive out, and punish this enemy.

Behind our desire for an explanation and the name of the culprit is a truth many of us neither like nor want to accept. It’s one of the challenges of today’s gospel and, like I told you last week, the gospel always challenges the way we think, see, act, and live. It’s the challenge to become more than who we think we are. It’s a challenge that arises every time we face the weeds of our life and world.

The reality, according to Jesus, is that our lives and our world are a field in which good and evil, life and death, joys and sorrows, that which we want and that which we don’t want grow and live side by side. The wheat and the weeds stand together in our world and in each of our lives.

That, Jesus says, is what the kingdom of heaven is like. That’s good news for us. It means that despite the weeds in and around us the kingdom is still here. The weeds do not overcome or make absent God’s kingdom. It may not be the fullness of the kingdom but it is, nevertheless, the kingdom.

But what about those weeds? What do we do about them? Surely we should do something. Not according to Jesus. “Let them grow together until the harvest,” he says. That makes no sense. How can we let them be? The weeds are bad and the wheat is good. We must do something. We need to take a stand, draw a line in the sand, establish some boundaries.

“Don’t you want us to pull up the weeds,” the slaves ask their master. “No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them.” These aren’t just generic weeds. The parable speaks of a particular weed called zizania. It’s sometimes known as darnel or false wheat. It grows with the wheat. It looks like wheat. Its roots intertwine with the roots of the real wheat. The difference between the two is not always readily apparent.

It seems the separation between the wheat and the weeds is not as clearcut or black and white as Facebook, the media, our politicians, and our personal opinions would often have us believe. In any event, we are not the ones to make that judgment. We’re not the ones to uproot those we see as weeds. Jesus is clear about that.

“Let them grow together until the harvest,” he says. Jesus shows more interest in growth than extermination. He is willing to wait and to be patient. If we are his followers we too will wait and be patient amongst the weeds of our life.

While we patiently wait let’s not get too excited about the end of this parable. Let’s not revel in and celebrate the end of the age and the coming of Jesus as some divine weed whacker. I don’t think Jesus intended this parable to be taken literally, but, rather, with absolute seriousness.

So do we do nothing? Just sit and wait? No, that’s not what Jesus is saying. There is plenty to do and it will be a challenge. The words that are translated as “let them” in Jesus’ statement, “Let them grow…” can also be translated as forgive them. It’s the same words Jesus spoke from the cross in St. Luke’s account of the gospel when he says, “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34). Even then, even on the cross, Jesus is unwilling to pull up the weeds.

There is no place in Jesus’ gospel for Christian vigilantism, by word or by action, against another or against ourselves. Instead, Jesus commands love. Love your enemy. Love your neighbor. Love yourself. Love God.

Forgive the weeds? Love the weeds? Remember, I told you the gospel is always a challenge. So, yes, forgive them. Love them. Maybe that’s how the wheat begins to disentangle its roots from the weeds and show itself to be wheat and not weeds. Maybe love and forgiveness are what life in the mixed field of God’s kingdom and this world is like.

Sometimes music is entertaining. Sometimes it’s the background noise that keeps us company. Sometimes it is an escape. Then there are those other times. The music takes us somewhere. It returns us to ourselves, taking us into the “deep heart.” That’s how I experience the music of Divna.

I was, therefore, delighted when Valley Entertainment sent me her newest album, In Search of the Divine Light, and asked me to write a review. The album is available from Valley Entertainment, Amazon, and the iTunes Store.

Valley Entertainment describes the album as “a collection of sacred chants from the Byzantine, Russian, Serbian and Bulgarian traditions.” I don’t know the words Divna sings but I understand them. She sings in the “native language” (Acts 2:8) of Pentecost, a language that is heard and understood with the ears of the heart. That is the paradox of really good sacred music. It presents a language beyond the words and “deep calls to deep” (Ps. 42:7).

Divna Ljubojević is a Serbian cantor and “is considered one of the leading interpreters and performers of the liturgical traditions and Byzantine chant.” This type of music is often associated with the deep, heavy, and muscular voices of men. That is not Divna and yet she brings to this sacred tradition music that is every bit as profound, beautiful, and transcendent. Her voice is a carrier not just of words and musical notes but of the human soul, hers and ours.

The first track, for example, “The Day of Resurrection,” carries and guides the listener into new life. One can feel the stone being rolled away, the dawning of a new day, and the emptiness of death that is now filled with the light of God. Track five, “Cherubic Hymn,” is one of ethereal beauty, each note a stepping stone on which the divine and the human meet. Below you can listen to track six, “Blessed is the Man (Blahzen Muzh),” a setting of verses from Psalms 1, 2, and 3. The album concludes with “The Lord’s Prayer.” It is the kind of album that invites one to surrender, to be present, and to say, “Amen.”

Me or we? It’s a question each of us faces and answers everyday as we say our prayers, make decisions, establish priorities, and live our lives. Do we live as insulated and isolated individuals or as a person connected to and interdependent with others? Me doesn’t just apply to a single individual. Me could be a group, a parish, a business. So me or we is also a choice made by churches and religions, political parties, corporations, and nations.

It’s a question Solomon faced when the Lord came to him in a dream and said, “Ask what I should give to you.” (1 Kings 3:5-12, Proper 12A) It sounds like a great deal. It sounds like God has signed and given Solomon a blank check. All he need do is fill in the amount.

Who hasn’t at one time or another wished for that? We’ve probably all played the if-you-could-have-anything-in-the-world game. But it’s not that simple. It’s not a game. It’s real life and real death. God’s question comes with a dilemma and Solomon’s answer will carry profound consequences. Solomon must decide between asking for himself or asking for the larger we, of which he is also a part.

That the question comes to him in the night, in a dream, suggests it comes from a deep interior place and that his answer will also come from that deep interior place. We are often blind to and unaware of the choice between me and we as we face the circumstances of our life and world. We tend to focus on what is happening around us rather than what is happening within us.

When disruptions occur, of whatever sort, something that throws our life off balance, something that challenges, troubles, or frightens us, we almost immediately begin thinking about a response. What will we do? How will we do it? In some way those are really secondary questions. The primary question is the awareness of others and the interior condition from which we will respond. That’s certainly how Jesus lived and what he taught. His was not a me me me life or teaching. So what about us? Is our awareness and response limited to me or is it a we awareness and response?

The answer to that question will likely determine the quality of our relationships and the extent to which we live in conflict. Look at the world today, read the news, reflect on your own relationships. If there is conflict there is probably also a me attitude. We see that in the Israel-Gaza war, the current persecution of Christians by Muslim extremists in Mosul, and the ongoing debate in our own country about citizens and immigrants.

It’s not just, however, global issues. The choice between me and we exists in marriages and families. It was at the center of this country’s most recent economic collapse. It’s a part of prejudice and discrimination as well as the hardened moral positions we so often take against another. Look for conflict and chances are you will see a me life to the exclusion of a we life.

I’m not suggesting that a we attitude fixes every conflict, ends every war, or settles every debate. It won’t. It’s not that simple. It does, however, change the way we approach each other in the midst of those conflicts, wars, and debates. It opens our minds, hearts, and wills to consider more than just ourselves. It offers new possibilities and creates options. It brings about an awareness of and concern for all, including ourselves.

Isn’t that what Solomon asked for? He sought an understanding mind to govern and care for God’s people. He wanted the ability to discern between good and evil. He recognized that a me attitude could not sustain the kingdom. He calls himself “a little child,” one who does “not know how to go out or come in.” His concern was for the kingdom not himself.

That shift from me to we is not easy. It means we must let go of the past patterns that no longer work, suspend judgments, and redirect our attention to a future that wants to emerge in and through us. That emerging future is the kingdom of heaven. The shift from me to we happens within us before it ever happens outside and around us, hence Solomon’s dream.

So what does that shift look like? What does a we life look like? In a person, it looks a lot like Jesus.

• A me life is one of power, domination, and control. A we life is one of vulnerability, intimacy, and self-giving.
• A me life is characterized by rhetoric, frenzied reaction, and isolation. A we life is characterized by silence, stillness, and presence.
• A me life is filled with doubt, cynicism, and fear. A we life is filled with faith, hope, and love.
• A me life clings tightly to the past. A we life embodies what might be.
• A me life draws lines that divide. A we life draws circles that encompass.

So many of today’s world circumstances and even our own life’s circumstances continue to remind us that a me attitude just doesn’t work. It never did. Why then do we continue living that way? People are being killed, homes destroyed, and relationships broken. The world is bleeding out and tears are flowing. Today’s me approach continues to crucify the we life Jesus lived and offered. Even that, however, cannot “separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (8:38-39). Jesus’ love is what enables, encourages, and teaches us to choose we over me. But we must choose. Every minute, every day, every situation, and every relationship hold the choice before us.

Solomon chose a we attitude. He asked for a listening heart, a heart with ears, a heart that would hear the pain of the world, the needs of the people, and the voice of God. He did not ask for himself long life, riches, or even the defeat of his enemy. And it pleased the Lord.

That’s not, however, where the story ends. If you read a couple of verses past today’s text you will read, “Then Solomon awoke; it had been a dream” (1 Kings 3:15). It was all a dream. It was a dream but it’s not just a dream.

That it was a dream doesn’t mean it wasn’t real and it doesn’t mean Solomon’s waking was the end of the dream. To the contrary, his awaking was the beginning of a new reality. He awoke to a new possibility, for himself and for the people. That reality and possibility would be realized every time Solomon choose we over me, every time he lived the dream.

Our lives and our world desperately need a new reality and a new possibility. God has entrusted each of us with Solomon’s dream and it is well past time to wake up and go live the dream. So what will it be? Will the dream come true? You tell me. Each of us decides. We or me?

The only way to pray is to pray; and the way to pray well is to pray much. If one has no time for this, then one must at least pray regularly. But the less one prays the worse it goes.

- Abbot Chapman of Downside quoted by Michael Casey in Sacred Reading, The Art of Lectio Divina, p. 22

Friar in Prayer by Francis Bourgeois, (source)

Jesus Walking on Water by Henry Ossawa Tanner (source)

“And they cried out in fear” (Matthew 14:22-32, Proper 14A).

When I was a kid the door to the stairway going upstairs at my grandmother’s house was always kept closed. It was never left open and rarely did anyone go up there. I never asked my grandmother about that. I didn’t need to. I had been warned. My older cousin had told me all about the ghost that lived upstairs. That’s why the door was always closed. That’s why no one went up there. Sometimes on a dare I would go half way up the steps but I was always scared and I never stayed long.

When I was in kindergarten a gunslinging bandit puppet hung on the corner of my bed. Many nights he came alive in my dreams, terrorizing me, and I would awaken crying out in fear.

I’ve since outgrown those fears but I haven’t outgrown fear itself. I’ve been in the same boat as the disciples in today’s gospel. Maybe you have too.

My childhood ghost stories haven’t ended, they just changed. They became adulthood ghost stories. I suspect that’s true for all of us. We all have our fears. We all have our own ghost stories. Regardless of whether ghosts are real fear is. You know what I mean, right? I’ll bet each one of you could tell a story about fear in your life, about a ghost that haunts and frightens you. There are all sorts of fears and ghosts.

We fear our own death and the deaths of our loved ones. We fear the loss of health, security, success, and reputation. We fear failure and what others will think about us. We fear being out of control and powerless. We fear the unknown, what will happen, and what might not happen. We fear others; those who look, act, and believe differently than us. We fear not being enough and being found out. And the list goes on and on. Each one of you could add to the list. What would you put on it? What do you fear?

I’ve come to believe that fear is a primary driver and controller of our lives. I’ve experienced that in my own life and I’ve seen it in the lives of others. I’ve seen how it can take hold of us, distort our vision, and drown our lives. Fear often determines the choices we make, the words we say, the actions we take, and the prayers we offer.

Look at the events of today’s world and you’ll see fear. It’s one thing both sides in any conflict have in common. Listen to the voices in your head and you’ll hear fear. It’s usually the loudest and most talkative. Read the headlines and you’ll find stories of fear. Study the scriptures and you’ll discover that the most common thing God tells his people is to not be afraid. And yet, most of us are. We’ve rowed the same boat as the disciples. We’ve been tossed about by the storms of life. We’ve seen the ghost and we’ve cried out in fear.

Have you ever felt as if your world is drenched in darkness? Have the waves of life ever battered, tortured, and harassed you? Does it sometimes seem like you are rowing against the wind and making no headway? Have you ever found yourself alone, far from land and a safe harbor?

If you know what that’s like then you know what it was like for the disciples in today’s gospel. In those circumstances it’s easy to see ghosts, to be terrified, and to cry out in fear. That’s what happened to the disciples. It’s happens to us. It’s happening throughout our world.

The world today is crying out in fear. Some cry out with tears and screams of horror. Some cry out with silence. Some cry out through paralysis, not knowing what to say or do. Some cry out with rockets and bombs. Some cry out with political rhetoric and posturing. In whatever way we do it, at some point we all cry out in fear.

More often than not we cry out to be rescued from the circumstances of which we are afraid. We want to escape the storm and avoid the ghost. We want to be picked up and set down somewhere else, somewhere that is safe, calm, and comfortable. Jesus doesn’t do that. He didn’t do that for the disciples and he doesn’t do that for us. Instead, Jesus reveals himself, speaks, and comes to the disciples in and from the very midst of the storm itself. He did not take the disciples out of their storm, he entered their storm.

Jesus does not come to us from outside our storms and fears like some divine search and rescue mission. Yet that’s often where we look for him, outside the circumstances of our lives. We are too easily persuaded that the solution to dire circumstances comes only from outside the circumstances themselves. That is the exact opposite of what today’s gospel tells us.

Jesus came to the disciples walking on the water, through the wind, and in the darkness. Jesus’ peace, words of comfort, and presence are not outside the storm but in the eye of the storm. So why do we not look for him in that place, in the place of our fear? That’s where Jesus shows up. Where else would he be, this one we call Emmanuel, God with us? If Jesus is not in our storms and fears then he is not Emmanuel. He is not God-with-us.

I wonder if we sometimes miss what’s really happening in today’s gospel. If all we see is a gravity defying water walking Jesus then we have missed the miracle. The wind and the waves are about more than the weather conditions. They are more descriptive of what is happening within the disciples than what is happening around them.

The real miracle in this story is that Jesus walks on the storms that brew and rage within us. That means divine power and presence have and always will trample on, overcome, and conquer human fear. It means that Jesus is Emmanuel. He is with us in the direst of circumstances. But the disciples could not recognize this. Sometimes we don’t either. “It’s a ghost,” they screamed in terror. It’s the only thing that made sense. People don’t walk on water. It had to be a ghost. What else could it be? That is the power of fear to deceive, distort, and drown.

It makes no sense to think that the very elements that threaten our lives are the same elements from which new life comes. Yet, isn’t that the way of the cross? Isn’t that the story of Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection? Isn’t that the good news we so desperately want and need to hear? Isn’t that what happened in today’s gospel?

Our storms and fears are the place in which we abandon ourselves to God. Most of us, however, don’t do that until we first feel abandoned by God. Surely that’s how the disciples must have felt. Jesus made them, compelled them, to get the in the boat and cross the sea seemingly alone. They had been abandoned to the open sea, the darkness, the waves, the wind, the futility of their own efforts, fantasies, and illusions. They were abandoned to their own un-self-sufficieny so that they might abandon themselves to God.

The very elements that threatened to destroy the disciples became the environment in which they recognized Jesus as the Son of God. What they first perceived as certain death they now recognize as new life, hope, and salvation.

Every time we cry out in fear Jesus comes to us saying, “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.” That’s the invitation to abandon ourselves to God in the midst of our storms and fears. How hard it is to hear and heed those words when the waves are breaking, the wind is howling, and the ghost is approaching.

“Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.” No matter how high the waves build they are the waves on which Jesus walks to us. No matter how strong the wind blows it is the wind through which Jesus walks to us. No matter how dark the night it is the night in which Jesus comes to us. No matter how great our fear it is the fear that Christ has already trampled on and defeated.

“Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.”

O God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth,
Have mercy upon us.
O God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy upon us.
O God the Holy Spirit, Sanctifier of the faithful,
Have mercy upon us.
O holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, one God,
Have mercy upon us.

Lord, Jesus Christ, receive our prayers for all who suffer persecution for their religious faith and beliefs,
O Christ, hear us.
For the persecuted children of Abraham,
O Christ, hear us.
For persecuted Jews,
O Christ, hear us.
For persecuted Christians,
O Christ, hear us.
For persecuted Muslims,
O Christ, hear us.
For all persecuted peoples and religions everywhere,
O Christ, hear us.

By the mystery of your holy incarnation; by your birth, childhood, and obedience to the law; by your baptism, fasting, and temptation,
Savior, deliver them.
By your ministry in word and work; by your mighty acts of power; by the preaching of your gospel,
Savior, deliver them.
By your agony and trial; by your cross and passion; by your precious death and burial,
Savior, deliver them.
By your mighty resurrection; by your glorious ascension; and by your sending of the Holy Spirit,
Savior, deliver them.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for them.

St. Michael, St. Gabriel, St. Raphael, St. Uriel,
Defend and protect them in the day of battle.

All you holy Archangels, Angels and, bodiless powers of heaven,
Be at their side to guide and guard them on their way.

All you holy Saints of God,
Intercede for them.

All you faithful Martyrs,
Stand beside them.

From death, injury, and illness,
Defend and protect them, Sovereign Lord.
From all danger, violence, oppression, and degradation,
Defend and protect them, Sovereign Lord.
From fear, despair, and suffering,
Defend and protect them, Sovereign Lord.

With fervent prayer,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With steadfast faith,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With unwavering hope,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With enduring love,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With courageous hearts,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With persevering wills,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.
With food, water, and safe shelter,
Sustain and strengthen them, O Christ.

To all who have died as a result of persecution,
Rest eternal grant to them, O Lord; let light perpetual shine upon them. May their souls, through your mercy, rest in peace.

For all who grieve the death of family, friends, and fellow believers,
Remember them in your mercy, O Lord, nourish them with patience, comfort them with a sense of your goodness, lift up your countenance upon them, and give them peace.

May it please you to make wars, persecution, and violence to cease in all the world,
Hear us, good Lord.
May it please you to give the world unity, peace, and concord,
Hear us, good Lord.
May it please you to give all peoples freedom of religion and belief,
Hear us, good Lord.
May it please you to lead the peoples of the world in paths of peace and good will,
Hear us, good Lord.
May it please you to gather all peoples under the banner of the Prince of Peace,
Hear us, good Lord.

To see that you have created all men and women in your image and likeness,
Open our eyes, O Lord.
To see that you have made of one blood all the peoples of the earth,
Open our eyes, O Lord.
To see that you have linked our lives one to another,
Open our eyes, O Lord.
To see that we if do not love each other we do not love you,
Open our eyes, O Lord.

For all who persecute,
Almighty God, soften and turn their hearts.
For all who kill and injure,
Almighty God, soften and turn their hearts.
For all who act with violence, hatred, or prejudice,
Almighty God, soften and turn their hearts.
For all who plot terror and seek to do harm,
Almighty God, soften and turn their hearts.

That we may forgive our enemies,
Give us your grace and strengthen our will, Lord Christ.
That we may not seek revenge,
Give us your grace and strengthen our will, Lord Christ.
That we may not act with violence, hatred, or prejudice,
Give us your grace and strengthen our will, Lord Christ.
That we may not persecute,
Give us your grace and strengthen our will, Lord Christ.
That we may work for peace, healing, and reconciliation,
Give us your grace and strengthen our will, Lord Christ.

To the leaders of the nations and the President and Congress of the United States,
Give humility and guide them in the ways of peace and justice.

To those bringing humanitarian aid and providing medical assistance,
Give your strength and protection, Lord Christ.

To all who work for unity, peace, concord, and the freedom of all people,
Give wisdom, creativity, and perseverance.

To all who look on from afar with the safety and security of distance,
Give tears of compassion, fervent prayer, and generosity of giving.

To all who live in safety, comfort, and privilege,
Give such an awareness of your mercies that with truly thankful hearts they may show forth your praise not only with their lips but in their lives.

That your One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church may persevere with truth and love, and be found without fault at the day of your coming,
We pray to you, O Lord.
That all bishops, priests, and deacons may be faithful ministers of your Word and Sacraments,
We pray to you, O Lord.
That every member of the Church may truly and humbly serve you,
We pray to you, O Lord.

For all that is gracious in the lives of men and women everywhere, revealing your image and likeness,
We thank you, good Lord.

Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Holy Immortal One,
Have mercy upon us.

Lord, hear our prayer,
Let our cry come to you.

O Lord our God, accept the fervent prayers of your people; in the multitude of your mercies, look with compassion upon us and all who turn to you for help; for you are gracious, O lover of souls, and to you we give glory, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, now and for ever. Amen.

The following litany was prepared for the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, September 29. It is based on adaptations from several resources but primarily St. Augustine’s Prayer Book.

St. Michael the Archangel (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

God the Father, Creator of the Angels,
Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Lord of the Angels,
Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Spirit, Life of the Angels,
Have mercy on us.
Holy and Blessed Trinity, delight of the Angels,
Have mercy on us.

To you, Almighty God, all angels cry aloud and all the powers of heaven sing,
Glory be to you.
You laid the foundation of the earth, and the morning stars rejoiced,
Glory be to you.
Angels and Archangels stand before you and proclaim the glory of your Name, “Holy, holy, holy,”
Glory be to you.
With the whole company of heaven, we join our voices to worship you,
Glory be to you.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us.
St. Philip, patron of our parish,
Pray for us.

All you angels of God, standing before the eternal light,
Pray for us.
Archangel Michael, who overthrew the devil, the deceiver and accuser,
Pray for us.
Archangel Michael, who restored peace to heaven and defends the people on earth,
Pray for us.
Archangel Gabriel, sent to announce the birth of John the Baptist,
Pray for us.
Archangel Gabriel, greeting the Blessed Virgin Mary,
Pray for us.
O Angel of the Lord, who directed Joseph to defend and protect the Christ child and his mother,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, announcing Jesus’ birth to shepherds,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, ministering to Jesus in the wilderness,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, strengthening Jesus during his prayer in the garden,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, waiting at the tomb to greet the women with good news,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, comforting the disciples at the Ascension,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, who rejoice over the sinner who repents,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, joining our praises with your prefect worship,
Pray for us.
Angels of God, leading home the child of God,
Pray for us.

O Holy Angels,
Watch over us at all times during this perilous life.
O Holy Archangels,
Be our guides on the way to heaven.
O Heavenly Choir of the Principalities,
Govern us in soul and body.
O Mighty Powers,
Preserve us against the wiles of the demons.
O Celestial Virtues,
Give us strength and courage in the battle of life.
O powerful Dominions,
Obtain for us dominion over all temptations.
O Sacred Thrones,
Grant us peace with God and each other.
O Brilliant Cherubim,
Illumine our minds with heavenly knowledge.
O Burning Seraphim,
Enkindle in our hearts the fire of love.

Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy,
Lord, have mercy.

Send your Holy Angels to help and defend us,
To be our hope against all danger in this life and the next.

He shall give his angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.

O God, whose glory the angels ever sing, grant us now a vision of your beauty and inspire in us worship and adoration that will lift both soul and voice to your presence, bringing joy now and preparing us to enter into eternal joys at the last. Amen.

Icon of Christ, the Pantocrator (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

“But who do you say that I am?” (From Proper 16A, Matthew 16:13-20)

Let me tell you some of the answers I’ve heard or read. My personal Lord and Savior. The Son of God. God incarnate. He’s my life, the song I sing, my everything. Buddy, brother, friend, homeboy. Rock, comforter, coach. Teacher. Example. The copilot next to me. The list could go on and on.

At some point or another we’ve probably all been told who Jesus is. Maybe you heard it from priests, teachers, parents, friends, or prayer groups. Maybe you read it in books, Sunday school lessons, or on bumper stickers. Maybe you saw it on Facebook, read it on the internet, or heard it in a song. Some of the answers may have been helpful. Some were not. Some were just plain silly and some may have even been hurtful and destructive. Regardless, the question remains.

By now most of you know me well enough to know that I don’t intend to answer that question for you. I can’t. Each of us must answer it for ourselves. It is not, however, a theology or Bible exam. If anything it is an examination of our own lives.

I don’t think Jesus is asking us to just parrot back the answers we’ve heard or read. Maybe that’s why he pushes the disciples to move from what they are hearing around them – John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets – to what they are hearing within themselves. “But who do you say that I am?”

This is not an easy question. I wonder if we sometimes too readily accept and settle for “Sunday Jesus” answers. You know, the easy, feel good, sentimental ones. The problem is life isn’t always easy, feel good, or sentimental. It’s one thing to say who Jesus is here in Uvalde, Texas, at St. Philip’s, on a Sunday morning, in relative safety and comfort. It’s a very different thing to say who he is outside of that. The question is never merely academic or abstract. It always has a context. Here’s what I mean.

• Who do we say Jesus is following the death of Michael Brown and the increasing racial tensions in our country?
• Who do we say Jesus is in the wake of James Foley’s execution, amidst the ongoing war between Israel and Hamas, and in the continuing persecutions by the (un)Islamic State?
• Who do we say Jesus is as Ebola spreads, as Ukrainian refugees cry out in need, as people in our town go to bed hungry, live amidst domestic violence, or work for a wage that cannot support a family?
• Who do we say Jesus is when a loved one dies, the doctor gives news we did not want to hear, or our life seems to be falling apart?
• Who do we say Jesus is when we are faced with decisions that have no easy answers, when the night is dark and the storms of life overwhelm us, when faithfulness means risking it all and taking a stand against a louder and seemingly more powerful majority?
• Using the context of these few examples what does it mean to say Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior, my example, or my brother and friend? What does it mean to say Jesus is my life, the song I sing, or my teacher?

Here’s my point. Who we say Jesus is has everything to do with who and how we are and will be. In some ways our answer says as much or more about us than Jesus. It reveals how we live and what we stand up for. It guides our decisions, and determines the actions we take and the words we speak. It describes the expectations and demands we place on Jesus. It discloses the depth of our motivation for and commitment to following him, a motivation and commitment that will be challenged by next week’s gospel in which Jesus invites us to take up our cross and die with him.

Jesus’ question isn’t so much about getting the right answer as it is about witnessing and testifying to God’s life, love, and presence in our lives and the world. It is less about our intellect and more about our heart. It is grounded in love more than understanding. It moves us from simply knowing about Jesus to knowing him.

In some sense there is no once and for all, finally and forever, answer. We are always living into the question. Who Jesus was when I was a child is different from who he was when I was in my 30s or who he is for me today. Hopefully, who he is for me next year will be different from who he is today. It’s not that Jesus has changed. I have. We are constantly engaging his question and in so doing we not only discover Jesus anew we discover ourselves anew.

Sometimes we discover a disconnect between the “Sunday Jesus” about whom we sing and talk for an hour, and the life we live the other 167 hours of our week. Our words and actions don’t align. There is no congruity or integrity. I don’t say that as a judgment about anyone but in acknowledgement of just how difficult it can be to recognize and live the truth that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

More than once I have fallen into the gap between my “Sunday Jesus” kind of answers and the circumstances of my life and world. Sometimes my answers were too simple, too small, too easy. They were no match for the complexities of life and the pain of the world. Other time my life has not reflected what I said about who Jesus is. Sometimes I kept quiet when I should have spoken up. Other times I was passive when I should have done something. Whenever I fallen into that gap it has usually been because I was trying to play it safe. That almost never works.

There is nothing safe about the question Jesus poses. How could there be? There is nothing safe about Jesus or the life to which we calls us.

Jesus’ life and presence among us call into question everything about our lives, our world, the status quo, and business as usual. That’s why we ought not answer his question too quickly, too glibly, or with too much certainty. It’s not a question to be figured out as much as it is a question to be lived.

“Do you want to know how I got to be so smart?” That’s the question a friend of mine has recently begun asking me at the end of our conversations. He is not only a friend. He is also, for me, a teacher and mentor.

He and I often speak about life, prayer, theology, and relationships. I always come away from our conversations with new insights and truths about my life. He opens my eyes to things about myself that I either did not or would not see. He offers me a larger vision of my life. Then he laughs and asks, “Do you want to know how I got to be so smart.” I always say, “Yes, tell me,” and he always gives the same answer. It never changes. It’s just one word. It’s always the same word. Suffering. “Michael,” he says, “most everything I’ve learned in life, I have learned through suffering.

That’s not what I want to hear. I don’t like his answer but I have begun to recognize that he is telling me the truth. It’s the same truth Jesus speaks in today’s gospel (Matthew 16:21-28, Proper 17A). Neither my friend nor Jesus are talking about suffering for suffering’s sake. They are speaking about a different kind of suffering. It is the kind of suffering that happens when our home made, self-created, programs for happiness no longer work.

We all have our programs for happiness. These programs for happiness underlie the expectations we have for ourselves and others. They are the illusions that distort our thinking and seeing. They are the delusions that we readily accept and refuse to question. Our programs for happiness are designed to insure our survival and security, to give us esteem and affection, and to put us in power and control.

They’re the means by which we try to protect ourselves and get what we want. Most of our programs for happiness focus on love, reputation, success, accomplishments, predictability, and getting our needs met. They are the programs of “those who want to save their life.”

Our programs for happiness work fine until they don’t, and there will be a day when our programs for happiness fail. On that day we come face-to-face with our own powerlessness. We recognize that we are not and never were in control. We realize that we are unable to save ourselves or anyone else. On that day we suffer. That suffering can, however, open our eyes, hearts, and minds to another way, a new way, a different way.

It’s not hard to discover our programs for happiness. Look for the places of fear in your life. I don’t mean just any fear. I’m talking about the kind of fear you feel in the pit of your stomach, the kind of fear that keeps you awake at night and enveloped in darkness, the kind of fear that stalks you in the daytime. That fear is telling you that one of your programs for happiness is being threatened.

Look for the places anger. What are the things that push your buttons and cause you to react in a way that leaves you wondering where that came from? Are there some people with whom you seem to have the same arguments and the same conflicts over and over again? One of your programs for happiness is being challenged and is at risk.

Do you ever feel as if you are just out of sorts, you’re all wound up, and you’re just not yourself? Somewhere in that one of your programs for happiness isn’t working.

In all of these examples someone is messing with your program for happiness. That’s what Jesus is doing in today’s gospel. He is messing with the Peter’s program for happiness. Jesus messes with all our programs for happiness. He tells us the cross is the way to life. And that makes no sense to most us. It doesn’t fit in our programs for happiness.

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you,” Peter says. We might also add in parenthesis,”Or to me.” Peter is trying to protect his program for happiness. He has his mind set “not on divine things but on human things.” Peter wants Jesus to be a part of his program for happiness rather than becoming a part of Jesus’ program for life. How often do we do that?

In last week’s gospel Peter confessed Jesus to be the “Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Now Peter wants Jesus to conform to Peter’s understanding of what that means. Don’t we sometimes do that? We believe, know, confess, pray, and then we expect Jesus to participate in, support, give success to our programs to happiness. That’s neither who nor how “the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” is.

Peter correctly named who Jesus is but he misunderstood with that name entails. To deny the way of the cross is to ask Jesus to leave us and the world unchanged. It means we are willing to settle for moments of happiness. Christ offers more.

We can never really understand what it means to believe in, confess, or follow Jesus as “the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” until we deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him. The cross is not usually a part of our program for happiness. It sure wasn’t a part of Peter’s program. The cross stands as a sign of contradiction to our programs for happiness.

God does not give us crosses to bear. The burdens, difficulties, losses, and frustrations we encounter every day are not our cross. They are just the circumstances of life. Taking up our cross is not the means by which we are made good, acceptable, or lovable in God’s eyes. They’re not God’s punishment for our sins or his test of our faithfulness. The cross does not justify our sufferings in this world, it transforms them.

To deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Christ means that we are willing to let go of our self-created programs for happiness. It means we are willing to exchange our programs for happiness for abundant life, and to forego “the taste of death.” That’s what my friend has learned and that’s what Jesus is teaching Peter and us.

What are our programs for happiness? What will we do with them today? Tomorrow? The next? Do we want to really live or do we just want to try to be happy?

Let’s get smart.

Authority issues. Have you ever known anyone with authority issues? Authority is the theme running throughout today’s gospel (Matthew 21:23-32, Proper 21A). The chief priests and elders take issue with Jesus’ authority. The two sons challenge their father’s authority. They’re not the only ones with authority issues.

And yes, I’m talking about you. I’m talking about myself. We all have authority issues but I am not talking about authority issues in the way we usually understand them.

In our usual understanding of authority issues the obvious question in today’s gospel is whether we recognize and submit to the authority of Jesus and the Father. That question, however, is so obvious that I have to wonder if it is really not the question at the heart of today’s gospel. It is so obvious that I think there has to be something more going on. To jump on that question as the obvious and only question to be answered only reveals our misunderstanding of what true authority is.

More often than not we are confused about authority. We misunderstand it to be based on credentials and expertise, a thick resume, years of education, successes and accomplishments, status and reputation, or the position held in relationship to another. We assume that authority comes from outside a person and that it is given them by their circumstances. In this understanding some have authority and others do not.

“Who do you think you are?” “What gives you the right to tell me what to do?” Or to use a phrase from my childhood, “You’re not the boss of me!” That represents our usual way of understanding authority issues. We don’t like someone else teaching us, correcting us, or telling us what to do. We hear that in the challenge of the chief priests and elders to Jesus, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” We see it in the refusal of the two sons to go to the vineyard.

There is, however, another authority issue at play in today’s gospel. That issue is our failure and sometimes our refusal to recognize, claim, and exercise the authority within us; to go to the vineyard. That’s the authority issue I believe this gospel is holding before us today.

So let me push you a little bit on this authority issue, okay? If you think God is the boss of you, you’ve misunderstood authority. Let go of that idea. God is not the boss of you. God is not the boss of me.

God is not the boss of us. God is our author. Every day God authorizes us to enter and sends us into his vineyard, to act in this world with his authority and on his behalf through the gifts he has bestowed upon each one of us.

True authority always comes from within. It is an interior God-given quality not an exterior circumstance. That’s what the chief priests and elders failed to understand. I think that’s why Jesus was always so aggravated with the religious leaders. They chose to exchange their God-given authority for human power. Sometimes we do too. That’s what’s happening in much of our world today.

In the absence of true authority there will always be power struggles. Look at the gridlock in our political system. Look at the wars throughout the world. Look at the conflicts in your own relationships. Those are about power, not authority. Our leaders exercise power but very few exercise authority. In the exercise of power we look to our own interests but in the exercise of authority we look to the interests of others.

Think about the people who hold authority for you. They are not concerned about themselves. They do not dominate or control you. They inspire you. They call forth from you faith, hope, and trust. They expand your world, open new possibilities, and bring forth life and gifts in yourself that you never knew were there. They cause you to reevaluate your life, change your mind, and live differently. That sounds an awful lot like Jesus and it’s very different from those who exercise power.

I will always remember and give thanks for the authority of Fr. Kelly. A couple of weeks ago I went to his funeral believing that I was the most important person in his life. When I got there I realized everyone there thought the same thing about themselves. That was not manipulation on Fr. Kelly’s part, it was his authority. His silence, listening, presence, and wisdom were not just his personality traits they were the divine attributes in his life, gifts God had bestowed upon him, that created space and place for me and for others, that invited us to discover our own authority, that showed us the way to the vineyard of our lives.

There are people in this parish who have no leadership position, title, or theological credentials and yet they have such great authority. I see it in their compassion and gentleness. I hear it in the way they pray. I feel it in their love for me and others. They too show me the way to the vineyard of my life. That’s what authorities do. But it’s not about them. It doesn’t come from them.

All authority originates in God, but it is not exclusive to God. God shares his authority with us. The authority God shares with us is nothing less than his own divine attributes. It is the expression and manifestation of God’s life in and through our own.

That shared authority exists in us and is revealed by us as the many and varied charisms, the gifts, God has imparted on each of our lives. That means every one of us has authority. As your priest I do not have more authority than you. I do not have better authority than you. I just have a different authority. God gives each of us gifts and authority unique to our lives. God is generous, extravagant, with the gifts he gives and the authority he shares. We all have God-given gifts and authority.

There is no one without authority. The difference isn’t that some have authority and others don’t. The difference is that some recognize and exercise their authority and others do not. Regardless, God knows and sees the authority he has given us and waits for us to see and know it too. And when we do, we change our mind and go to the vineyard.

So let me push you a little bit more on your authority issues, okay? What is the authority God has given you? What gifts, what divine attributes, has God bestowed upon you? Are you living from that authority and sharing those gifts? Have you gone to the vineyard or are you simply mouthing the answers you think God wants to hear?