SERMONS

Fr. McNab provides his sermons in written form after each Sunday, and we put them up here.  We keep the last few on this page and some older ones in the Archives..   Click this link (archives)  or at the bottom of this page for Sermon Archives.  Feel free to give us your feedback!

From Fr. Bruce's Easter sermon in 2005, 'We are defined by our experience of the Resurrection':

"As I drove back to my parents’ house after church, I was still thinking about that gospel... about how much it resonated with my recent experience.  I was sitting in the car at a red light, just feeling happy and peaceful, when suddenly it happened  —I heard the Voice again.  Only this time it was laughing, like someone suppressing a chuckle as he spoke.  He said, 'Yes. It's true.  My Gospel is true.  And, behold, I am alive forever more!'"

What Will You Do with What You’ve Been Given?

27th Sunday after Pentecost.  Proper 28, Year A. November 16, 2008.  (Text: Matthew 25:14-30)

The week of the big Wall Street melt-down – which now seems like ancient history – I went on line to Fidelity Investments’ website and took a look at the status of our little retirement account, our “nest egg.”  (We’re not talking about millions here.  We’re not even talking about hundreds of thousands.)  It had lost forty percent of its value.  I’ve been too scared to look again.  I don’t want to know how little it’s worth now!  I’m following the experts’ advice and not locking in our losses by selling.  We’re just going to sit tight. 

I know everybody is facing the same situation.  Investments are melting away.  (We shouldn’t feel picked-on.  Even Warren Buffet has lost money in the last couple of months.)  Economic calamities like this one remind us that there’s nothing automatic about investments producing a profit.  Sometimes they do… and spectacularly so.   But sometimes they don’t.  Still experts tell us that, in general, it’s better to invest our money than to bury it in the ground.  —Which brings me to Jesus’ famous parable of the talents.

As a preliminary to whatever else I may say about this well-known story, I want to tell you two things.  The first is this: most parables are told in order to communicate, in a vivid way, one major point.  Just one.  The details of the story are the kind of stuff that makes for a good, memorable yarn that can be told again and again.  So please don’t start wondering if Jesus was talking about the nature of God when he described the greedy landowner who entrusted his property to three slaves and went away on a long journey as a “harsh man” who “reaped where he did not sow.”  The unattractive qualities of this landowner were not meant to be a picture of  God.  Instead, the man would sound to Jesus’ audience like a typical Gentile absentee landlord, of whom there were many in the Galilee of those days.  Parables like this one were meant to be provocative, to get people thinking.

The second thing is this:  we need to think about this parable in the context that Matthew gives it to us.  It’s one of three stories he has strung together like beads which – in essence – tell what will happen when Christ returns in judgment, the event which other Biblical writers call “the Day of the Lord.”  We heard the first one last week – the parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids.  We hear about the talents today.  And we will hear the story of the Great Judgment next Sunday.  Ask yourself:  Why did Matthew string these stories together, one right after another?  It was to get us thinking about the fact that we’re accountable to God for what we do with what we have.   There will be consequences. And, as with everything in life – like investing in the stock market – there’s always the element of risk. 

So keep those two points in mind as I go forward!  Are you with me?

There is a saying of Jesus, found elsewhere, which I think is pertinent here.   Jesus says, “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be expected; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.”   

We’re told that the landowner entrusted great wealth to three of his servants – to each according to his ability.  This parable is literally about money.  A talent was an ancient measure of money – silver or gold.  And even just one talent was a lot: sixteen times the normal annual income of a working man.  The landlord gave the Number One Most Clever Servant five talents; the Number Two, two talents; and the Number Three, a single talent.  All very logical.  (It’s a well-told story.)   Then he went away on a very long journey – probably back to his home country, maybe for several years.  Then he returned to Galilee and asked his three Most Clever Servants to account for what they had each done with what he had entrusted to them. 

I don’t need to re-tell the story.  You already know it well.  Most Clever Servants Number One and Number Two had doubled their master’s investment.  But Number Three had buried it in the ground.

The landlord entrusted money to his Most Clever Servants.  What has God entrusted to us?  Maybe – for some of us – it is money.  God in his wisdom and grace has permitted some of us to acquire a certain amount of surplus capital.  What have we done with that wealth?   Have we done something with it that would please God, or have we spent it mostly on our own pleasures and the satisfaction of our appetites?  Have we invested any of our assets in compassion for the poor?     

The gospel wants us to think in spiritual terms, not just material terms.  “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be expected; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.”   With what else – what “non-material” wealth – has God entrusted you and me? 

God has loved us.  That’s the biggest gift of all!  Paul says, “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  God has loved us with an unconditional love, not based on our worth or merit or achievement.  But he expects us to do something with his love.  He expects us to pass it along.  Have we done so? —How?  He would like us to tell him.

What else has the Lord given us?  The Gospel itself is a treasure.  How have we invested this treasure?  He has also endowed us with the gift of faith.  Do your neighbors ever hear your personal faith story?  And along with these spiritual assets, God has given us each a range of innate abilities and skills, as well as spiritual gifts.  No two people are exactly alike.  Some people are more gifted than others.  But there’s nobody with no gifts at all.  And those who might think of themselves as being like the Number Three Most Clever Servant who only was given one talent have to recognize that in the context of the parable even a single talent was still a great deal.      

The Lord is looking for entrepreneurs of faith.  He has entrusted much to us and he’s expecting a lot from us in return.  Jesus asks:  “What are you going to do with what I’ve given you?  Are you just going to sit on it?  …Bury it in a hole in the ground?”   He says, “I’m looking for risk-takers, adventurers in faith.  Some of you have shown you know how to do that in the business world.  Now show that you can do the same thing in the realm of faith.  What are you afraid of?”  In the parable, the Number Three Most Clever servant was punished for his caution, for his fear of making a mistake.  The landlord probably would have minded less that his servant made a failed investment than that he took no risks at all.  

The parable tells us that ultimately there is going to be a “day of reckoning,” the Day of the Lord.  We’re making a colossal blunder – as big as the mistake of the Number Three Servant – if we imagine that the Lord will never call us to account for what we’ve done with what we have been given. 

So:  What kind of risk in faith are you willing to take this week?  —Maybe we’re back with Peter stepping out of the boat in the teeth of storm, trying to walk on water.  The principle is not too different. There are as many ways to step out in faith as there are people in the church.  But there are some things we all can do: 

• It’s the time of our Annual Stewardship Appeal.  We can commit to pledge as much to the church in 2009 as we did in 2008 – or even more – despite the decline in the stock market, despite the fact that our income is less than it was at this time a year ago.  That would be an act of faith. 
• We can step out of our social comfort zone and strike up a conversation with a stranger.  Maybe we’ll make a new friend.  Then maybe we can share our faith with that new friend and thus give a gift more precious than gold.
• If we’ve been harboring anger or resentment towards another person – maybe for many years – we can forgive them.  If that person is still alive and within contact, we can risk going to speak to them face-to-face or at least calling on the phone and saying, “I forgive you.  Will you forgive me?  Let’s make peace.”
• We can reorganize how we spend our time: take a few hours away from our favorite seasonal recreation and spend it delivering meals on wheels, or volunteering at the hospital, or helping at the homeless shelter, or even reading the Bible.
• We can look around the congregation here on Sunday morning and see if there’s someone we don’t know.  Look around right now, check out who’s here.  Do you see someone you don’t know?  If there is, make a point of finding that person at coffee hour – or at the exchange of the peace – and get acquainted. 
• We can give to others the unconditional love that God in Christ has given us.

The sermon has been pretty shallow.  I have not dug very deeply into all the possibilities that exist for investing the gifts God has given us.  Go out there and put your creativity to work!   But as you do so, never let yourselves forget: “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be expected.”

Be Prepared to Keep Our Light Shining

26th Sunday after Pentecost.  Proper 27, Year A.  November 9, 2008: Pledge Sunday. 

Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”[Matthew 25:1-13]

There’s a story about a chapel speaker at a military prep school for boys.  The chapel speaker was giving a sermon on the parable that’s in today’s gospel – about the wise and foolish bridesmaids.  He concluded with what he thought was a great rhetorical question:  “Now, men, I ask you:  where would you rather be?  Here in the light at the wedding feast, or out there in the dark with a group of foolish girls?”  A cadet in the congregation stood up in his pew, snapped to attention, and answered, “Out in the dark with the foolish girls, sir!”

Compared with weddings in Jewish villages in the time of Jesus, typical American weddings are tedious, formal, and boring.  When a young couple got married in a Galilean village, everybody in town was invited to the party.  No one was left out.  There was music and dancing, feasting and fun, not merely for an evening, but for a whole week. 

The wedding celebration started when the Bridegroom came to the Bride’s house to escort her to his place, where this week-long party would be held.  According to custom the Bridegroom was supposed to surprise the Bride with his arrival, so it was never certain when he’d come.  The Bridesmaids’ job was to be waiting at the Bride’s house – always with lighted lamps in their hands, since he always came after sunset – to greet the Groom and the Groomsmen.  Then they’d walk in front, leading the whole crowd back to the Groom’s house.

The wedding procession, with the Bridesmaids leading, wound through the town taking as long a route as possible, so everybody could come out and join the parade to the party.  When they arrived, everybody went in, the door was closed, and the party started.

So:  how do we apply the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids to ourselves?  Is there a message in it for us, especially on this Sunday when we make pledges for the support of our church in the coming year?

Remember:  Five of the Bridesmaids not only arrived at the Bride’s house with their little oil lamps, but they also brought extra oil.  Those were the “wise” Bridesmaids.  They knew that the Bridegroom wanted to surprise his Bride, which meant that he might wait to arrive until very late.  Since the Bridesmaids were supposed to wait with lighted lamps, they’d probably need to re-fill those lamps before the Bridegroom came.  The other five Bridesmaids – the foolish ones – just brought their lamps and hoped the Groom would be early.

Five were prepared.  Five were not.  All ten fell asleep, but sleeping was not a problem.  The problem was that the Bridesmaids were supposed to be bearers of light for the whole community.  They were supposed to guide everyone to the party, through the dark lanes of the town.  But only half of them could do that job when they woke up.  Half were prepared; half were not.

Jesus said, “Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”   The story of the wise and foolish Bridesmaids is a lesson about not taking God for granted.  Yes, we’re precious to him.  Yes, we’re invited to the marriage feast – to the joy of God’s kingdom.  But we have a special role – to be bearers of a light that draws the attention of everybody around us and guides them through the darkness to the joy of life with God, a celebration to which everyone is invited.  —It’s up to us to be prepared for our job.

Every year when Pledge Sunday rolls around, you’re encouraged to make a commitment to the church – a commitment of your money, your discretionary time, and your skills.  We’ve been talking about this for more than a month, and I hope that you’re all like the Wise Bridesmaids.  I hope you came this morning prepared to make your commitment.

When you think about Christ Episcopal Church, I hope you don’t think about the church as “them”.  The church is not the priest and the vestry.  We’re all in this together; we’re all the church.  And we’re a company of “Bridesmaids.”  We’re supposed to bear a light that will guide our friends and neighbors to the joy of a relationship with God.

Doing our job calls for commitment, and it calls for prudence, preparation, and foresight.  The economic outlook right now is dim.  The Vestry and I look at the coming year and ask, “If the economy is bad, will giving to our church go down?”  We need to be prepared.  So we’re doing our part, and the budget for 2009 will be lean.  No salary increases, no extra expenditures except for things that are beyond our control, like insurance premiums and electric bills.

But prudence, preparation and foresight requires us – a community of thrifty “Bridesmaids” – to recognize that even in lean times we still have work to do for the Lord.  We have a light to shine on the path ahead, for the benefit of our friends and neighbors, for the whole community of which we’re a part.  We need to have “oil for our lamps” – and that doesn’t just mean money to meet the budget, it also means volunteers willing to serve in different ministries.  It means people willing to offer time, energy, prayers, skills, and ideas.  It means being prepared to keep the lamp that is Christ Church burning bright in its witness to the world.

The final hymn this morning is one of my favorites.  (It’s printed out on page 19 of the service booklet, if you want to look at it.)  It’s composed as a series of invitations from God, inviting us to share in his work.  God asks, “Whom shall I send?”  Let’s just look at the first verse:

I, the Lord of sea and sky,
I have heard my people cry.
All who dwell in dark and sin,
My hand will save.

 

I, who made the stars of night,
I will make their darkness bright.
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?

And faithful souls answer:

 

Here I am, Lord.  Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

This is the day for us to respond and say, “Here I am, Lord,”  …the day for us to embrace the challenges of the year ahead, confident that God – who has called us to let our light shine in the world – will provide all we need to keep that light strong.   

.  .  .  .

Now Andrew is going to play some music, and we’re going to take some time for you to open your packets, read the material, and fill out your pledge cards.  But before doing that, please bow your heads and pray with me...

Here we are, Lord.  Here we are.  We have heard your call, and we will go wherever you lead us.  Accept the commitments we make today.  Let our light shine before others so that they might see our work and give glory to you.  May your Spirit be our guide.  We trust you to supply oil for our lamps and give us the grace to manage it well.  We ask these things confident in your love.  Amen. 

It Takes Courage to be Holy People

All Saints Sunday: the 25th Sun. after Pentecost.  Year A.  November 2, 2008.  (Text: Matthew 5:1-12)

Do you remember what it was like being in junior high?  I do.  Junior high, perhaps more than any other time in our life, is when we most want to “blend into the crowd.”  No kid in the eighth grade wants to stand out.  We want to look like everybody else, dress like everybody else, and talk like everybody else.  We do not want to be noticed under any circumstances by anybody -- except maybe that cute girl in the third row.   I remember asking my son, when he was in junior high, if there was something he wanted to be the best at, be “number one.”  He gave me a perfectly age-appropriate reply; he said, “Poppy, I just want to be ‘regular.’” 

I don’t think I’m just speaking about boys, here.  I also have three daughters, and when they were in junior high each one wanted to blend in, too.  Somebody should teach parents that early adolescent children all need camouflage.

My problem as a seventh and eighth grader was that I was taller and heavier than all the other boys in my grade.  No camouflage is effective if you’re six-foot-two and weigh 180 at age 13.  And if you also have a buzz haircut, heavy black-rimmed glasses, and braces on your teeth there’s really nothing that’s going to help you blend into the crowd!  

On this Sunday after All Saints Day we recognize and give thanks to God for the people, down through the centuries, whom the Church remembers because they stood out from the crowd – not because they were very tall or very short, or had pink hair, or wore strange clothes, or never missed a free throw – but because their lives shone with the holiness of God. 

The word “saint” means “holy.”  And to be holy means to belong to God, to be identified with God in the most profound sense possible.  Most of the saints were modest people, men and women who were not trying to attract attention, but because they cared more about God than anything else, their lives ultimately drew the notice of those around them.  We take this day to honor all the holy people of God, because we know that there are some who have escaped recognition except by a few of their neighbors.  You’ve known such saints, and so have I – ordinary people who were as transparent to the love and glory of God as a clean window is, letting in the morning sun on a cloudless day.  If all of us were that faithful to Christ’s claim on our lives, that transparent to the love of God, we’d constitute a whole community of saints.

It was Jesus’ intent that his disciples would be a holy people.  One of the most beautiful passages in the New Testament comes from the First Letter of Peter, where the apostle is encouraging the young church by telling them, “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people.”

It takes a particular kind of courage to be recognized as belonging to God.  Most of us don’t have that courage.  Not in 2008.  The truth is that most Christians these days want to blend in as much as possible with the non-religious, and the very last thing we want is for anybody to regard us as “different.”  We certainly do not wish to be thought of as “holy.”  

I know how that feels.  It’s wonderful to live here in Aspen where I no longer am expected to stand out from the crowd by wearing a dark suit, black shirt, and clerical collar every day.   Aspen is a more laid back, casual place than a big city like Denver.  So I can stroll the sidewalks here in jeans and a sweater – and people who don’t already know me have no idea that I’m a priest.  Of course, one nice thing about wearing my clericals on the street, when I do that here, is that I can smile at the people I pass and they always smile back.  If I smile at strangers when I’m in civvies, they mostly either look away, probably thinking I’m some kind of weirdo, or their expressions don’t change, because they figure I’ve mistaken them for a friend.  (But isn't that the kind of mistake we want people to make?)

We heard Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount this morning.  I see this Sermon as Jesus’ call to his disciples to be holy.  The Beatitudes are a definition of what it means to be holy, to be “a saint.”   It takes courage to be holy people, because holy people are always going to stand out from the crowd, not because of how they dress, but because of how they act. 

Matthew tells us that before Jesus began to speak he went up on the hillside and sat down – the customary posture for a teacher in that culture.  Then his disciples came to him, and he began to teach them.   Notice that what Jesus said in the Sermon – and in the Beatitudes with which the Sermon began – was a message, not for the mixed multitude, but for his disciples —not for the crowd, but for the committed.  And that’s who it’s still for.   

I want to say something about just three of the Beatitudes, since there’s no time to comment on all of them.  But these three are unmistakable invitations to holiness.

According to the most familiar translation, Jesus started out by saying, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  The Greek word that we habitually translate “blessed” is a word that mostly means “happy” or “fortunate,” and “poor” means literally to be “a beggar”.   We could easily and accurately re-translate Jesus’ words this way: “How wonderful for those who are beggars in spirit,” or “How lucky for those who inwardly are beggars, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  Jesus expected his disciples to be poor in spirit —“beggars at heart.”

Is that what we want for ourselves —to be “beggars at heart”?  Even a wealthy person can be inwardly a beggar.  One who is inwardly a beggar knows that no matter how much money he has, or how much property, he’s only a pauper in terms of what has eternal value.  He’s utterly dependent on God.   When they recognize their true poverty, their true need, the gates of heaven swing open for those who are beggars at heart.  They’re at Step One on the path to holy living.

Further along, Jesus says, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”  I re-translate it this way – using different words, but no less accurate:  “Happy are those who have compassion for the needs of others, for they shall find their own needs met.”   The saints we’ve all known have inevitably been people who cared more about our needs than about their own needs.  Isn’t that so?  Such people stand out from the crowd, because those of us in the crowd are usually careful to make sure that we’ve provided for ourselves; then, if there’s anything left over, we might share it with others.  Saints, who recognize that they are beggars anyway – in terms of the things that really matter – are more than glad to share not just their surplus, but their substance.

The last beatitude I want to comment on is this one: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”   My own translation goes like this: “How wonderful for those whose thoughts are clean, for they shall see God.”  For the people to whom Jesus spoke, the heart was the organ of reflection and meditation rather than the organ of affection.  That’s why Jesus says later in the Sermon on the Mount, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”  Thus, the “pure in heart” are saints whose thinking is clean —whose processes of observation and reflection are not distorted by worldliness, but who can see God’s presence in anyone.  The “pure in heart” are those who will say to the King of Kings on the day of judgment, “Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and ga  ve you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’  And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my sisters or brothers, you did it to me.’”  The saints are pure in heart.  Their ways of thinking have been re-shaped by the love of God and are no longer in bondage to the conventional wisdom and prevailing assumptions of the world.

When we were kids in junior high, we wanted to blend in.  We wanted to be part of the crowd.  It was scary to be different.  But now we’re called to be saints, followers of Christ who have grown to maturity and have given up the childish need to hide in the crowd.  It takes courage to be holy people, to stand out from the crowd, but the reward is great.  So, I have a proposition for you today: let’s be saints!

Loving our other selves

24th Sunday after Pentecost.  Proper 25, Year A.  October 26, 2008 (8 a.m. version)

Americans like to get to the heart of things, don’t we?  I think it’s our cultural style.  We have little tolerance for the esoteric.  I understand that the French, back in the sixties, anyway – I’m not sure they still do it today – would sit in sidewalk cafés and talk about existential philosophy for hours, drinking those little cups of bitter coffee and pondering the subtleties of Camus and Sartre.   We’re not like them.  Never have been.  Americans want to grab a quick Starbucks and drink it in silence while we skim thirty-four emails on our Blackberries.   If we have to talk to you, we’d like you to skip the preliminaries and get right to the point.  We’re busy multitasking, thinking about lots of things at once, so we prefer the “executive summary” or the Cliff’s Notes approach to everything – whether at work, or in a classroom, or in church.  “Spare us the details,” we say; “Get to the point.”  (That probably what you’re thinking right now!)

Some rabbis in the time of Jesus took a similar approach to discussing the Torah.  They would ask one another, “What do you think is the heart of the Law?  What is the greatest of all the commandments?”  They asked this of Jesus, too, as we see in the gospel for today.  But, like the French and unlike us Americans, the rabbis also wanted to talk about all the processes of reflection and reasoning that led to an answer to this question.  Like French intellectuals discussing philosophy in the sidewalk cafés of Paris in 1961, the Pharisees of Jerusalem in the year 29 loved a good argument about the Torah.  They thought debates like that were the greatest joy possible in life and unending debate about the Torah would be the highest joy of heaven.  Despite what Matthew implies in his description of the encounter, I doubt that the Pharisee who asked Jesus this question was necessarily trying to trip him up.  I think the Pharisees were just testing whether Jesus was intellectually capable of joining their ongoing discussion.  —And he passed the test! 

There were 613 laws in the Torah, and – of course – they were all God’s laws.  They were all meant to be obeyed, but obviously some were more important than others.  As it was then, so it is now.  For example, good citizens today would agree that – all things considered – it’s best to obey traffic lights, cross downtown streets only in marked crosswalks, keep our dogs leashed on public trails, and not throw our Big Mac boxes out on the roadside.  But without exception we are always to refrain from murder, rape, and armed robbery.  To say there’s no essential difference between avoiding littering and avoiding murder is nonsense.  But comparing one law with another helps us understand what we really mean when we speak of  “Law.” And that’s what Jesus does in today’s gospel.

There are laws that subsume all the rest.  In his reply to the question, Jesus named a commandment that the rabbi who asked it had probably anticipated, but then added a second that might have surprised the questioner.  The first was part of the “Creed” of Israel – recited by devout Jews when they got up in the morning and when they went to bed at night: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.  And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with your might.”  (I talked about this at some length in my stewardship appeal kickoff sermon last Sunday.)

Jesus said, “This is the first and greatest commandment, and the second is like it. ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’  On these two commandments depend all the law and the prophets.” 

The rabbis had to have been impressed by Jesus’ answer.  But like all such simple and profound statements, we can spend a lifetime trying to understand them, much less obey them.   I’d like a show of hands of those who can honestly say that you at all times and under all circumstances “love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength.”  —I see no hands.  Well how about the second commandment?  How many of you always truly “love your neighbor as yourself”?  —Again I see no hands.

The two great commandments are easy for us to quote, but difficult for us to obey.  Still, they give spiritual and moral direction to our lives.  We believe they’re right and true, and we hold obedience to them as goals to strive for – with God’s help – even as we admit our failure to live by them as we should…just yet.

To love God and to love our fellow human beings are two sides of one coin.  It says in the First Letter of John (4:20-21):  “Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters are liars. For those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen.  The commandment we have from him is this:  Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

This “neighborly love” is not necessarily an emotion, at least not at first.  It’s also not something that “comes naturally.”  Instead it’s a choice, a function of commitment.  I’ve thought a lot about this, and it seems to me that we can understand such love better if we substitute the expression care about for the single word “love.”  What the Second Great Commandment is really getting at is the question of caring.  How much do we truly care about other people, our “neighbors”?  Does their well-being matter to us?  Or is all our energy absorbed by taking care of ourselves and our children? 

I recently read this: “We love someone when the importance of his or her needs and desires rises to the level of our own.”  When we care about our neighbor to the extent that our neighbor’s physical, mental, and spiritual well-being is as important to us as our own, then we can we be said truly to “love our neighbor.”  When we begin to care that much about other people, the wonderful thing is that it’s easy also to begin loving them in the affectionate sense too.

Most of you know that for the last three-plus weeks, Joan has been dealing with recovering from a fall that fractured her pelvis.  I join her in expressing thanks from both of us for the generous caring and love that has been showered upon us during this time by so many of you.

The day after her accident, I told her something that was amazing to me…and I guess it seemed pretty far-fetched to her at first.  I told her that in a strange way, her accident was an answer to my prayers.  Obviously, I had not been praying for Joan to have an accident!  But the day before she fell, as I was offering my morning prayers, I had asked the Lord, “Help me to find new ways to show Joan how much I love her.”  I even wrote that in my prayer journal.

At the time, we were preparing to leave town for a week’s vacation, and when I prayed that way I was thinking about fun things, romantic or unexpected things, I might do on vacation to show my bride my love. But the very next morning she fell and broke her pelvis, and ever since I have had the opportunity to show my love for her by taking care of her in a variety of very practical ways – taking care of her in exactly the same ways I have to take care of myself.  (I’m still reflecting on what this teaches me about how God answers our prayers.)

Joan is my wife, my “other half.”   We were made one flesh in holy matrimony.   —But what if we were truly able, as the gospel tells, to care for not only our spouses, but for our neighbors in the same practical way that we care for ourselves?  Can I treat my neighbor as my “other self”?  Can I love a neighbor, care for a neighbor, especially one who has done nothing obvious to deserve my concern?

If you’re cold and want to be warmer, do you allow yourself to put on a coat or turn up the furnace only if you’ve earned that warmth by scrubbing the kitchen floor or changing the oil in the car?   If you’re hungry and need a meal, do you permit yourself to eat only if you have “qualified” for that food by first having done something virtuous that entitles you to a reward?  No!  Unless you’re emotionally ill, you take care of your normal, personal needs in healthy, self-nurturing ways –unconditionally. 

By the same token, if your wife – like Joan – needs you to push her wheelchair or bring her breakfast, do you say to yourself, “Well, I guess she’s earned it.  After all, she has done my laundry all these years, and she makes great apple pies”?  —Of course not!  You do it spontaneously because it’s the right thing to do.  It’s normal, nurturing, caring love. 

So, then, what about our neighbors?  To love our neighbors as ourselves is to meet their needs in the same unconditional way we meet our own needs and the needs of our families, because our neighbors also are our “other selves,” with needs, wants, hurts, and longings just like our own.

The motto of Christ Episcopal Church, printed on every official document that comes out of our office is, “Christ Church —Sharing His Love.”  We’re here to care for our neighbors the way Christ has cared for us. 

What “neighbors” can you love today?   

Give God What Belongs to God

23rd Sunday after Pentecost.  Proper 24, Year A.  October 18, 2008.  Stewardship Appeal Kickoff Sunday. (Text: Matt. 22:15-22)

In the gospels, we find a number of situations where Jesus’ religious opponents publicly engage him in debate.  They stage public disputes with him over such things as the relationship between the Messiah and King David, or the greatest commandment in the law, or whether there would be marriage in heaven.  Now, these debates weren’t like the ones we’ve seen on TV during the presidential campaign, with a moderator, a polite audience, and a host of talking heads ready to “spin” the outcome one way or another.  These were shrewd attempts to trap Jesus in a hot-box situation where, no matter what he said, he’d get in trouble with somebody.  (Well, maybe presidential debates try to do that too!) 

Taxes have been a big issue ever since politics began…which was a long time ago.  Nobody has ever liked taxes.  In today’s gospel debate between Jesus and his enemies, two totally different groups confront him on the question of paying taxes to Rome. The Herodians were Roman sympathizers.  They were lax about keeping the Law and managed – like King Herod, their patron – to benefit personally from Roman rule.  (In fact, the despised and socially ostracized tax collectors were almost always Herodians.)  The Pharisees, by contrast, were the strictest of all Jewish sects —a minority group, but widely respected and very influential.  They hated Rome and yearned to return to the good old days when the Law of Moses, not Caesar, determined everything. 

Agents of the two groups come to Jesus and first they try to flatter him by saying “Master, we know what a wise and impartial man you are, always teaching God’s way with truth and sincerity and never pandering to anybody.”  Then they set the trap: “So, please solve a problem we have.  Is it legal to pay taxes to Caesar or is it not?” 

Very tricky.  This was a question about the Law of Moses.  Did the Torah permit a Jew to pay a tax to Caesar, an idolatrous occupier of the land?  If Jesus answered by saying “Yes,” he’d be in trouble with the Jewish people who hated the Romans and resented the tax.  If he answered “No,” he’d be in trouble with the Romans —who didn't care what anybody thought about the resurrection or the Sabbath or whether the Messiah was the son of David, but who’d promptly arrest a rabbi who even seemed to advocate rebellion.  From the standpoint of the sly guys who set this up, there was no way Jesus could win.  No matter what he said, they figured he was trapped.     

But, no.  Jesus knew what they were up to, and so he asked them to show him the coin used to pay the tax.  Somebody (probably one of the Herodians, who had many coins in their purses) handed him a Roman silver denarius.  He asked them, “Whose head is on here, and whose title?”  They all said, “Caesar’s.”   Then he flipped the coin back to its owner and answered, “So give Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and give God the things that are God’s.”   This flummoxed both groups, and they went away scratching their heads, amazed at how he’d managed to get out of that one.  (—Isn’t Jesus cool?  He is so cool!)

Today is the kickoff Sunday of our Annual Stewardship Appeal in Christ Church.  You all should have received a letter from me about it this week.  I hope nobody thinks of this as the religious equivalent of the month leading up to Income Tax Day, April 15.   This is not “tax season at church”!  And before I’m done, I hope to have made that clear.   

Jesus said, “Give Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and give God the things that are God’s.”  That’s a profound saying, but none of the hostile people who confronted Jesus on that sunny day in old Jerusalem imagined that every coin in his purse belonged to Caesar, even if Caesar’s profile and inscription were on them.  Our currency is produced by the U.S. government and every bill has a picture of a former President on it, but nobody thinks for a minute that all our money belongs to the government.  Not even the government thinks that.  (At least not officially.)

“Give Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and give God the things that are God’s.”  What does this really mean for us? 

Jesus named “the First and Great Commandment,” and we can all say it: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.”  It doesn’t say, “and with all your money,” but who’d argue that your money is thereby excluded?  When we present our offering plates at the altar, Sunday by Sunday, don’t we often say:  “All things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee”?

“everything belongs to God.”  This is in the Bible, and it’s a basic Christian principle.  I’ve never heard any church member dispute it.  But, in practice, most of us act as if “what belongs to God” is one hour of our time a week and a fairly small percentage of our income. 

This is a stewardship sermon, and the usual rule for such sermons is that the minister talks to the congregation about how much they should pledge.  Tithing – which literally means giving ten percent – is the most frequently proposed goal.  Lots of pastors encourage congregations to work toward a tithe, and I did that myself for years.  I told folks, “Pick a starting point, like two or three per cent of your income (either net or gross, your choice), pledge that this year, then add one per cent every year ‘til you get to ten percent.”  Not a bad plan.  I also pointed out that my family tithed on our income – saying to people, in effect, “If we can do it, so can you,” as if that should inspire them —which it didn’t.  I don’t do that anymore, not because it isn’t a reasonable suggestion, or because it isn’t Biblical and traditional (which it is), but because I think it actually misses the main point. 

The main point is this:  If everything belongs to God, and we ourselves are God’s children and citizens of his Kingdom, the real issue of giving is not “How much should I pledge?” but “How much may I withhold for myself?” 

Jesus’ enemies asked him, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”  The thing about paying taxes is that citizens don’t have a choice.  Oh, sure, candidates for public office campaign on promises to lower taxes for everybody, or for 95% of everybody, etc., etc., etc.  But in the end the government is going to demand that you and I pay whatever taxes have been decided on by our elected representatives.  Taxes are not going to disappear.  And paying taxes will never become optional; paying taxes will never just be a “suggestion” from the government.  The President of the United States and the Governor of Colorado will never go on TV to preach an annual stewardship sermon like this one, pleading with us to pay some taxes.  We will either pay them as required by law, or the government will dip into our bank accounts and take what we owe – with interest.

The First Great Commandment is that we “love the Lord our God, with all our heart, all our soul, all our mind, and all our strength.”  This is what belongs to God; this is what God is entitled to from us.  Such love can be commanded, but the commandment can only be freely and willingly obeyed.  It can’t be “enforced,” the way taxes can.  God doesn’t send “love collectors” around to “seize” our devotion!  It’s always our gift, our choice, our un-coerced response.  We can give God what belongs to God, or we can withhold it.

Earlier this year, months before the great Wall Street melt-down, Princeton economist Paul Krugman (who just won the Nobel Prize) noted that the economy was suffering from “a crisis of faith.”  He meant there was a growing lack of trust in our financial institutions and the securities that backed a lot of our debt.  The current economic crisis is, at least in part, about a failure of faith in Wall Street.

If we truly have faith in God…  if we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, who came into our world to save us all… we will gratefully and gladly choose to give him back our trust, our love, and our devotion —our selves and our resources.  The only churches that have economic crises are churches that suffer from a failure of faith.  What you and I commit to the Lord’s work in terms of our time, our personal skills and gifts, and our financial resources, is a sign of our faith in God.  It’s not a tax.  It’s a loving gift to the One who has given everything to us.  And, as the Bible tells us, “the Lord loves a cheerful giver.”    

For sermons from past weeks, Click Here for Sermon Archive pages.

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