Good morning! Perhaps you can guess at this, but there is a certain amount of pressure when a new to a local parish priest steps up into the pulpit for the first time, clears her or his voice, and starts. There are no mulligans, no start overs, no mea culpas. It does help to prepare, of course but as they say, “one only gets one opportunity for a first impression.” So when I prayed about this, I kept hearing God say “just be yourself.” Considering the fact that being myself is perhaps my greatest gift, it sounded like good advice.
I am not going to bore you with a long, probably embellished autobiography, but I did want to point out something about my past. Thirty years and 2 ½ months ago, in a parish far, far away, I began my life as an ordained deacon and six months later, I was ordained a priest in that place. In either a weird coincidence, or what I like to call a God-incidence, that parish in Kenilworth Illinois was called, wait for it, the “Church of the Holy Comforter.” And now, three decades later, I do what I did then, trust in God, be myself and begin my ministry in a place called the “Church of the Holy Comforter.”
Holy Comforter to Holy Comforter. My life and ministry have been more than the two Holy Comforters, but I appreciate the symmetry. I come to you, God’s people in this place as your interim rector. That sounds rather ominous but it’s not. I have been called to walk with you, encourage you, challenge you, and help you prepare for the next chapter of the life of this place. I do so as a priest who has served only four parishes in those thirty years but has seen God do much over the years and through the miles stretching from Illinois to Kansas to Texas back to Kansas and now back to Texas. I want to thank your tremendous Vestry, staff and the Diocese of Texas for mutually discerning that our life together should begin and today our journey starts. We have much to do together but let me calm any anxiety that might exist. I am thrilled to begin our mutual ministry and know that God will do great things in our midst. Our jobs are to listen and, with grateful hearts, minister together to young and old, poor and rich, the friendless and the friendly, the lost and the found, the ill and the healthy, the big and the small, all sorts and conditions of people.
But today is not just about my life and ministry. It is about yours as well. I am aware that for some of you, you have seen much. The calling of a young rector ten years ago. The dreaming of a new church building and the heroic efforts to raise money to build it. There are stories told and untold; and then there was (and still is) the threats, fears and challenges of COVID. Even the word “zoom” appeared out of nowhere. And then Fr. Jimmy was called to another place and yet, here you are. Then, on top of all of that, here comes a priest from Katy TX, most recently transplanted back to the place where he grew up, Kansas. But now here I am standing before you. You see, you have been through much. I know it is almost a cliche to say that the only thing that is constant in life is change. But change brings its own challenges, and I am acutely aware that change is fine but like many I am tempted to say, “change is great. You go first.”
Did you listen to the collect we prayed to start the liturgy this morning? Let me repeat it in case you’ve forgotten: “Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure;” That helps me. We are asking God to help us to not be anxious because we are placed among things that are passing away. And how do we do that? We hold fast to those things that shall endure. That is the key. Things do change but not everything does. There are things eternal that never change. And through all the changes we hold fast to this truth: the church will never pass away. It is eternal. It is strong. It is unwavering.
The prophet Jeremiah (no relation to me by the way) wrote his entire book of Jeremiah during exile, both the period leading up to it and immediately afterward. It appeared during an important time pivotal in Israel’s history. Talk about change and the uneasiness of this time to the people to whom he wrote: there was an invasion of the Babylonians), the ransacking of the temple, the destruction of the city of Jerusalem, and the exile of many of its (elite) inhabitants, that left the people not only worried for their own survival, but also questioning their relationship with God—God’s providence and the status of God’s covenant with them. These times made COVID seem like a walk in the park. So what did Jeremiah write that would cause people to remember that there are some things that do not pass away; that despite all the evidence to the contrary, there was hope?
Much of Jeremiah is written in the form of a lament. On the surface we might think, of course they were lamenting. Look at all that was changing, all that was threatened, including their way of life, their way of worship. Lament seems to be their only possible response. Often, we see lament as a simple complaint… sort of a “why me God?” But it is much more than that and much more hopeful.
For Jeremiah, his lament focuses not just on the troubling changes he and Israel faced but most importantly on the promises of the covenant Israel had with God. It was that promise that kept hope alive. He knew God would not abandon him, nor Israel.
There is much to learn from him. For me, I love Jeremiah’s honesty. Because I learned a long time ago that nothing that is denied can be healed. But unless we skip over him, and many do since a cursory reading seems be too depressing, we can overlook the fact that God laments as well. God is not immune, nor removed from our struggles, our sense of loss.
From time to time I need to be reminded of this because I live among things that are passing away and anxiety just seems to be an automatic response. But God is present and God’s love never leaves us.
Oh, and by the way, you needed to be reminded of this as well because you too have a story; you as individuals and you as part of this church. In fact, if I were a betting man, I would bet that my presence in and of itself this morning, caused a bit of anxiety. It’s good to be honest about that but don’t lose focus that God is in charge at Holy Comforter, not me, not you, not the vestry, not the staff, and not even the Bishop! God is the head of the church and God will never abandon this place! But Jeremiah reminds us, it’s ok to be honest with your feelings (indeed it is crucial that we’re honest). It is through our honesty that we find hope. Because God cannot respond to false version of ourselves, our hearts, because our false selves don’t exist.
And that is the essence of the good news. Have you ever noticed that Jesus did not just offer people affirming words of hope, but he actually changed them! This is because he saw through the mirage we create of ourselves into our true hearts. And then, he changed them. And when we come to him, as the old hymn boldly proclaims: “Just as I am” then he moves and we leave such an encounter with hope and love and a future. Despite the fact that we live among things that are passing away. This is why Thomas Merton could say “Make ready for the Christ, whose smile like lightning, sets free the song of everlasting glory and that now sleeps- in our paper flesh.”
William Stafford helps me here. In his poem “The Way It Is” he wrote:
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
Things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold I you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
I read a reflection on Stafford’s poem that the Franciscan Priest Richard Rohr wrote. Rohr reminds us that in his poem, Stafford “did not tell [us] to not let go of the thread, but rather that ‘you don’t ever let go of the thread.’ And the reason is simple, we cannot because that thread has us. It has me, it has you, it has this place. Perhaps Stafford meant that the thread is God’s love. And love overcomes all and lasts for all eternity. Fear and anxiety and worry and doubt and all of those things that tend to fill our heart when we notice that we are living among things that are passing away get smaller and smaller and are finally replaced with hope, joy and a confidence in our amazing God.
But we need reminding. I don’t know about you, but I give God thanks that the disciples were clueless. Today’s Gospel is a classic example of how they just didn’t get it. By the way, this is one of the many reasons I believe that no one jumped in and changed the Gospel stories because if there was an editor at work, surely he or she would have edited out these moments when Jesus taught and the disciples either said the wrong thing or walked away with a confused and befuddled look. Jesus was teaching his disciples some hard but basic salvation history and Mark tells us that afterward they “did not understand what he was saying and (on top of this) were afraid to ask him (what in the world he was talking about).
Then the scene changes. We don’t have the complete dialogue recorded for us but evidently there was an argument. Don’t you love that? These guys were the hand-picked leaders of this emerging movement that would one day become the church and they were fighting among themselves. That’s bad enough but what were they fighting about? Even Jesus seemed to be surprised because he asked them what all the commotion was about. I’ll let Mark tell you again:
“But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another (about) who was the greatest.” You can’t make this stuff up. If I had been one of the disciples, I think I would have said, “he guys, when we publish this book about all these things with Jesus, could we just leave this part out?” But thankfully they didn’t and we find we have ourselves some colleagues who, like us, don’t always get it right.
Then Jesus did what he always seems to do. Before we get there, I want you to notice what he didn’t do. He didn’t sit them down and say to them “you guys don’t get, you’ll never get it and what I am doing is to continue on with all of you knuckleheads. You’re fired. No. He also didn’t berate them for their lack of faith, or confidence in him or anything even close to that. Instead, he sat down and beckoned to them to come sit close and listen to him. He then took this disastrous moment and transformed it into an opportunity to teach something so deep that now, some two thousand odd years later, we still often don’t get it.
The disciples were suffering from having learned lessons that the world teaches about power, authority, who’s on the top, who’s on the bottom, and how to respond to living in the middle of the anxiety that seems to quickly come to all of us living among things that are passing away. He took what they thought they knew and turned it all upside down (but in the Kingdom that is coming- right side up).
Our temptation is to take this story and see it through twenty-first century eyes. You see for us, when Jesus took child and used her as an object lesson to teach us we are to live our lives, we tend to think we are called to welcome the cute, the sweet little innocents of our world and by doing so, we welcome Jesus himself. But in the first century this isn’t how children were seen. Instead they were seen like adults, only without value, sophistication or “standing” of any kind. And Jesus set the whole mission of the church in front of him by saying in a sense “what the world rejects, you will not. What the world sees as worthless, you are to see as having great value.” So without belaboring the point let me ask, who are those people in our world? And what are we going to do to welcome them in our midst? I know that I probably shouldn’t go from preaching to meddling in my first sermon, but if we have anxiety, fear, worry who do you think we should seek to replace that with love, hope and peace? If you’re thinking Jesus, you’re tracking with me. And where do we find Jesus? In the very same place that Jesus told his disciples: among those the world suggests have no value, who are rejected.
As it turns out, I do not feel pressure this morning because, just as I suspected Jesus showed up. He called me here, indeed he called you here too, and our task, together, is to make God known to a world full of young and old, poor and rich, the friendless and the friendly, the lost and the found, the ill and the healthy, the big and the small, indeed, to all sorts and conditions of people. We will do this because we know that God is not hiding and wants us to be honest with all our feelings; and God wants to help all of us who are placed among things that are passing away that which shall prevail: God’s love.
In Jesus name.