“But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you.” In the name of God, the holy and undivided Trinity. Amen.

“Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord in the presence of all the assembly of Israel, and spread out his hands to heaven.” This summer, in our Old Testament readings, we have been following the story of David as it winds its way through the books of Samuel and Kings. We have heard about God’s rejection of Saul as king, David’s anointing and rise to power, his establishment first as king of Judah and then as king of both Judah and Israel, his somewhat checkered career as a ruler and his illicit liaison with Bathsheba, the succession of his son Solomon to the throne, and finally the building of the temple by Solomon.

Today, we reach the culmination of this long, complicated narrative with the dedication of the temple and the prayer of Solomon before the altar of God. This moment is truly the high point of the whole story. The land is at peace, David’s line has been established, a temple has finally been constructed in Jerusalem, and now, at last, the glory of God fills the temple as it once filled the tent that the Israelites carried through the wilderness.

This past week, Alan and I had a little debate about one of the phrases in this reading. Verse 11 says, “the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.” When I read this, I thought it meant that the priests couldn’t stand being in the temple, as in, they could not endure it. Alan, on the other hand, has always thought it meant that the priests physically could not stand upright, but had to minister on their knees because of the thickness of the cloud.

Since neither of us is a Hebrew scholar, the debate hasn’t quite been settled yet, but whichever way is technically the right one, I think the same point is made: to experience the glory of God’s presence is an awesome and overwhelming thing. It can bring everything else in our lives to a standstill. It can even bring us to our knees.

This was the experience that Solomon and the priests had there in the temple. And yet they recognized that even this was just a small glimpse of the fullness of God’s being. As Solomon says in his prayer, “Will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!”

About a month ago, I went to see the Galileo exhibit at the Franklin Institute. One of the big attractions is a telescope that was made and used by Galileo himself—one of only two such telescopes still existing today. I was really surprised by how excited I got about the telescope. It was in a case all by itself, and it was positioned in such a way that I could actually get down low and look through it. It was incredible to think that I was looking through one of the very telescopes that Galileo used to make his world-shattering discoveries so many centuries ago.

The more I looked around at the other scientific instruments, the more amazed I became at how much Galileo and others of his time were able to learn about the planets and the stars with such basic equipment. And then, I became even more amazed as I thought about how much more we know today, and how much more still there is to learn.

Even the highest heaven cannot hold God. When we hear these words, I think they carry even more meaning and weight for us than they did for Solomon, because we know so much more about how truly vast the universe is, and how small the earth is—how small we are—by comparison.

And yet, the vastness of God is not the end of the story. When Solomon asks, “Will God indeed dwell on the earth?” it’s pretty clear that he means it as a rhetorical question. The implied answer is, “No, of course God will not dwell on earth. Even the highest heaven cannot contain God.” But from our perspective as Christians, that question has a very different resonance to it. “Will God indeed dwell on the earth?” For us, the answer is “yes.” God has dwelt on the earth…in the person of Jesus. The same God who is too vast to be contained by the universe itself has drawn near to us and entered into our world as a human being. “Will God indeed dwell on the earth?” Yes, God has. Yes, God will. Yes, God does.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus refers to himself as “the bread that came down from heaven.” “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood,” he says, “abide in me, and I in them.” By now these words probably sound pretty familiar. We’ve been working our way through the entire “bread of life” section of John for the past several weeks, and a lot of it is fairly repetitious. What is so unusual about this particular reading, I think, is how upset Jesus’ disciples get. Many of them are offended—so offended that they stop following him altogether.

What exactly was it that the disciples found so offensive? Did they really think that he was advocating some form cannibalism? Could be. I mean, it must have all seemed pretty confusing at the time. They didn’t have the benefit of centuries of eucharistic theology to help them make sense of the language of flesh and blood, bread and wine. But I think there is a deeper reason for the disciples’ reaction.

By calling himself the bread of heaven, and by inviting them to abide in him by partaking of that bread, Jesus is claiming for himself—and for us—an intimacy with God that most of Jesus’ followers simply didn’t believe was possible. They knew that God could not be contained in the highest heaven, much less in the human being standing before them. And they definitely knew that God could not dwell within each one of them, as Jesus’ words about abiding would imply. So they took offense at him and went their own way.

Let’s be honest. This teaching still offends people. It even offends people who are in the church! It may offend some of us who are seated here today. And yet, at the very center of our faith is the journey of coming to believe and know, as Peter declared, that Jesus is the Holy One of God. That God did indeed dwell on the earth, and continues to dwell on the earth with us, among us, and in us.

There is a picture in my office that my godparents gave to me when I was a child. The picture is a rough charcoal drawing of Jesus as a carpenter, framed in a simple wooden frame with a plain beige mat. It’s a very earthy image, almost rustic. There is no halo, no crown of glory. Only simple peasant clothing, work-worn hands, and an expression of patient weariness as Jesus labors over a piece of wood. It is a very human image of Jesus.

I’ve always found it striking because it is so different from many other depictions of Jesus that I’ve seen. The image in the window at the back of our church, for instance, shows Christ in glory, seated on a throne and crowned as king eternal. The Jesus in that window is unmistakably divine. Even the difference in materials speaks volumes: brightly colored, expensive stained glass, versus monochromatic, relatively cheap charcoal.

These two images seem to stand in such sharp opposition to one another, and yet both of them – the drawing and the window – say something profoundly true about who Jesus was and is. Our challenge is not to let one of these images dominate over the other, but to hold them together in tension: Jesus the human carpenter. Christ the divine king.

This is the “mystery of the gospel” that Paul sought to declare so boldly as an “ambassador in chains.” That in Jesus, who was and is utterly human, the fullness of God has become utterly accessible to each one of us. Not a watered-down version of God, but the God of heaven and earth. The God of all the universe, whom the universe itself cannot contain.

For this we say, thanks be to God. Amen.

John 6:51 “Jesus said, ‘I am the living bread’”.

Perhaps it’s all too easy for some of us to become more than a little blasé about this verse and about its content. We have heard all too often references to “daily bread” and “living bread”, “unleavened bread” and “breaking bread”. In this sixth chapter of John’s Gospel there are sixteen references to bread!

About a week ago I asked a recently ordained priest what she was going to preach about the next day… “oh,” she said, “it’s still all this bread stuff in the Gospel”. I could sympathize with her comment!

Perhaps we need to approach this verse and its content with fresh eyes and open hearts rather like the young girl who approached this altar rail once and when hearing the words, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven” said “Er… yuk!”.

“Jesus said, ‘I am the living bread’”.

Amongst many profound truths, accompanying many eternal verities, here – in this verse – Jesus speaks to us the nature of true and authentic Christian spirituality and discipleship.

It is… A Personal Relationship… A Constant Relationship and A Mutual Relationship.

A Personal Relationship. Jesus begins our text quite simply but also quite boldly with “I”. John’s Gospel contains six other “I AM” sayings all reminiscent of the revelation to Moses in Exodus 3:14: “The Lord said to Moses, ‘I am who I am’. Tell the people ‘I AM’ sent you to them’”.

When Jesus called his disciples he required of them no knowledge of ecclesiastical history and polity, no familiarity with Bible verses and theological dogma… no, when Jesus called his disciples he said quite simply and quite starkly “Follow me”. And quite soon he tells his disciples, “No longer do I call you servants but I call you friends”.

To be a Christian is to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ… all else may be helpful, nothing else is essential.

Of course there are those, for many and various reasons, who run a mile when the call is made for personal relationship. I am reminded of the story of the rather crusty elderly duchess who was surprised to see a stranger driving her car. She asked his name, “James” he replied. “Oh, I never call people by their first names. What is your last name?”. “Darling” the man replied. She said, “Drive on James!”.

A Constant Relationship. Our text continues “I AM the LIVING bread” – present tense. In Exodus 16 we read the story of manna, bread from heaven, being given to the people of Israel. It came as a divine gift in time of human need. Moses tells the people to collect bread sufficient for the day and then to collect fresh bread day by day. Of course some ignored Moses’ counsel (perhaps they were too busy or too lazy or just indifferent) and so we read (Exodus 16:20 – Message Translation) “But they didn’t listen to Moses. A few of the men kept back some of it until morning. It got wormy and smelled bad”.
Paul writes to his beloved Christians (2 Corinthians 6:1-3 – Message Translation) – “Companions as we are in this work with you, we beg you, please don’t squander one bit of this marvelous life God has given us. God reminds us, I heard your call in the nick of time; the day you needed me, I was there to help. Well, now is the right time to listen, the day to be helped. Don’t put it off; don’t frustrate God’s work by showing up late…”. “Now” is the right time to listen, now is the day to be helped. No wonder that Pere de Caussade writes of the “sanctity of the present moment”.

At the moment I am talking with a good friend, 90 years old, who is preparing to die. It is in my mind that as we talk about so many things including her relationship with God that I speak not only of the way in which God has been with her but also of the way in which God is with her now… she has, what we have, the privilege of a constant relationship with Christ!

And, A Mutual Relationship. John 6:1 “I am the living BREAD”. And, as we know, (now this is no profound thought, it is all quite simple)… as we know, for bread to sustain us it needs be eaten. We need take action… take and break, eat and consume. Authentic Christian spirituality and discipleship requires that we participate and act with Christ, it is a mutual relationship of service. It is a “program of action”.

Merely sitting in a pew once a week or so will do little to maintain and nurture the spiritual life. It was once quipped that thinking sitting in church makes you a Christian is the same as thinking that lying down in a garage will make you a car. It’s good to be here… it’s good to be encouraged by hearing God’s word and responding in community… but our souls, our spirits long and crave and thirst for me.

In a few weeks time our new church website will be posted… one of the pages is named “Getting Involved”. We must “get involved”…. by giving of time and talent and treasure…. by reading and studying God’s word… by prayer and quiet before God.

At this Eucharist, in our spiritual lives, we are called not to be spectators but rather participants, not to an audience but rather a community.

What is on offer to us today is a relationship with Jesus… personal, constant and mutual. A relationship with the One who boldly and confidently said, “I am the living bread”.

Come to us, Lord Jesus. Amen

Ephesians 5:26 “Be angry but…”

Some years back, when living in Rhode Island, I remember having a discussion with a very good friend and respected mentor. We were talking about anger (I hope calmly!)… Sean was arguing with passion and logic that it is often (if not generally always) wrong… unhelpful… inappropriate to be angry. He quoted, with approval, Bill Wilson (co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous) who wrote “if we were to live, we had to be free of anger… the grouch and the brainstorm were not for us… they may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for the alcoholic these things are poison”… “anger… the dubious luxury of normal men”. Sean must have seen my eyes widen for he then said, “But Alan, as far as you’re concerned, normal is the setting on a washing machine”.

At heart we all know, I hope, that anger is often a “dubious luxury”… we are wise to avoid those who are continually, habitually, angry. And yet… we read in today’s passage from St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesian Christians these words… “Be angry but… do not sin; be angry but… do not let the sun go down on your anger; be angry but… do not make room for the devil”. As the Message Translation reads with its usual vigour… “Go ahead and be angry. You do well to be angry—but don’t use your anger as fuel for revenge. And don’t stay angry. Don’t go to bed angry. Don’t give the Devil that kind of foothold in your life” (Ephesians 4: 26-27).

But then a few verses later (as if to intentionally muddy the emotional waters) Paul writes… “Put anger away from you”.

I find it profoundly interesting and significant that writing to a nascent church… a church struggling to find its identity and mission and belief in a world at best indifferent, at worst antagonistic… Paul addresses issues not only of theological import but also issues of personal and daily living! The Christian fools herself/himself, the Church fools itself when it is seduced into thinking there is only time for high-falutin’ conversations about theology or urgent discussions about finances. For our health, for our safety, for our well-being… for our maturity, we are called to consider the place of anger in our lives!

I believe St. Paul offers us three criteria by which we may decide whether our anger is appropriate or whether it is something about which we should repent and something which we should flee with all speed.

First, “be angry but… do not sin”. When our anger moves to the place where harm is done harm and damage is done to others as well as to ourselves then it is inappropriate. If nothing else sin is that which damages us and causes us to be separated from God… so if we stop for a moment and realize that our anger is doing serious harm to our lives… physically, mentally and spiritually then… we need urgently pray, “Good Lord deliver us”.

I read recently that Disney CMs (cast members) are taught, in their long process of orientation, never to point with one finger… if they must indicate a person or a direction or an object then may point, yes, but with two fingers… it’s just considered all too rude to point!

Actually there’s a myth surrounding that Disney protocol that it finds its origin in Walt Disney’s real life. Whenever he was photographed, cigarettes were airbrushed from his fingers… and what was left… well, two fingers pointing! The airbrushing is true… whether it was the origin of the Disney Cast Member two finger point is debatable!

But anyway… whether it’s the Disney CM two-finger point, or the Indian point (middle finger forward), or the Native American nose point… it seems we are taught from an early age that “it’s rude to point”.

And I wonder why? Perhaps because it all seems rather too confrontational… and sadly, over the years, that word (like the word criticism) tends to evoke responses of discomfort, disdain and disapproval.

In fact one website (www.livestrong.com) actually has a long article all about confrontation and ends with steps to “improve your confrontation”. The final step, rather disarmingly, reads “If you are still having problems with confrontation you need to return to Step 1 and begin again”!

All this to avoid confrontation and yet today’s Bible readings all show three examples of direct and vigorous and healthy confrontation.

Consider Jesus… (John 6:26) “Jesus answered, “You’ve come looking for me not because you saw God in my actions but because I fed you, filled your stomachs—and for free”. And this, as you surely know, is only one of many, many, many examples of Jesus in confrontational mode!

Consider Paul… (Ephesians 4:14) Paul writes to the Ephesian Christians “No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything”. And this, as you surely know, is only one of many, many, many examples of Paul in confrontational mode!

And then of course consider the patron saint, the poster boy, the archetype, the exponent of confrontation… the prophet Nathan. Nathan seduces King David into feeling strong and passionate righteous indignation for the fabled poor man cruelly exploited by the fabled rich man. And when David expresses his wrath… there comes that explosive moment when Nathan looks at David and, doubtless with pointing finger, avers “You are the man”. Now there’s confrontation!

If living today doubtless Nathan would have been hired for those lecture programs so generously aired during periods of fundraising. I can see the title “Confront and Be Healthy!”.

And who would, who should listen to such a lecture by the prophet Nathan? Well… those all too nervous about confrontation and those all too prone to confrontation. Into which group would you place yourself… no, no, no… not the person next door (or even the person in front of you, facing you!)… but yourself?
Well by some miracle of internet (and recent addictive viewing of Twilight Zone episodes) partial fragments of such a lecture by Nathan recently landed on my desk and now I share them with you.

Confront with prayer! 2 Samuel 12:1 “The Lord sent Nathan to David”. When we have a sense the time has come to confront… it is right to do so but in prayer, in company with the Lord. His presence with us not only gives us courage and strength but also enables us to conform our will to His will.

Confront with respect! 2 Samuel 12:1 “There were two men in one city: the one rich, and the other poor” and so begins Nathan’s story! You see, the thing about stories such as Nathan’s, or parables such as Jesus told, is that they allow the hearer to engage without being forcibly prodded. The reason why humour is used by preachers is that sometimes hard truths are made more palatable when they are preceded by a smile (or, dare we expect it, a laugh!). “After the mirthquake, comes the still small voice!”

Confront with sensitivity! 2 Samuel 12:5 “And [hearing the story] David’s anger was greatly kindled against the man…”. Before ever the prophet Nathan confronted David with those stunning words “You are the man”… before he ever confronted David he waited to see if there was still some sense of moral outrage and moral compass within the king. As soon as David revealed his true self, then Nathan knew it was time to confront.

And, finally, confront with purpose. 2 Samuel 12:13 “And David said to Nathan, ‘I have sinned before the Lord’”. And with those words of acceptance, surrender… David began a true, though painful, journey toward recovery. You see, the king was confronted by the prophet so that the king might confront the demons before him.

Friends, I have known one or two church communities torn asunder, fragmented into a thousand pieces… all because no-one would confront the damage done by gossip, immoral activity or even a determined reluctance to do the work of church… to discover and perform God’s mission.

Friends, I have known families and couples collapse into division, strife and discord all because of an unwillingness to confront the real harm that threatens them.

Friends, I have come to know many individuals who will not, seemingly cannot, confront the truth of their addictive behaviours and so, inexorably, move towards self-destruction and annihilation.

If there is a person or situation or behaviour that you feel you should confront… please know the power of the Lord and the power of His presence to strengthen, guide, direct you and keep you safe.

And if you, or I, are feeling this morning a little like David… confronted, challenged a word from the Lord… be encouraged! He speaks that we may be healed…

Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians Christians is also the Lord’s prayer for you, for me… (Ephesians 4:12-13) “that you may move rhythmically and easily with each other, efficient and graceful in response to God’s Son, fully mature adults, fully developed within and without, fully alive like Christ”.

“Fully alive in Christ” – I charge you all, I charge myself, to confront anything that prevents or hinders that goal “Fully alive in Christ”.

AMEN

In the name of God, the Holy and Undivided Trinity. Amen.

about God’s power, and God’s abundant love for those gathered there and for all people.

Today’s reading from the letter to the Ephesians also has something to say about abundance, especially the abundance of God’s love. Paul writes to the believers in Ephesus, “I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

As Paul describes it, the love of God in Christ is so abundantly vast that it is hard for us to even comprehend its dimensions: its breadth and length and height and depth. This love surpasses our ability even to know how abundant it is. And when we experience God’s love, it fills us up to fullness, just as the crowds on the hillside ate and were satisfied, ate until they were full.

Paul goes on to say that God “is able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine” … “by the power at work within us.” These words are familiar to those of us who say morning prayer here together during the week, because they come at the very end of the service. The translation is different, though: “Glory to God, whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine: Glory to him from generation to generation in the church, and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever. Amen.”

One of our morning prayer leaders always has us read those lines together when it is her turn to lead. Every time she does, I find myself feeling inspired and encouraged for the day ahead,
knowing that God can and will work through me in ways I that I cannot “ask or imagine.”
God’s abundant love for us is enough and more than enough to nourish and sustain us through whatever work we are called to do.

We live in a society that enjoys a great deal of abundance, and yet we are often driven instead by a pervasive sense of scarcity, a fear that there will not be enough to go around, not just in terms of food and money and jobs, but also in terms of time and energy and opportunities. How often have you heard someone say, “I just don’t have the time”? How often have you said it yourself?

This sense of scarcity is everywhere, and it can lead us to feel as though we have to hold on tightly to whatever resources we have. It makes us fearful of the future and reluctant to share what we have with others. But God does not deal in scarcity. God deals in abundance. When the disciples were intimidated by the scarcity of their resources, Jesus responded with an abundance that was beyond their ability to ask or imagine. He showed them that there was no need to be afraid. No need to hold back from being generous with those around them.

This past week, I went to the dry cleaners to pick up one of our altar cloths: the white linen cloth that goes across the top of the altar. When I dropped it off a few weeks ago, I tried to explain to the woman in the shop what the cloth was and what it was for, and why I wanted her to roll it up on a cardboard poster roll to keep it from getting wrinkled, but I wasn’t sure she had really understood what I was saying. When I went back, the woman recognized me right away. (I think the collar may have had something to do with it.) As soon as I walked in, she said to me, “Ah, I know what you are here for. The big tablecloth.” I had to laugh. “That’s right,” I said. “That’s exactly what it is. A very big tablecloth for a very big table.”

It can be easy to forget sometimes, but at the center of our worship space there is a big table. And, although it sometimes gets buried under layers of liturgical formality, at the center of our worship together each week there is a meal: The Eucharist.

It is pretty hard to read John’s story about the abundant meal with the multitude, without being reminded of the eucharist in at least some way. Think about what Jesus does on the mountain. He takes the loaves of bread, gives thanks over them (the word in Greek is even euxaristw), presumably breaks them into pieces, and then shares them with those who are gathered together there.

Sound familiar? That’s the same thing he does at the Last Supper, gathered around the table with his closest friends. And it is also the same thing that we do each time we celebrate the eucharist together: We take, we give thanks, we break, and we share with one another.

Just in case he hasn’t made the connections clear enough, John follow the story of this abundant meal with Jesus’ description of himself as the Bread of Heaven, which we’ll be hearing read over the next four Sundays. John has taken this miracle story, familiar from the other gospel writers, and he has told it over again as a reflection on the eucharist, and on the way that this shared meal serves as a sign of God’s abundant love for us.

Each week when we share this sacred meal together, we are reminded of God’s abundance and encouraged to live our lives in a way that reflects that abundance. We are reminded that there will be enough and more than enough of whatever we need to sustain us in our walk with God and in our life together.

So come to the table. Come and feast. Come and taste and see the abundant love that God has for us, surpassing all that we can ask or imagine. Amen.

Put forth, O God, thy Spirit’s might
and bid thy Church increase,
in breadth and length, in depth and height,
her unity and peace. Amen.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Taize Community in the village of Taize in France. The Taize Community ecumenical religious community that has both protestant and catholic members. It was founded during the second world war by a man named Brother Roger, with the goal of seeking reconciliation within the worldwide church.

Almost since the beginning, Taize has attracted visitors, especially young people, who come from all over the world to share in the life of the community, and especially to experience the distinctive form of contemplative worship practiced there.

While I was in Taize, I was told this story. In the early years of the community, as the numbers of visitors grew, the church at Taize became more and more crowded, until it could no longer hold everyone who wanted to worship there. One day, a member of the community said to Brother Roger, “Brother Roger, our church is too small for all of these people.” Brother Roger looked at the church and said, “There’s only one thing to be done. We will have to tear down the walls.”

And that is exactly what they did. They took down the back wall, which was a beautiful stained-glass window, so that a tent could be added on to the church to expand its capacity during the busy summer months. For years, the community and their visitors worshiped in both the church and the tent, until they finally built a permanent addition with movable walls that allowed the worship space to expand as needed.

The name of the church in Taize is “The Church of Reconciliation.” How appropriate for a church that literally tore down the walls to let more people in.

In the letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul writes about the “dividing wall” between Jews and non-Jews that existed in his time. Christ, he says, “has broken down the dividing wall” and brought about reconciliation between the two groups as well as between both groups and God. Paul then uses the image of a temple—a temple like the one that David thought about building
and that his son Solomon later built—to tell the believers in Ephesus what it means to be the church. They themselves are the temple, he says, “built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.”

When I was a kid, I learned a short rhyme that may be familiar to many of you as well: “Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors, and see all the people.” It’s cute and a little bit funny, especially with the accompanying hand gestures, but this little poem also describes pretty accurately how most people think about “church”: as a building, usually a building with a particular kind of architecture, in which God’s people gather for worship. A building like the one we are gathered in today.

That’s a completely different picture of the church than the one that Paul gives us. For Paul, the physical buildings no longer matter, because God is present in the community itself. In the language of the new testament, the word that we translate “church” literally means “assembly.” Assembly. As in a gathering of people. Not a building at all. Wherever we gather, the church is there. We are a holy temple “built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.”

Over the past two weeks, Episcopalians from all over this country and around the world were gathered together—assembled—in Anaheim, California, for the General Convention of the Episcopal Church. They came together to pray and worship, to celebrate and discuss, and to make decisions about the common life of the church. I’m very fond of telling anyone who will listen that our General Convention is the largest bicameral legislature in the world. (Bicameral meaning that it has two houses, just like our federal government.) There were literally thousands of people gathered in Anaheim. No single church was large enough to hold them all, so the convention center in Anaheim became, for a time, the physical location for the church in one of its most complete and vibrant expressions. But the convention center was not the church. The people who gathered there were the church: a holy temple “built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.”

Many things happened at Convention—far too many for most people, including myself, to keep up with them all. But among the other decisions made, the gathering in Anaheim renewed the Episcopal Church’s commitment to mission, especially in terms of support for the Millennium Development Goals, and also in terms of fully including all baptized persons in the life of the church.

In other words, the elected leadership of our church has once again challenged us not just to be in a church, but to be the church, and as the church to reach out to those who are beyond our walls.

It is a sad reality that the physical walls of our churches can all too easily become the dividing wall of which Paul speaks, leaving those on the outside feeling like strangers and aliens, far away from both the people of God and the presence of God. Not every church can or should physically tear down the walls, as the church at Taize did. But we are all called to continue Christ’s work of reconciliation, breaking down the barriers that keep people apart and that keep people from experiencing God in their lives.

Here in this church, there was at one point in the past a literal tearing down of a wall. As you might imagine, the glass wall that now stands between the sanctuary and the narthex is not original to this 19th-century building. I don’t know the exact circumstances, but at some point in the middle of the last century, the decision was made to take out the original wooden wall and replace it with glass, and also to add glass doors to the outer entrance of the church. I assume that the goal was to make the church building more inviting to those who might feel hesitant about coming inside. And the glass does have that effect, minimizing the physical barrier between outside and inside, between them and us.

But physical walls are only one of the challenges. There are many other barriers that stop people from walking through our doors—mental barriers, emotional barriers, even social barriers—and they are often far more intimidating and impermeable than walls of wood and stone. What would it take to tear down some of those walls, the invisible walls that keep people from coming to see what’s going on in our church community?

The Christian Century magazine recently reported on a new study about mega-churches, which revealed that 87 percent of the people who attended those churches had invited someone to come to church with them in the past year. 87 percent! That’s compared to only 55 percent of people attending mainline protestant churches. (And even that sounds awfully high to me.) Small wonder, then, that most megachurches are growing so quickly. Nothing breaks down a barrier faster than a personal invitation.

Since Alan is away, I think I can get away with complimenting him from the pulpit without either embarrassing him or sounding like I’m trying to butter him up. I have been here for almost exactly a year now, and one of the things that has both impressed me and challenged me the most so far is the ability of the rector to invite people into the church. Alan takes any excuse to step outside these walls and invite people to come and see. People he meets in the street, people in restaurants, people sitting on a park bench. Over and over, I have seen him engage with someone and then extend an invitation in a way that I still find very hard to do—even when I’m standing right in front of the church dressed in all of my vestments.

That is the kind of action it will take for us to break down those invisible barriers around us. We have to invite people in, so that they no longer feel like strangers and aliens, but fellow citizens and members of the household of God.

It should go without saying, but this is not just the work of the clergy. There are only two of us here most of the time. We can only reach so many people, no matter how outgoing and proactive we may be. (Or rather, no matter how outgoing and proactive Alan may be, and no matter how hard I may try to keep up with him.) Imagine what it would be like if every one of us in this room were to invite another person to join us here next week. Now that’s the way to start dismantling some walls.

Christ came to us and broke down barriers, barriers between us, and barriers between us and God. Christ tore down the dividing walls and showed us that God does not dwell in a temple but in the gathered community of the people of God: a living temple that is still being constructed, as the church continues to grow and expand.

Now it’s our turn to follow Christ’s example, and the example of Brother Roger of Taize. There’s only one thing to be done. We will have to tear down the walls. Amen.

Mark 5:31 His disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”. Or, as the Message Translation reads: His disciples said, “What are you talking about? With this crowd pushing and jostling you, you’re asking, ‘Who touched me?’ Dozens have touched you!”.

Goodness! The way the disciples sometimes talked to Jesus… but, at least, they talked to Him but that’s definitely a theme for another sermon!

One commentator writes, “This is one of the several reproaches aimed at Jesus by the disciples… they are all very suggestive. The whole list is well worth study and thought” but, as I said, another time!

Today it’s not so much the unfortunate, regrettable tone with which the disciples spoke to Jesus but rather the content of their complaining and somewhat impertinent, saucy, sassy question that interests me. “Look… there’s a crowd… pressing upon you… and you say someone touched you… dozens have touched you.”

I would want to expand, enlarge their question (though of course without the impertinence, rudeness, sauciness and definitely without the sassy tone) – “Lord, with all the crowd pressing upon you… why only one healed?”.

Would it not be unfortunate (to say the least) and very poignant if all the people who worshipped here today… only one touched the Lord and was made whole, healed, rescued, restored by the Lord Jesus Christ?!

I believe profoundly and deeply that whenever I, like the woman, reach out to touch “even the hem of his robe” I am, in turn, touched and changed (transformed) by the power and presence of God… definitively, unreservedly, inevitably! I read this morning, “Jesus responded to the shy reproach of individual need as surely and deftly as a magnetic needle responds to the North Star”. Now the burden of my petition may not be answered in the way that I seek… but there will be transformation!

So… why was Jesus not totally drained of power that day, why were not dozens who came forward in response to the disciples’ interrogation of Jesus?

Pride… despair… contempt… this unholy and wretched trinity will definitively prevent us from enjoying the miraculous transformation which God offers to me, to you this morning.

PRIDE!

In today’s Gospel from Mark (chapter 5) we read of two people who, for very different reasons, could well have refused to reach out to Jesus because of pride. Jairus – a leader of the synagogue… well-respected by the people, well-versed in the Scripture, well-accustomed to leading not following, well-practiced (no doubt) in giving directions not in making petitions… this man willingly, eagerly sheds his importance and experience in order that his daughter be healed.

The woman would have been encouraged by religion and tradition and social custom to keep her sickness (involving the loss of blood) very much to herself. Perhaps she might even have felt rather foolish to have expended all her resources on such a pathetic group of “many physicians”.

You see, by shedding their pride (perhaps all they thought they had left)… they stopped being “one of the crowd” and were touched mightily by the Lord!

DESPAIR!

At the very point of his daughter’s death… Jairus overcomes all despair (or, at least, refuses to surrender to despair). He seeks Jesus out… falls at his feet and begs him… repeatedly… “Come and heal my daughter”.

For 12 years (interesting that the daughter was 12 years old?) – the woman had suffered. The Message Translation reads, “The woman had suffered a condition of hemorrhaging for twelve years—a long succession of physicians had treated her, and treated her badly, taking all her money and leaving her worse off than before”. Surely we would be more than sympathetic if we knew such a person and they were tempted to despair? And yet despair, hopelessness, desperation did not have the final word… and they need not, should not, have the final word with us!

Since coming to this church, I have known many who have refused to surrender to despair and continue to make their “petitions known to God” – I pray with them and I pray for us all the patience of waiting of which today’s Psalm speaks (Psalm 130: 5 “O wait for the Lord”). But I also have known many who in their despair (though they have visited many doctors and expended nearly all their resources – of body, of mind, of pocket)… they have been “touched by the Lord” and have been transformed!

You see, by shedding their despair (at least for a moment)… they stopped being “one of the crowd” and were touched mightily by the Lord!

Pride, Despair and CONTEMPT!.

The disciples with contempt (is it not contempt?), with contempt in their voices make light of Jesus’ question, “Who touched me?”. Oh I imagine their eyes were rolling with such speed as to make leaves flutter on the trees!

The crowd around the dead child laugh at Jesus with ridicule… (Message Translation) “Provoked to sarcasm, they told him he didn’t know what he was talking about”.

Herbert Spencer (one of the greatest minds in Victorian England… a theologian, philosopher, scientist) wrote: “There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which can not fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance - that principle is contempt prior to investigation”.

Bill Wilson (co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous) included Spencer’s quotation in his writing of the Step 11. He knew that “contempt prior to investigation” would prevent a man or woman from discovering freedom from their addiction. We know that “contempt prior to investigation” will prevent a man or woman from discovering the life-changing, transforming power of God.

You see, by refusing to succumb to contempt - Jairus and the woman stopped being “one of the crowd” and were touched mightily by the Lord!

To adapt slighty G.K. Chesterton’s famous quotation, “The problem with Christianity is not that it has been tried and found wanted but rather… it has not been wanted and has never been tried”.

Pride, Despair and Contempt (that unholy trinity) will hold us back from being transformed by God… they will establish us as merely “one of the crowd” – how sad, how very sad!

Today “stand out from the crowd” and reach out again to the Lord! So be it! Amen

We do the things we have to in life. Simple enough—it is just how it is— we have to do the things that need to get done. Like me, I have to preach today, despite this Gospel about John the Baptist and the platter. So often in life there is little choice about what we have to do. But always in life there is choice about how we go about it and how we get it done.

A little more than a year ago I got to go to Greece, actually to Heraklion in Crete, for an academic conference. I flew in from Amsterdam late on a Sunday afternoon. And as is often the case I was a little out of sorts from the trip. Since this was my second visit to Crete I was very excited to have a better chance at experiencing its most excellent culture. So a bit after sundown off I went. I headed out from my hotel and turned in the direction I thought would take me to the plaza in the center of Heraklion where I knew there were many tavernas. And sure enough soon I was walking up the hill past a church. I was a little surprised to see it ablaze with light, it was glorious on a spring evening, the doors flung open, candles blazing inside and even outside in the plaza. But no people. That seemed odd.

But just as I was wondering about that, I heard a brass band. It confused me, but it also delighted me. After all I played in bands when I was a kid and I love parades. The sound was clearly coming toward me, so I moved on up the hill past the church toward the sound. And just around the next bend was the most amazing thing. Here was the band, together with acolytes carrying torches, thurifers waving incense, and about a thousand people in the parade. I knew at once that it was really a procession to the church. I knew because I learned about this in seminary. Once upon a time every Christian worship service began in this way. And sure enough there they were— a good twenty or so priests, three bishops, behind them the Holy Sacrament and behind the Sacrament more acolytes and torches and incense, and behind them the boy scouts and the girl scouts and then the army. And behind them the congregation.

It was amazing and I just stood there in total awe. Because it sure worked. The power of the Holy Spirit in the streets was palpable. You could see the very power of God on the faces of the people in the procession. What a marvelous way to celebrate not only your faith but also your witness to your faith. Now our processions here are proper and dignified— but so far no brass brands!

Well, we do the things we have to do in life. And we have a choice about how we do them. We have a choice about whether we just march through the day, or whether we go all out embracing the experience fully. Because when we do embrace life with enthusiasm we soon discover the power of the presence of God within us and among us. My friends, the fullness of human experience, is the threshold to the presence of God.

In the Old Testament lesson today we have something of a liturgical procession as well. David is bringing the ark of the covenant to his new capital in Jerusalem, both as a sign of his faith in God who has anointed him, and as a sign of the power of God to unite the kingdom. The details are all there in the lesson, even the instruments in the band! But the important part is this: it says that David and his procession “danced before the LORD with all their might.” They danced before God with all their might. Now it doesn’t say they danced in a particular way, or that they danced properly or according to the rubrics. Rather it says they threw themselves fully into it, and the reason was to stir up in themselves the presence and the power of God.

“Lift up your heads, O gates; lift them high, O everlasting doors; * and the King of glory shall come in” [Psalm 24: 7, 9] After all, we all could use a bit more ready access to the presence and the power of God. It is not as though the world as we have created it in our own images is perking along very well. We have created our own dimension of existence in which power and prestige and pride and wealth are the gods we pay heed to in every moment. We have created a world in which there is only a semblance of equality for all of God’s children, in which there is violence and hunger and war, in which even the old and the sick cannot rely on a helping hand. So it is up to us my friends to make a choice about which dimension we plan to live in— ours, or God’s. And if we choose to live in God’s dimension, then we have to embrace it with everything we’ve got.

After all, as Paul reminds us: we have been blessed in heaven, we have been chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world we have been destined for adoption as the children of God we have been marked as Christ’s own forever, and we have been given the knowledge of the mystery of God’s will for us. We are the blessed children of God, ummm, except when we choose not to be. What is this mystery of God’s will for us? That we should love God and that we should love one another. Easy enough to repeat. Very hard to do. Especially hard to do with all your might. And yet, that is what Jesus taught us— not that we should just love God but that we should love God with all our heart and soul and mind. Not just that we should love each other but that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. That this love we should have for God and for each other must somehow come from within, from the wellspring of God’s Spirit that is in each of our souls.

And that is how it is that the fullness of human experience is the threshold of the presence of God. When you live life to the fullest then God is not only with you but the power of God is able to work in and through you. Choose the other path, and well, that is how Herod wound up the victim of his own pride, and John the Baptist with him; choose the other path my friends and you pull the house down with you.

My friends the great mystery of God that we have been given as children of God is the power of love. If we live in God’s dimension then love flows in and through us from us and to us like life-blood. And that my friends is the love that can transform the whole of creation. Love is the power of God, flowing in and through you when you choose to live in God’s dimension. And boy is that tough. It means you have to have respect for that guy who leaps in front of you in line at the supermarket. You have to have respect for the people sitting to your right and to your left now, who are different from you. And you have to let the love that God has given you, flow through you so that it embraces them too. That’s why we are here today my friends, to learn the ropes of God’s dimension, to learn what it means to live fully in the power of God’s love.

The seventh verse of our psalm is this: ”Lift up your heads, O gates; lift them high, O everlasting doors; * and the King of glory shall come in.” It means, light the torches, strike up the brass band, fling the doors open, dance before God with all your might, and the power of God will work miracles in you. Amen.

God be in my head, and in my understanding; God be in my eyes, and in my looking;
God be in my mouth, and in my speaking; God be in my heart, and in my thinking. Amen.

“Jesus left that place and came to his hometown.”

Up to this point in the gospel of Mark, Jesus has had a pretty successful ministry. He has traveled and taught, cast out demons, and healed many who were sick. He has criss-crossed the sea of Galilee and picked up a group of disciples who follow him wherever he goes. He hasn’t run into too much resistance… yet. Now, after being away for who knows how long, he finally comes back to his hometown. To Nazareth. And, as he has done in so many other places, he goes to the synagogue, and gets up to speak.

At first, the people are amazed, but their amazement quickly turns to resentment and even indignation. They know Jesus (and his family) much too well to believe that God is doing a new thing in him. To them, he is just a neighborhood kid who has gotten too big for his britches. He is so familiar, in fact, that they fail to see the truth about Jesus or to hear his message. Instead, they take offense at him. “Where did this man get all this?” they ask each other. “What is this wisdom that has been given to him?” Or in the words of the Message translation, “Who does he think he is?”

Well, Jesus knew who he was, but he was not what the people of Nazareth were expecting. They were looking for the messiah, the anointed one, but they thought it would be someone more like King David—a military hero, who, as we heard about in the first lesson today, captured Jerusalem and brought peace and stability to ancient Israel. They were looking for a king, and they got a carpenter. They were looking for a savior, and they got the boy next door.

Familiarity may not always breed contempt, but it certainly did in this case, and Jesus’ old friends and neighbors completely missed the boat.

We can shake our heads at the inhabitants of Nazareth and marvel at their narrow-mindedness,
but we are just like them quite a lot of the time. Most of us have a hard a time seeing God at work in people and events that seem, to us, to be very ordinary, very familiar. Let’s face it, we want God to be flashy and exciting, to show up with a neon sign or, in keeping with this weekend’s festivities, lots and lots of fireworks.

We want our experiences of God to be dramatic and out of the ordinary, but that is rarely how God works in our lives. And if we are always looking for God in what is grand and glorious, we will very often miss it when God appears right in front of us in something very ordinary: the local carpenter, Mary’s kid, the person we have known all our lives.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul writes about a powerful spiritual experience, which he describes as having been “caught up to the third heaven…into Paradise.”
Although he is cagey about it at first, it’s pretty clear that Paul himself is the one who had this experience. This must have been a very significant moment for Paul, one that influenced his life and ministry. And yet, at the time of writing, it had been fourteen years since that experience took place! However exceptional and elating it had been, Paul had spent much more of his life struggling with the all-too-familiar, everyday difficulty that he describes as “a thorn in the flesh.”

Much time and energy has been spent over the centuries on trying to figure out exactly what that “thorn” was, and I for one am not going to add to the speculation. To me, the important thing is that Paul’s “thorn” was not all that extraordinary, or heavenly, or even particularly holy, yet he experienced his struggles with it as an essential part of his spiritual journey. His “weakness,” as he calls it, was where God’s grace was most able to shine through for him. That is why he boasts about it, rather than about his extraordinary revelations. This is where he sees God at work in his life from day to day.

I think that many of us want the whole of our lives to be like Paul’s grand, mystical experience:
to be uplifting and profound and extraordinary, the kind of life that is undeniably holy. But it just doesn’t work that way, does it? Even for Paul, life could not be neon signs and fireworks all of the time.

When I originally wrote this sermon, I was going to talk about the fact that yesterday was my first time watching the Independence Day fireworks here in Philadelphia. But I didn’t actually end up seeing the fireworks. For the second year in a row, I only listened to them instead. Last year I was frantically unpacking boxes in my new apartment. And this year I was invited to watch them from a friend’s rooftop deck, but unfortunately, he hadn’t taken into account the location of the other buildings around the deck, and we ended up not being able to see any of it.

But even though I didn’t get to see the fireworks (and I still hope to someday!), I have still been able to get a sense for what a big deal this particular celebration is in this city. And why not? After all, this is where it all began, or at least, this is where many significant steps were taken on the road to independence.

It’s appropriate for us to celebrate—to have concerts and parades and yes, lots of fireworks. But as I thought about the celebration this week, I found myself reflecting that the ideals we celebrate this weekend really have very little to do with fireworks and parades. (Or even singing patriotic songs. Sorry, John.) Freedom and justice and equality are best lived out not in mass celebrations, but through ordinary, everyday moments. Through painstaking participation in the process of democracy, with many setbacks and struggles along the way, and with a lot of hard work by a lot of people.

For my first summer job in high school, I worked on the election campaign for a local politician. I was too young to canvas door-to-door or make phonecalls, so they had me entering names and contact information for potential supporters into the campaign database. It was pretty boring work, and even when I was old enough to go door-to-door for his re-election effort two years later, it wasn’t that much more exciting. But through that job, I learned that this kind of mundane, familiar activity was the stuff that made democracy work. Those times of fireworks and national celebration? They were just the icing on the cake.

In our spiritual lives, as in our civic life, it can’t be all fireworks and celebration all of the time. God comes to us, again and again, in the ordinary stuff of our lives. We have to cultivate the ability to see and notice God’s presence even in the most familiar people, places, and activities. Otherwise, we will miss those things that are truly worth celebrating.

In one of the eucharistic prayers that we use less often at Holy Trinity, prayer C, the priest asks this of God: “Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us.” That’s a good prayer for any of us to use at any time. Asking for the grace to be able to see God working in our lives: in our most mundane tasks, our most frustrating weaknesses, our most familiar friends, and even in a carpenter from Nazareth.

Amen.

In the name of God, the holy and undivided Trinity. Amen.

Well, I have to say that this morning’s gospel reading seems especially appropriate considering the weather that we’ve been having for the past few weeks. It almost seems as though all of the wind and rain has been building up to this moment! I know it’s pretty calm out there right now, but at one point there was a storm forecast for this morning, and I was really hoping it would start to thunder and lightning during the service, just to provide a sort of dramatic backdrop for the sermon. No such luck, I guess.

We have certainly had our fair share of storms recently. Just walking down the street in one of them, one can begin to feel a little bit like the disciples with waves beating against the boat. But a storm in the city is one thing. A storm out on a lake is a completely different matter. And that is where the disciples find themselves in today’s gospel. Not just being soaked by the rain or inconvenienced a little, but fighting for their lives against waves that threaten to overwhelm them completely.

Maybe the weather has had something to do with it, but I have felt a little overwhelmed myself this week. I could certainly identify with the disciples as I came back from England on Monday and found myself having to catch up from jet lag and from being away. Looking ahead to these next few weeks is also a bit overwhelming. Alan will be going on vacation soon and yes, he’s leaving me in charge! Talk about overwhelming!

At the same time, I’ve entered the home stretch for wedding planning—a process that is complicated slightly by the fact that I’m here in Philadelphia, the ceremony is in New Haven,
and my partner is in England. As I’m finding out, good and joyful things, like weddings, can often be overwhelming, too!

Even looking at the readings for this morning felt overwhelming at first. So many possibilities! So many potential topics to preach about! These texts are full of great stories and images. Here we have the Israelite armies cowering before the giant warrior Goliath, and the courageous (or possibly foolhardy) boy David boldly going out to face him in single combat. The disciples battling against the storm and Jesus telling the waves to be still. There are those beautiful verses at the end of the epistle, when Paul appeals to the Corinthians to “open wide your hearts also.”
And there is that great moment, which I think is one of the funniest stories in the bible, when Saul dresses David in his own armor and David can’t even walk with it on. With all of those great options, how could I possibly choose just one? It was kind of, well, overwhelming.

We all know what it is like to be overwhelmed, to feel like the disciples in their little boat or like David going out to face Goliath. We all have times in our lives when it seems as though we are being swamped, and we find ourselves out on a lake with the waves crashing into us, or staring a giant in the face with only a stick and sling in our hands.

Sometimes it is the events around us that seem overwhelming, and sometimes it is our own perceptions and feelings about those events. I received an email from a parishioner this week in which he apologized that he had not been able to accomplish a particular task he’d been asked to do. He said that he was simply swamped with all of his other responsibilities and would not be able to get it done. The task itself was not large, but I could tell from the email that it had started to feel like this was one thing too many. It was that one last wave threatening to overwhelm his boat and send it under.

And as if our personal storms and giants aren’t enough, there is usually more than enough going on in the wider world to make us feel extra overwhelmed. The threat of an escalating conflict with North Korea. The storm brewing in Iran as thousands of people protest the outcome of the recent election. The ongoing effects of the global recession. And, although it has turned out milder than expected for the time being, the illness and disruption being caused by the virus formerly known as swine flu. All of it can seem very overwhelming.

Feeling overwhelmed is an inevitable part of being alive. As Christians, we are not immune from that experience, despite what some may claim. We are not guaranteed calm seas and smooth sailing when we choose to follow Jesus. In fact, following Jesus will quite often lead us directly into the storm, directly into confrontation with those things that make us afraid and that threaten to overwhelm us. After all, it was Jesus himself who suggested to the disciples that they should cross the lake that night. He’s the one who got them into the storm in the first place. Jesus does not promise us a life without storms and giants. Julian of Norwich once wrote: “He said not ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased’; but he said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.’”

This is the message of our readings this morning: that we will not be overcome. God is bigger than the storms and the giants that we face. God is bigger than the chaos, bigger than the insecurity, and bigger than our feelings of being overwhelmed. Sometimes, it may feel as though God is asleep in the back of the boat, oblivious to the danger that we are in. We may want to shout, in fact we may actually shout: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” “Do you not care that I am perishing?” But even in those moments, God does not abandon us to the wind and the waves, or to the situations and people who seem so much more powerful than we are.

In a recent issue of “The Christian Century,” pastor and poet Kate Layzer wrote: “[Jesus] speaks to the storm and utters that word of power spoken over the waters from the beginning. He speaks, and the eternal word is present—greater than the wind and the waves, greater than our fear of conflict, greater than our drive for power and domination, greater than sin, greater than death. His is the word that is able to bring peace where peace seems out of the question.”

God speaks that word of peace to each one of us, and whatever our storm might look like today,
whatever giant we may be facing, we will not be overcome.

Thanks be to God. Amen.