The Lord is my What?

A Sermon for the 4^th Sunday of Pascha & First Holy Communion Sunday 4-29-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18

Themes:         the good shepherd, first communion, God feeds us

Title:               The Lord is my What?

Today is called “Good Shepherd Sunday” and it is a day when we remember and celebrate Jesus as the Good Shepherd.

You heard it in the famous 23^rd Psalm, in which our First Communion children led us this morning.

“The Lord is my Shepherd.” And you heard this in our Gospel reading.

Here is a copy of an ancient icon, which shows Jesus as the Good Shepherd, carrying the lamb on his shoulders. Please pass it around so that everyone can see it.

But here is my question for all of you: Has anyone here ever seen a real, living shepherd at work?

Not on TV, not in the movies, not in stories, but with your own two eyes?

Well, neither have I! I’ve heard stories about them, of course, and I’ve seen images of them in movies.

But never with my own eyes. They are just not very common in this part of the world.  

It’s a famous and familiar image only if you grew up in the church. But if you did not, the idea of Jesus as our Good Shepherd probably doesn’t mean hardly anything to you at all.

So this got me thinking about what this Psalm might sound like today, if it were written by someone living in Bellmawr/Gloucester City today.

What is it that a shepherd provides for the sheep?

Three things: protection from predators and other dangers, guidance to stay together and to stay in good pastures, and the provision of food and water.

Three things: protection, guidance, and provision.

So where in our world today do we see this kind of figure?

How would someone express this today? 

The Lord is my Nurse? Well, that gets a bit at the idea of someone taking care of me when I need help. And I suppose a nurse might feed me, but a nurse does not protect me from danger and does not guide me in the right way.

The Lord is my Flight Attendant? These folk feed us when we fly on airplanes, but they do not provide us with guidance in decision-making, and they are not always good at protecting us from danger.  

The Lord is my Coach? The coach guides me, perhaps a coach might protect me from a dangerous situation. But a coach does not really provide food and water for me on a regular basis.

What do you think? Any ideas out there?

You know, the only answer which seems to work in replacement of the Shepherd is this:

“The Lord is my Parent.”

That just might be the best option of all, at least when we think of parents as they are supposed to be! The Lord is the one who plans the meals, buys the groceries, prepares the table, brings dinner out when it’s hot, and makes sure that everything gets cleaned up and all ready for tomorrow, when the cycle starts over again!

This metaphor makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, what is the prayer given by Jesus to the disciples?

“Our Father in the heavens…”

Jesus taught them, and he teaches us, to look to God as a child looks to her parents.   

And of course, God is both Father AND Mother: both roles are seen in God.

But how do you know that your parents love you? Can you see it?

No, love is invisible. But you can see the things that are supplied by love!

If your mother loves you, she makes hot soup for you when you are feeling under the weather.

How do you know that God loves you? Can you see it?

Of course not. Love is invisible. But you can see the food that is supplied by love.

Now, I understand that there are some of you who have experienced what it is like to have a bad father or a bad mother. Not all parents handle these duties well: protecting their children, guiding their children, providing food and the basic needs of life for their children.

There are many human parents which fail at this. But that it why Jesus is called the Good Shepherd: the One who does not run away when things are difficult, the One who goes all out in order to protect us, guide us, and provide for us.

This morning, we have here a few of our children who spent some time with me yesterday learning about Communion and preparing for this day.

And together, we talked about how God feeds us and gives us the nourishment that we need to live a full and healthy life in this world.

That is what the Sacraments are for: to feed us, to strengthen us, to prepare us for the challenges of life.

And we talked about the three things that are required in order to have a sacrament.

Do you remember what those three things are?

That’s right: the people – the community, the congregation; the Word of God – the promises of Jesus; and the elements – the creation that is blessed and shared.

In Holy Communion, we have the gathered community in which we all have a role to play; the words of institution from Jesus about his body and blood given for us; and of course, we have the elements of bread and wine.

To me, one of the classic touchstones of life as a child is this: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!

In order to have a PB&J, you must have three ingredients: the bread, which I think of as the community, the congregation which provides the structure; then there is the peanut butter, which is like the Word of God – it’s the really meaty part with all the protein; and then there’s the jelly, which are the basic elements of the sacrament.

Take out any of these three, and you do not have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!

Take out any of those three basic ingredients, and you do not have a sacrament!

But put them all together, and you have something wonderful!

And what is the point of the sacrament of Holy Communion after all? A sacrament is a visible sign of an invisible gift.

We cannot see that our parents love us, but we can see the gift of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches which they make for us, which they provide for us. And they are good!

We cannot see that God loves us, that God provides for our needs like our parents.

But we can see the gift of this bread and wine, the sign of that nourishment, that grace which feeds us and gives us strength.

And do you know why we need this? Why we need this constant reminder, this continual sign of God’s love and care as our divine Parent, as our Father in the heavens?

Because life is hard. Every day, every week we have to face new challenges. New problems come our way which we cannot predict, and which we cannot control.

These things challenge our faith. We know in our minds that God loves us, but what about in our hearts? Do our hearts know it?

Coming to the Lord’s table week-by-week gives us an opportunity to renew our trust in the Father’s love over and over again, to taste and see that God is good week-by-week.

We hear the promise: “I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.”

But here we can taste it, and feel it, and allow it to penetrate even into the depths of our hearts.

Let it be so that each one of us can say it with our whole heart: “The Lord is my Shepherd. I lack nothing. “ Amen. 

God's Children Now! - Sermon for 3 Pascha

A Sermon for the 3^rd Sunday in Pascha (RCL B) 4-22-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Acts 3:12-19; Psalm 4; 1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48

Themes:         repentance, witnessing, boldness, fearlessness
Title:               God’s Children Now

“Repent and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out” (Acts 3:19).

My dear sisters and brothers: each year during this Paschal season in which we celebrate the victory of Christ over the power of death, we read through the Acts of the Apostles in our Sunday liturgies.

And in these texts, we discover anew the amazing transformation of these ordinary working-class people into preachers and teachers who were bold enough to stand before the rulers of the world and to bear witness to the power of God at work now in Jesus the Messiah.

We know that Peter and all of them were afraid and confused at first.

Our Gospel reading today takes place after the sun has set on that first day of resurrection.

It shows them once more afraid and unsure. But then their minds were opened to understand, and not long after, the power of the Holy Spirit rested upon them.

And when that happened, everything changed! And all of their fear was gone.

This past week was the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. I’m sure you heard about this as it was all over the news media. But I doubt that many of you heard the story of John Harper, the Baptist pastor who was on board the Titanic with his daughter on that fateful night in April of 1912. 

Born in 1872, John Harper was a native of Glasgow, Scotland. He began to preach the Gospel in the streets of the city when he was only 17 years old. His education was quite limited, but no one could ever question his passion for calling people to repent and turn to Christ. When he was 24 years old, he planted a new church, which grew to have over 500 members by the time he set sail for America. 

After the iceberg ripped open enormous gashes in the side of the Titanic, and when it became clear that the ship was going to sink, Reverend Harper placed his much-beloved daughter in one of the lifeboats for women and children. He kissed her, promised her that he would see her again one day, and then turned back to the crowds of fearful humanity gathered on the decks.

When the ship began to break into two pieces, many of the passengers jumped off the decks and into the icy, dark waters below. John Harper was one of these people and he was seen swimming frantically to people in the water and leading them to Jesus before they succumbed to hypothermia or drowning. Rev. Harper swam up to one young man who had climbed up on a piece of debris, and he asked him: "Are you saved?" The young man replied that he was not, and after a brief conversation in which it became clear that this young man was not interested in God, Rev. Harper took off his life jacket and threw it to the man and said "Take this: you need it more than I do." Then Rev. Harper
swam away to others close-by.

A few minutes later, Harper saw the young man again and he succeeded in leading this young man to profess trust in Christ.

Of the 1528 people that went into the icy water that night, only six were rescued by the lifeboats.

One of them was this young man floating on the debris with Rev. Harper’s lifejacket.

Four years later, at a survivors meeting in Hamilton, Canada, this young man stood up and in tears recounted how John Harper had led him to Christ; how he had tried to swim back to help other people, yet because of the intense cold, had grown too weak to swim.

His last words before going under in the frigid waters were "Believe on the Name of the Lord Jesus and you will be saved."

Not all of us, my friends, are called to be evangelists like this John Harper. But we are ALL brought into this new life in Christ where we can live – like the apostles, like Reverend Harper – free from the shackles of fear, free from the fear of death.

AND we are ALL called to bear witness – with boldness and sacrifice – to the transforming power of the risen Lord.

What is the transformation that happens when a person is overwhelmed by the grace of God?

What we see in the apostles after the resurrection, what we see in saints like John Harper, is an ability to live without fear! To be in the moment, with no worries about the past and no anxiety about the future. To live boldly in the NOW of God, freely sharing the love of God in Christ without concern about the consequences. 

In our Epistle reading today, we heard this proclaimed in our midst:

“Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed.” (1 John 3:2).

What amazing insight! We are God’s children NOW – right now. That is what our identity.

What we will be has not yet been revealed. The future remains obscure, hidden from our sight.

Now, of course, we must be practical and plan for the future as best as we are able.

It is our duty to provide for our families in the future as we can.

And yet, the truth is that you and I spend far too much time thinking anxiously about the future, and projecting our imagined fears into the years to come, rather than living boldly in the present. 

Here is another story. A very different story – not a historical one. It is a parable which also presents us with an important truth.

This is an ancient Zen Buddhist story about an old farmer living out in the country.

One day, the old farmers stallion broke through its fence and ran away. His neighbors came by to console him and they said, "Oh, we’re sorry. That's so bad!" The old farmer just shrugged and said "Maybe".

The next day, wanting to eat some of those good oats back at the farm, the stallion returned. And, it brought along three wild fillies – wild female horses. The farmer’s neighbors stopped in and said, "Wow! Such great luck!" The old farmer just shrugged and said "Maybe".

The next day, the farmer's teenage son – his only son – decided to try and break one of these new horses, so that he could ride it. The horse bucked him, and when he fell to the ground, he broke his leg. His neighbors again consoled him and said, "Oh, we’re sorry. What horrible luck!" The old farmer just shrugged and said "Maybe".

And then the next day, the Emperor’s army came through the area in order to round up all of the young men to fight in a new war, where most were likely to die. But because of his broken leg, they did not take the farmer's teenage son. His neighbors congratulated him and said, "What great luck!" The old farmer just shrugged and said "Maybe...."

Do you see, my friends? The truth is that you and I are far too eager to predict the future and to pass judgment upon how things will be because of our new circumstances.

But we project too much, and the truth is that we do not know how our present circumstances will shape our futures. We waste far too much of our precious time thinking and worrying about the future. 

“What we will be has not yet been revealed.” The future is a mystery. But what else is written there?

“Beloved, we are God’s children now!”

Right now, we are God’s children. And truly, THAT is what matters most!

Because the Lord rose from the dead, the apostles walked out of that locked room and they left their fear behind. They walked out into Jerusalem with no concern about the future, with no fear of death, and they spoke with boldness of the power of God available to all people NOW – right now- through the resurrection of the Lord Jesus!

When you and I are able to clear out the clutter in our minds, this is all that matters.

Right now, we are alive in Christ! Right now, the Holy Spirit is empowering us. Right now, God surrounds us with amazing love and grace.  

And right now, there are people in your lives, in your families, in your neighborhood, who are lost because they have no connection with God in their lives.

These are people who have never experienced the joy, the peace, the hope that comes from being connected to Jesus Christ.

May God forbid that we keep this gift to ourselves. May God send us all out to live without fear, and with boldness to bear witness to transforming power of Christ. Amen.

"Throwing in the Collar" Re-visited

Here is the link to, and the text of, an op-ed piece which I wrote and had published in The Living Church magazine back in 2005. Someone unearthed this recently through Google. It deserves an explanation, which can be found below the original piece. Please read both.

http://archive.livingchurch.org/news/news-updates/2005/9/20/throwing-in-the-collar

Throwing in the Collar

Posted on: September 20, 2005

By Nathan Wilson Ferrell

There has been much talk in the Episcopal Church in recent years about the need to identify new young clergy to lead us forward into the 21st century. We have heard the statistics of how the number of ordinations has dropped steadily since 1986, while the average age of ordinands has risen steadily over the same time period. Many dioceses have begun initiatives to encourage the consideration of holy orders among young Episcopalians, and the Church has joined an ecumenical group (PLSE) to encourage young persons to join the ranks of the clergy. While there are a few young folks trying out this priestly life, by and large it is not happening on the scale needed. And so, at least in my part of the world (the Northeast), the Episcopal Church continues to shrink. The future does not look very bright from these shores. Why is this? What is happening to thwart our good intentions?
I cannot claim to be able to answer these questions authoritatively. But if we all honestly reflect upon our experiences in the Church — local parish and beyond — is it really so hard to understand the current state of affairs? Not for me. I do not know what is wrong with the Church, but I do know my own experience. I have found that there is no real support in our institutions for young persons in the priesthood.

As a young man who went into seminary right out of college, following a sincere and earnest call to pastoral leadership, my growing family has followed me into parish after parish, seeking that elusive “great situation” where we could feel fruitful. And what have I experienced in my 10 years since beginning this journey? After seminary, the Church sends people out into parish ministry to do a job for which they have received very little practical training (i.e., conflict resolution, administration, politics, etc.). Once in their jobs, there are few resources readily available to help these clergy to gain the skills needed to do these jobs well. And yet, all the while, our parishioners are evaluating and critiquing our performance (either privately or publicly) on the basis of these tasks for which we have little background. Unfortunately, there is very little support at the diocesan level if the parish priest runs into difficulty. We are for the most part on our own.

Even though we work on behalf of our bishops, we receive no real constructive feedback on our leadership from them. But we have hundreds of people in the pews who compare us constantly to the BFR (“Beloved Former Rector”), who subconsciously project their own fears and anxieties upon us, and who try to shape us to meet their expectations of what a good and faithful priest is supposed to be. (They are more than ready to tell us how to do our jobs!) For all of this, we get paid what amounts to a stipend, far below what we know our value would be in the business world. And all the while, we are expected to be the joyful, loving, smiling leader of a Christian community, doling out the warm fuzzies, thankful that we have the blessed opportunity to follow our deepest calling.
We in the Church need to be honest. The emperor has no clothes! Why would young persons want to do this for their careers? In our era of manifold options, can they not see many other possibilities that bring far greater reward and much less personal anguish? They can, and they do.

I, for one, don’t blame them. That is why it is over for me. I am putting my collar in the drawer and heading out into the business world. For 10 years my growing family has followed me as I pursued my calling and dream to be a parish priest. There have been good moments. But, by and large, what we have gained is growing debt, criticism, judgment, instability, impossible expectations, and heartbreak. I know that others have had more positive experiences, and I am glad for them. But for me, this ride is over. I cannot ask my family to follow me into another parish where we are likely to receive more of the same. But I will pray for God to restore a measure of sanity, civility, and honesty to this Church which I love so much.

The Rev. Nathan Wilson Ferrell is the former rector of Trinity Church, Topsfield, Massachusetts.
********************************************************************************
This article was written immediately after an abrupt departure from Trinity Church, due to a series of conflicts, which was a very painful experience. But even now, I would write all of it over again, except for the final paragraph. I'll come back to that one a little later.
The analysis of the overall situation is correct, I believe. We are doing a very poor job of preparing new, young priests for parish ministry. And we are not adequately training young new clergy to be effective for the actual day-to-day tasks of parish ministry. Do they know how to evaluate and manage staff?  Do they know how to read a Balance Sheet and a Profit-and-Loss statement?  Are they trained in effective conflict resolution strategies? These are the realities which they will have to handle if they have  pastoral responsibility for a congregation. And yet, if they fall short in one of these key areas of leadership (that is, if they have disgruntled staff, or if they miss serious budget issues, or if they cannot diffuse a major conflict in the parish), then their tenure is likely to be short. Who will be there to back them up, to support them? I have never yet seen a diocese which is able to support a young priest in such a situation. The criticism from parishioners in the face of a failure such as this is likely to leave deep scars.

Is this what we want for new, young leaders in The Episcopal Church? If not, what are we doing to prevent it? The truth, unfortunately, is nothing at all.

As for the last paragraph, this is truly how I felt at that time, because I was describing my experience. I was hurt greatly by the church which I had pledged to serve - the laypeople and the hierarchy. My family and I answered the call to move into a community where I would be able to serve as the Rector for many years to come. Our hope was that this would be our children's home: the place where they grow up and have the memories of their youth. Unknown to me, there were a few serious landmines  which I accidentally uncovered and detonated in a fairly quick fashion. These dealt primarily with the parish staff and with the financial support of the rector. In the midst of dealing with all of this, the Vestry undertook the most duplicitous and irresponsible "review" of a rector which I have ever witnessed. This "mutual ministry review" consisted of 8 pages of anonymous complaints from a handful of disgruntled parishioners. This review was handed to me with the expectation that I would address these complaints, even though most were based on nothing but falsehoods and rumors. By this point, I had lost my trust in the Vestry as sincere partners in ministry. It seemed clear that my family and I could no longer expect to have a long tenure in such a community.

You must realize that in the midst of this conflict in Topsfield, I called my Bishop to ask for help. This was the reply: "Nathan, there is nothing I can do. If I intervened to help you, then I would have to intervene in 100 other situations. And I cannot do that." End of conversation. As a young priest who was still a bit idealistic about the loving nature of the church "family", it came as quite a shock that, in fact, no one really cared one bit if I and my family were left out to dry, not even the Bishop.

Consider this: what is the task of a Bishop if it is not to assist a healthy, vibrant parish in its relationship with a new, young rector? Is it more important for them to write letters protesting global warming? Why must we have a system in which new clergy have no way to receive any constructive feedback from their bishops, for whom ostensibly they are carrying out their daily duties in the parish? Don't misunderstand. All of these Bishops are "nice" people, but being nice is not the same as having a plan in place for working with new clergy in transition or in conflict. And, no, Fresh Start groups do not provide this function.

Seven years later, I understand much more. Hindsight is always 20/20, and I am truly thankful for what I learned through the crisis in Topsfield and in my years in private business. While I was ready to put my pastoral ministry "in the drawer", God was not willing for me to do this. It was the Holy Spirit who called me back to the Pulpit and the Lord's Table. That much is clear to me. I am very thankful for what I have learned in the years since this article. My concern about the training and support of new, young clergy remains unchanged, and my uncertainty about the function of Bishops in the Church today. But what I have learned more than anything else is that I am called to be a parish priest. And I love it!

So I Send You - a sermon for the 2nd Sunday of Pascha

A Sermon for the 2^nd Sunday of Pascha (RCL B) 4-15-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31

Themes:         doubting Thomas, communal harmony, touch and sight, belief and truth

Title:               So I Send You

My dear sisters and brothers: The message of the resurrection is a powerful and life-changing truth that has shaped the course of human history over the last 2000 years.

But it didn’t start out that way. In fact, the first disciples had no idea what to think about this idea of resurrection at all!

Join me in imagining what that first day was like. That day when Jesus was raised from the dead.

We celebrate the day now as the Church’s most important feast, but the first disciples did not celebrate that day. Not at all. 

Try to picture it in your imagination. Jerusalem under Roman occupation. The warm springtime air.

A house on a narrow city street which was a safe meeting place for these Galilean apostles, outsiders who came into the city only on special occasions.

Perhaps they were meeting in the same room where they ate the Last Supper together.

Early on that morning, we know that Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found it empty. Peter and John then ran to the tomb and found it empty as well.

But what happened next? What did the 11 apostles do for the rest of that day?

They were afraid, we know that for certain. “The doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews” (John 20:19). Let’s be clear about this: they were not afraid of the Jews, of course, because everyone in this story was a Jew!

Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Peter and the apostles – they were all Jews! What they were afraid of was the leaders in Jerusalem who just might try to arrest these men and try to have them put to death by the Romans as well.

Later that morning, it is said that Mary came, after seeing the Lord, and told them about her reunion with him. But of course, as we know, they had no idea at all of what to make of her story.

Maybe after hearing this news from Mary, Peter had secretly called the others together to their familiar meeting room in the city. Or maybe they were all sleeping in that house together anyway. We don’t know. But there in that room on that day, the disciples did not celebrate.

I imagine they talked and argued and debated. Perhaps they prayed. Perhaps they were too stunned to pray.

There were 10 men in the room that first evening. All of these men had turned their back on the Lord in his hour of need. All of them had fled and abandoned him.

On this day, we know that all of them were pummeled by fear and uncertainty.

I imagine Thaddaeus perhaps pacing the room, his heart twisted with anxiety and guilt and fear. 

I imagine Philip and Bartholomew looking out of the window together over the city scene, lost in confused mental calculations about what Mary must have seen or not seen.

Thomas, of course, was not there on that first night. Where was he? And what did he do all of that week until the next Sunday when the Lord confronted him face-to-face?

I want all of you to know that I admire Thomas for his insistence on direct experience of something which is beyond belief in our ordinary lives. Rising from the dead? After such a gruesome death?

I commend him for his unwillingness to believe such a story without some evidence.

Not everyone needs this kind of first-hand knowledge.

There are some who find belief easier than others. Indeed, there are countless numbers of human beings who will seemingly believe anything at all!

I know that the Lord said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

But, is that easy kind of belief really something to be admired?

People believe all kinds of crazy things, and people make up all kinds of amazing stories in order to create meaning for their lives.

A new book was published just a few days ago called “The Woman Who Wasn’t There: The True Story of an Incredible Deception.” The authors of this book discovered a fascinating secret about a well-known person. That person was Tania Head, a founder and leader of the World Trade Center Survivors Network in New York City. Tania is herself a survivor of the attacks of 9-11.

And Tania has a heart-wrenching story of fleeing from the offices of Meryl Lynch on the 78^th floor of the South Tower, and waking up days later in a burn unit of a local hospital, while her husband died in the North Tower. Tania became a spokesperson for the survivors in New York City, and many of them point to her as one of the primary influences that allowed them to heal from the horrors of that day. Tania even donated her own money to create an effective Survivors Network that has been praised by both Mayor Guiliani and Mayor Bloomberg.

There is one major problem, however. None of her story is true. Tania is not her real name. It’s Alicia, and on September 11, 2001, Alicia Head was taking classes at a graduate school in Barcelona, Spain.

Why did she create this hoax? Who really knows? She has now conveniently disappeared from pulbic view.

It is likely that she did this for the attention, or in order to give some much-needed direction and purpose to her life.

No one was directly harmed by this woman’s deception. But still, the sheer fact that she lied is disturbing – even if it was for a good cause.

Many people at that time accused the disciples of creating a hoax, developing a clever story about their Master’s missing body and his supposed rising. Even more people since then have thought the same thing.

Can you blame them?

I, for one, have no interest in easy belief. And I do not encourage any of you to go down that path either. Before you believe anything, test it out. Put the belief through a battery of tests, particularly if the belief is something that demands the commitment of your time and energy and passion.

To believe that Jesus rose from the dead was something that would demand much from Thomas.

There was no way for him to know all of what those demands might be here in these first days after the resurrection. But I am certain that he knew enough to realize that this reality – if it was true – would change everything. How could it not?

If Jesus actually rose from the dead, then this does in fact change everything.

Nothing we understand about life and death and love and hope and meaning and God – nothing can stay the same! And what is more: this truth demands much from us as well.

“Jesus came and stood among [the disciples] and said, ‘Peace be with you’” (John 20:19).

In the midst of their fear and anxiety and guilt, the Lord came with a message of forgiveness and hope and peace.

“As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

What happened next to these men was nothing short of miraculous, for they soon began to change the course of human history. 

Once we are also touched by the truth of the Risen Lord, we too are sent out to carry the healing, forgiving love of the Father to all people. Are you ready to be part of this mission?

A Feast of Rich Food - a sermon for the Holy Pascha (commonly known as Easter)

A Sermon for the Holy Pascha / Resurrection Sunday (RCL B) 4-8-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 188:1-2, 12-24; Acts 10:34-43; John 20:1-18

Title:               A Feast of Rich Food

Alleluia! Christ is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And so we have finally come to this festival day of joy and light and hope. Our long Lenten season of discipline is over, and now the season of celebration begins!

Last night, at our wonderful and interesting Vigil liturgy which marked the turning point and the beginning of our festival, we baptized our newest sister in Christ – Chelsea Ann Baumiller. And immediately after this, just as the Church prays for every newly baptized Christian, so I offered a prayer over Chelsea which ends with this petition:

“Give her an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.”

My dear friends: if we are willing to receive them, these are the gifts that are offered to every one of us once again on this blessed morning:

·        An inquiring and discerning heart

·        The courage to will and to persevere

·        A spirit to know and to love God

·        The gift of joy and wonder in all the works of God!

For it is truly a gift to be able to find joy and to feel wonder at all the amazing things in creation.

Have you ever seen people running through a parking lot when it begins to rain?

They’re trying to get under cover as soon as possible, so that they can stay dry, right?

This feast, this celebration which we will carry with us now, this is all about stopping in the midst of the rainstorm and letting yourself become soaked!

Here is your challenge, here is your call: my friends, let yourself become soaked with God!

Do not run through life so quickly that you are dodging all of the raindrops!

Stop, and let the love and beauty and grace and majesty of God to soak you down to the bone.

No, even deeper than that. All the way down to the core of your being.

Then you will understand about the gift of joy and wonder in all the works of God!

Do you know someone like that? Someone who has that gift of joy and wonder?

There is a famous story told about St. Francis of Assisi, the little Povorello.

It is said that one night he was walking through the streets of his home city, the city of Assisi up in the hills of Umbria in Italy, when he noticed that the full moon was shining down with incredible brightness.

But what amazed St. Francis even more was that no one else in the city seemed to notice this at all! Everyone was going about their late-night chores or whatever activities demanded their attention. But no one paid any notice to this amazing moon!

So do you know what he did? It is said that St. Francis then climbed up the steeple of the large church there on the central square in Assisi. He grabbed the ropes – think of the hunchback of Notre Dame! – and he began to ring all the church bells. That got everyone’s attention!

The bells were run only to announce the start of mass or if there was a news-worthy event that needed to be announced, such as the start of a war or the death of a Pope. So the people ran out into the square, eager to hear the important news. And there was the little St. Francis, small in stature but giant in soul and bright in face, leaning out a window high up on the steeple, pointing up at the moon and saying to the people: “Look, look! The moon is incredibly brilliant tonight!”   

Lots of people thought he was mad. Crazy. But was he mad, a little bit loony? Or were they?

Let me suggest to you that we are all a bit mad and a bit loony! Every single one of us.

But, we are crazy for different things!

Some are crazy about money, and they are convinced that wealth will make them happy – even though all of the evidence shows this to be patently false.

Some are crazy about health, and they will do everything they can to stay and look young for as long as possible – even though we all know that old age and illness and death are inevitable.

Some are crazy about success, and they will spend every waking moment ensuring that they – or their children – outperform their competition – even though we know that there is always someone better or stronger or smarter than you.

Some are crazy about their country, and they live and breathe with patriotic fervor – even though we all know that no nation lasts forever, and that human societies come and go with the passing of time.

But there are some who are crazy about God, and these ones are soaked through and through with joy and wonder at the goodness of God and the beauty of God’s world.

There are some, like St. Francis, who are not blinded by the silly notions of human society.

These are the ones who notice the brilliance of the moonlight, who join with the singing of the birds, who give thanks for a simple meal with friends, who find joy in the laughter of children.

There is an ancient story from the deserts of Egypt that goes like this.

A man came to visit a wise elder named Joseph in order to ask for some advice in his relationship with God. The man said to Joseph: “Father, as much as I can I say my daily prayers, I fast a little bit, I meditate a little, I live in peace with others, and as far as I can, I try to keep my thoughts clean. What else can I do?”

Do you see? This visitor had a nice little religious life – a little bit of prayer, a little meditation, a peaceful place to live, some effort to think good thoughts.  But it wasn’t enough.

Is there any more than this?  That was his question to Joseph. Is this all there is?

The wise elder, Joseph, stood up then and stretched out his hands toward the heavens.

And his fingers became 10 flames of shooting fire.

And he said to his visitor: “If you want, you can become all flame!”

(The Sayings of the Desert Fathers by Benedicta Ward, P.103).  

There is more, my friends! There is much more. There is resurrection power.

And if you want it, then you can become a living flame!

If you want, you can become soaked with God.  

Not by doubling-down and working at it as hard as you can.

That is not the way to have your heart transformed by grace. The soul needs quiet to grow.

You become soaked with God, we become completely on fire with the love of God, only when we slow down, stop the noise around us and within us, and open ourselves to that grace.

Like the opening of a tulip flower in the warmth of the early morning sunshine.

Let your soul be like that flower as you soak up the love and mercy and grace of God that pours upon us through our Lord who lives today.

You are here this morning, and we have been invited to this feast of God.

So take a deep breath and celebrate!

If you have anything in your hands, please put it down. Stretch out those fingers. Open your palms up.

Do you know that God is good? Then let’s give God a round of applause. (Clap your hands, for real!)

Praise God, because our Lord Jesus is alive, and that same power which raised him from the dead can transform your heart and your life! If you want it.  Amen.  

A New Language - a Meditation for Palm Sunday

A Meditation for Palm Sunday (RCL B) 4-1-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Mark 11:1-11; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Mark 14:1-15:47

Themes:         the experiences of holy week

Title:               A New Language

Speaking with remarkable insight, the great teacher and founder of the Sufi tradition, the 13^th century mystic named Rumi, once gave this advice:

“Speak a new language so that the world will be a new world.”  

My dear brothers and sisters: that is exactly what this remarkable and Holy Week is all about – learning to speak a new language so that we might renew our world!

The events which we remember and re-live this week are given to us so that we can create a new language, a new means by which we can interpret and understand the circumstances of our lives.

So much of life depends upon our perspective, upon the lens through which we view reality.

This week, we are invited to create a new perspective, a new lens. Not the one handed down to us by the power-hungry in Washington. Not the one sold to us by the money-hungry in the media.

But the lens of the God-hungry, the simple people who long for truth and beauty and hope and love.  

By walking through this Week with Jesus, we are invited to see our lives in a new way through these events. We are invited to speak a new language.

This week,

We are entering the city in a joyous procession, singing Hosanna in the highest.

Then, we are anointing the Lord’s head in preparation for what is to come.

We are eating the Passover meal with the Lord.

We are breaking bread together.

We are washing one another’s feet.

We are watching with the Lord is Gethsemane, and we are falling asleep as our eyes grow heavy.

We are betraying a friend with a kiss.

We are denying our friend three times, cursing all the while.

We are watching the innocent suffer at the hands of the powerful.

We are caught up in the frenzy of the crowd.

We are watching the crown of thorns forced onto his head.

We are carrying the cross, we are bearing the Passion.

We are standing with Mary at the foot of the cross.

We are listening to the crowd as they mock him and taunt him.

We are watching him breath his last.

We are watching as his body is placed in the tomb.

We are waiting through the quiet nothingness of Saturday.

Finally, in the darkness of Saturday evening, we light a new fire, because we know that the Son rises out of the darkness of night.

This is our journey in this Holy Week. You are invited to walk in it, to walk through it.

You are invited to “Speak a new language so that the world will be a new world.” 

For this is indeed the faith of the Church: this week marks the turning point of human history.

And when we gather here once again at the beginning of next week, we will be standing on the other side, having passed with Christ through death and into a brand new world where nothing will ever, ever be the same. Amen.