Sermon: Epiphany 1

Since I always preach without notes, this is an approximation, as clearly as I can remember, of what I actually said.

The sermon you are about to hear is not the sermon I intended to preach. Rather, at 11 o'clock last night, I chucked the whole thing and started over. It seemed clear to me that the events of the day in Tuscon could not go without comment or reflection in this place, with all of us together.

I first learned about the shooting on Facebook. As the day unfolded, I found myself returning repeatedly to the TV to learn more. I thought about my good friends who live in Tuscon. I hoped they were OK. I prayed for the victims and the perpetrator. And, as news commentators struggled to fill airtime and began rushing to judgement about what happened, I began to wonder how we look at this heinous event from the perspective of people of faith. As Christians?

Our lectionary gives us help in this regard. Both the Acts of the Apostles and the Baptism of Jesus give us some guidance. I'd like to look at both passages, in reverse chronological order.

Our reading this morning from the Acts of the Apostles begins with Peter saying, "Truly, I understand that God shows no partiality." God shows no partiality. This is an remarkable statement coming from Peter. Peter grew up in occupied Israel. He grew up in the small town of Capernum. David and I have been there. We saw the remains of the stone foundations of the small houses where people lived, and the remains of the synagogue where Peter worshiped. We know that Peter grew up under Roman occupation. We know that his life was often in danger because of the Roman occupation. It was the Romans who crucified his friend and teacher, Jesus.

In the early days after Jesus' death, there was real tension about who Jesus message was for. Was it a Jewish message or a broader message. Paul was the spokesperson for the spread the news far and wide camp, while Peter really believed that it was a message for the Jews alone.

One night, Peter had a dream. In that dream, God lowered a sheet down from heaven. That sheet was filled with all of the animals the Jews considered unclean for eating. Peter heard God's voice saying, "Peter, eat." Peter, repulsed, denied the invitation several times. Finally, God told Peter that nothing God makes is unclean. Immediately, Peter woke from his dream to a knock at the door. Messengers from Cornelius, a Roman soldier, were at the door, asking Peter to come and see Cornelius.

Peter went with them. Once there, he began to teach about Jesus and told Cornelius, this soldier who was occupying Peter's country, this foreign Gentile, "Truly, I understand that God shows no partiality." Wow.

I have been increasingly horrified in recent years at the way our discourse has deteriorated in this country. We have lost the ability to be civil. To disagree without being ugly. We have set ourselves into camps: liberal, conservative, progressive, evangelical, democrat, republican. The list goes on. And, we have become totally disrespectful in how we talk with one another across our imaginary divides.

I was reading several different news sites posts about the shooting last night, and already the ugliness had started. One person used the word "demoncrats" to describe a democrat, while more progressive folks were saying equally ugly things about conservatives. And, if you don't go online, you can see the same uncivil discourse in the letters to the Editor in the Berlin Daily Sun.

Friends, it must stop. It's far too early to say what caused an ill young man to go on a violent rampage. But, whatever happened, it cannot have been helped by our violent discourse.

The other way our scripture helps us to reflect today is through the baptism of Jesus. The next thing that we will do after the sermon is renew our own baptismal promises. Among the promises that we will make, we will promise "to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourself" and "to strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being."

Friends, our role as Christians is to be role models. In this congregation we have folks from both sides of the political aisle. We are liberal, progressive, conservative. Our baptismal promises call us to a higher ground. A higher stance.

Today, and from this day forward, I invite you to do your part to make a difference in how we interact with one another. AMEN.

Funeral Sermon: Betty Marquis

Since I don't preach from a manuscript, there's no guarantee that this exactly what I said at Betty's funeral. But, it was close.

Betty Marquis was known by many names. A few of you called her mom. A few others of you called her Gram. Most of us called her Betty. Just don't call her Elizabeth. That always elicited an eye roll! Betty was a wife, a mom, a grandmother, a "fairy" godmother, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a cousin, and a friend to many.

Born and raised in Berlin, Betty was a life-long member of this congregation. She was shaped by early events in her life: helping her dad with his florist business - and then losing him when she was only 13. How many of you know that she started driving at 13, to help her dad deliver flowers. She told me THAT story last week, with a gleam in her eye.

Her dad's death was hard on her. She never forgot the pain of losing him so young, and what that was like. His death also meant a move to a new neighborhood, where she would eventually meet Jim. After marriage, they lived in the house Jim grew up in, on fourth street for all but two years of their married life.

Betty had hoped to go to nursing school, but there was no money for that training. Instead, she worked in the office at the Brown Company and she worked seasonally at Gill's. She did book-keeping at home. She raised wonderful children. She crafted and knit. And she contributed much to the life of this congregation.

When Rev. Ellie arrived at St. Barnabas, Betty handed her a piece of paper onto which she'd written all of the things that she did for the church. It had 27 different things on it. And, she'd say, with that characteristic Betty twinkle, that's not all of it.

Usually in a funeral homily, the preacher tells a bit about the person's life, and then tries to connect it all to God. With Betty, there was no distinction. All that Betty did flowed out of her love of God and her faith.

On Sunday, Leo and Pamela Carrier and I were talking about Betty. Leo said that Betty was responsible for the character of this congregation. "If we are welcoming, and hospitable, and have a sense of mission in the community," Leo said, "it's because Betty modeled that for us." We are a better place because of her being in the midst of us. She taught us all, by word and example, how to live.

Last night, Scott's friend Dave, one of the pall bearers, essentially said the same thing. Betty and Jim welcomed him into their home when he was young. "I was like the fourth child," he said. "And now, as an adult, I try to model that same behavior for my boys, so I can pass on the gift and values the Betty and Jim gave to me."

The gospel reading that Rev. Ellie just read for us from John's gospel is part of the service that we use in this church for communion under "Special Circumstances." Betty and I had many communions under special circumstances in recent months. At home, when she didn't feel well enough to come to church. And several times in recent weeks at AVH. I always read this passage to her, and then, in my reflection I would tell her that I'd chosen it because it reminded me of her.

Betty's faith was a deep part of her life. Her conviction was always strong. Even in the hospital, even when she felt really lousy (though she never complained about that), her faith and trust in God, and her joy in life never failed. A few days before she died, I told her that on the outside, she seemed really cheerful (despite being in the hospital and being enrolled into hospice). "How is it in here," I asked? "Just the same," was her smiling reply, that twinkle in her eye.

On Friday night, the night before Betty died, her friend Sophie had a dream. Betty (and all the knitting ladies, I think) were in Sophie's kitchen. I have to go home now, Betty said, standing up. She buttoned up her coat. I have to go home now.

Friends, the grief that we feel now at Betty's death is normal. Our hearts are broken because we loved her, and she loved us. It's hard to imagine a world without Betty in it. But Betty is home. She is reunited with the God she loved so well and loved so deeply.

And, she lives on in each of us. She lives on in the stories we tell. She lives on when we are loving and hospitable. She lives on as we pass on the values she taught us to the next generations.

And so today, I give thanks for the life and witness of Betty Marquis. I give thanks for having known and loved her. And I give thanks for what I have learned from her. I also give thanks that the physical suffering that she endured in recent months has ended and that she is free from her earthly body and is now living in closer communion with her God. AMEN.

Advent 3 Sermon: Philippians 4:4-7

I don't usually write a manuscript for my sermons. However, when Betty died yesterday; I decided to jettison my JBap sermon in favor of preaching on the Philippians passage. I began writing this post this morning before church, to help me get my thoughts in order; I finished it on Sunday night. I have no idea how much this represents what I actually said, because once my sermons are preached, they are over. However, several friends have asked what I said this morning. It went something like this....

Friends, this isn't the sermon I was planning to preach this morning. I had prepared what I think was a pretty good sermon on John the Baptist. It talked about the ways in which Luke's version of this story differ quite markedly from Matthew and Mark's versions, and what that might mean for us.

And then, Betty Marquis died yesterday morning. Her daughter-in-law Lisa called to tell me the news; I hung up the phone, and these words, from Philippians 4 came into my head unbidden: May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of God's son Jesus Christ. We use these words often in this Church. We use them as the blessing every Wednesday in the chapel at the 10AM service, and I've been using them as the Advent blessing here in the church on Sundays.

As I thought about this passage, and our grief, I realized that today, we needed the comfort of these words. I don't want to presume to speak for anyone else, but I know that today, I feel a combination of relief and sadness, joy and grief. Relief because Betty is finally free of the body which gave her such pain and grief in recent weeks and months, and sadness because I miss her. Joy because Betty has gone to be with God, and grief because she's no longer here with us. Perhaps you are feeling some of the same things.

They say that preachers often preach the sermon that they most need to hear. I know that this is the sermon that I need to hear this morning. I hope it's also the sermon that you need to hear. I found these words from Philippians comforting; I hope that they will be the same for you.

Paul wrote this letter to a church that he founded. He had a deep relationship with the people there, and loved them deeply. He wrote to them from prison. His primary reason for writing was to offer thanksgiving for a monetary gift they have sent to him. His secondary reason is to express his love for them and to encourage them in their faith. It's a short letter, and very beautiful. You could read it in one sitting, probably in 15-20 minutes. And I encourage you to do that.

The Christians in the church at Philippi faced some of the same issues facing the early church all over that region. There was some disagreement among church members. There were those outside the church who were trying to draw believers away from God. Christians faced persecution. Paul wrote to encourage the Philippians in all of those situations.

Today, as we gather together to worship God and join together in fellowship, these words that Paul wrote to the church in Philippi have particular meaning for us. Here the words that Paul speaks to the church at Philippi. Rejoice. Be gentle. The Lord is near. Pray. Rest in the peace of God.

Paul's words of exhortation serve as encouragement to us, as well. If you want a brief description of the life of faith, this one would serve.

Certainly, those words describe Betty and her life. She was a model for us of living out a life characterized by joy, gentleness, prayer, and faithfulness. She never doubted the nearness of her Lord. We who knew Betty and loved her are lucky. We had, in Betty, a living example of what living out this life of faith looks like.

That joy thing - it's complicated. Today, we lit the pink Advent candle. That candle stands for joy. There's some irony in that for us, I think. Today, we might not be feeling particularly joyful. Life as we know it has both sorrow and joy. Last night, when Betty's family gathered to begin planning the funeral, we laughed and we cried. I learned things about Betty that I'd never known. Did y'all know she was a speed demon?? That's how life is: God is with us in our sorrow and our joy. It's not up to us to fabricate that joy for ourselves.

In the coming days and weeks, as we continue to gather and tell stories about Betty, we will give thanks for her life and witness among us; we can honor Betty's memory by following her examples.

Sermon Lent 2

One of the assigned passages for the day is Genesis 17: 1-7 and 15-16. I added 8-10, because it seems relevant.

1When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to Abram, and said to him, ‘I am God Almighty; walk before me, and be blameless. 2And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous.’ 3Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, 4‘As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 5No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 6I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. 7I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you. 8And I will give to you, and to your offspring after you, the land where you are now an alien, all the land of Canaan, for a perpetual holding; and I will be their God.’ 9 God said to Abraham, ‘As for you, you shall keep my covenant, you and your offspring after you throughout their generations. 15 God said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. 16I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.’

In this passage, God makes a covenant with Abram. When Abram is 99, God appears to him, tells him to walk before God and be blameless. God also says that He (God) will offer him offspring more numerous than can be counted. In another version of this conversation, God (referred to in Hebrew as El Shaddai, which could mean God of the Mountains - how cool is that?) offers offspring as numerous as the grains of sand and stars that can be seen, land, and blessings. And then, to seal the deal, Abram (and all other males now and in the future) must be circumcised to show loyalty to God. And God, who has ultimate power, renames Abram. From this day forward, Abram willl be known and Abraham, and Sarai as Sarah.

There are several astonishing things about this interaction. First, it is astonishing that God enters into this covenant in the first place. God clearly desires relationship with humanity. This is not an equal relationship. What's in it for God? The whole trajectory of the Hebrew Scripture seems to be about God's ongoing desire to be in relationship with the people God created.

Secondly, this passage reveals God's absolutely extravagant nature. God makes unbelievable promises. God tells a 99 year old wandering nomad with a 90 year old wife that they will have land, offspring, and blessing. How impossible is that? How very very unlikely? And while Abraham's response is to laugh, God lives up to God's end of the deal - and delivers (and, apparently, so does Abraham).

Thirdly, the covenant required that Abraham and his progeny to walk before God and be blameless. I'm not a total Hebrew expert, but it appears that the phrase walk before God and be blameless could also be translated as live your life with integrity.

The final interesting thing about this story has to do with when scholars believe it was recorded. As with what seems like a great deal of the written record of Israel's history, scholars believe that this story was written down during the Babylonian captivity. So, when things looked like the absolute worst for the people of Israel, when they were away from their land, when they no longer believed themselves to be favored by God, when things looked blackest, one of their number put down in writing a story they had probably been telling forever. A story of how God promised them some extraordinary things. Crazy things. Unbelievably abundant things. And then came through with God's end of the bargain.

We might, at this time in history, be living in our own version of the Babylonian captivity. Words like financial meltdown and economic crisis drop into every conversation. We watch our retirement accounts dwindle. Businesses fail. And we wonder what will become of us. How do we hear this story of extravagant abundance? Can we believe it? And, if we continue to be covenant partners with God, what does it look like for us to live our lives with integrity? What does faithful living look like today?

I think that the first step might be to continually remember the extraordinary abundance of God. God continually does the unexpected and does it in really big ways. Land for nomads? Check. Children for old people? Check. Hope in exile. Check.

And then, I think we need to remember that abundance when we are most inclined to forget it. Fear blocks our capacity to see possibilities. Fear takes away our creativity. So, just as it very likely did for the people of Israel, telling this story is part of the solution. When we tell the story of God's crazy abundance, we live with integrity, and send our fears packing.