Keep Your Books in Their Boxes

Sermon Delivered at Bentley Manning's Deaconal Ordination on June 11, 2014 at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Birmingham, Alabama.

Propers for St. Barnabas:

Isaiah 42:5-12 
Acts 11:19-30;13:1-3 Matthew 10:7-16 Psalm 112 

Bentley, you’ve just packed up your study carrel at Sewanee.  For three years you’ve pored over the inhabitants of its bookshelves, searching for insight into the length, and breadth, and width, and height of God.  You have taken in the sacred story of God’s people and made it in many ways your own.  You have been a good and faithful student.  Well done.

Now your books are in their boxes, still to be unpacked.  That’s fine.  I’d keep them in the attic for a while.  Because you’ve got a new study carrel, a new place to struggle and come to grips with the mysteries and glories of God: your new study carrel is Birmingham.  The neighborhoods are your bookshelves.  The people whom you befriend and minister to and with are your beloved texts.  They will share with you unimaginable tales of grief and glory, of God’s powerful presence in their lives.  Welcome to the margin between the church and the world.  Welcome home.

A deacon’s jobs are many, but the one that may be the most compelling and the most challenging is this: to interpret to the Church the needs of the world.  And there’s only one way to do that: to be in the world.

Because we know you’ll be in church.  We know that you love church.  You’ve been nerding out on church for years.  You met Leslie in church. You read about 19th century English clerics for fun.  You even spend your time off in church, having just returned from the ancient sanctuaries of the Holy Land.  Heck, you spent last summer doing extra field education so you could be in church more than was required by your seminary, which is owned by the church.

But the wily, wild Holy Spirit that has so recently come upon us in flames of fire has surprise after surprise in store outside of church walls.  As we understand from St. Luke’s account in the Book of Acts, in the time after the Day of Pentecost, the Spirit led “some men of Cyprus and Cyrene who, on coming to Antioch, spoke to the Hellenists also” -- spoke to the Gentiles, not just the Jews!  And what were they saying?  They were “proclaiming the Lord Jesus!”  

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.  Sure, the tongues of fire that preached the good news through the apostles on that pentecostal day did speak not just to Jews but to all people.  But Jews were God’s chosen people.  And Jesus was the Jewish Messiah.  Something wasn’t right, and the Jerusalem church sent Barnabas -- a Levite who had had a conversion experience, sold his field and distributed the profits to the faithful -- the elders sent Barnabas to investigate the Spirit’s troublemaking in the world.

Who knows what Barnabas expected to find on arrival, but what he did see was the grace of God at work among those who were not Jewish.  Apparently, there was a need among the Gentiles, not just the Jews, to know God’s remarkable love.  Barnabas’ eyes were opened.  This harvest would be plentiful.  He rushed to Tarsus to find a man named Saul, formerly a persecutor of the church, and brought him to Antioch.  And a great many people came to the Lord.

This story is the beginning of a lifetime of missionary adventures for St. Barnabas and St. Paul, many of which they would share together.  But this story also marks the beginning of change in the church.  Barnabas and Paul brought back stories of the Spirit’s work among the Gentiles, and the church has not been the same since.  We have come to understand that all people are chosen by God to be loved; we Christians have come to know this blessed Jewish Messiah to be the savior of us all.  God’s people thus are called to and formed for God’s mission in the world.  And we are called to follow the Spirit’s lead in her curious and powerful troublings among the comfortable, and her comforting ministrations to the afflicted.

The task of the deacon among us is this: to lead the work of God’s people in the world alongside the Spirit, proclaiming the good news, watching for and naming the Spirit’s many movements, and bringing this news of the Spirit back to the church, so that it too might be refreshed, refocused, rejuvenated.  The church needs this, for it can be all too easy to keep our red doors closed.

How is the Spirit working here, right now, in this time and place?  Perhaps only God knows -- but we, God’s people, can surely feel the Spirit among us.  Bentley, we are here as the church to set you apart, by the power of the Holy Spirit, so that you might help answer that question of the Spirit’s movements among us, and help us to figure out what to do about it.

This is no easy task.  Your deaconal ministry demands self-effacement.  Don’t worry -- that will happen naturally, as the stories told by those whom you meet in these neighborhoods sink in.  You will hear stories of such need, such heartache, such loss, such suffering that only prayer, communal and personal, will keep your own hope aflame -- for it is risky and difficult to be alive today.  Only God’s every breath into the world sustains us.  Take comfort in God’s abiding love, study the sacred Scripture of God’s people, and delight in Leslie and Mary Bentley, in your family and friends, in the beauty of this earth.  There is grace and power in your ordination -- and it will provide as you struggle to understand and serve and love those whom you meet and minister to outside church walls.

For the needs of the world are many.  But the imaginative Spirit inspires our responses.  In the Diocese of San Diego, Deacon Bob Nelson recently raised funds for a mobile shower unit so that those living on the street might know the blessed peace of a warm shower and the elation of cleanliness.  Who knew the good news could be communicated through a shower head?  The Spirit’s languages are countless.

Bentley, when you return to God’s sanctuaries, when you proclaim the Gospel and bid the confession and the prayers, when you prepare the table and send forth God’s people, you will find your own story richer and more complicated than it was before.  For you are set apart today to be a bearer of the pain and joy of the world, the bearer of the world’s stories, stories of the world’s needs that the church must hear for its own good.  

Thanks be to God, you are home now.  You are a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.  Now leave your books in their boxes for a while.  These neighborhoods are your bookshelves, and Birmingham’s residents -- especially the poor, the weak, the sick and the lonely -- have stories to tell.  Hear them so that you might challenge us, Bentley -- speak to us the truths of the world -- tell us where the Spirit is working, where we are needed as the Body of Christ, and take us there, so that we may see the grace of God at work, and participate alongside, so that we too may be healed.

Joy is the Power

The thing gardeners do during winter in most everywhere in the United States is wait. Tulip and daffodil bulbs lay under snow and ice, dead to the world. Berries and asparagus become dried sticks, barren. In that season Advent prepares us for the hope of Christmas, the hope that light conquers darkness, that the sun will once again return to warm newly fertile earth. There is a magical quality to the contrast between light and dark, warmth and cold, that adds to the cheeriness of that season. The comforting promise is repeated: all will be made well. 

But spring is different. Seeds planted around Ash Wednesday have silently, slowly stretched roots deeper while reaching toward the well-lit surface. Stems have grown taller, widened into stout stalks. Leaves now extend to soak up the sun. Gardeners in the spring aren’t waiting anymore . . . no, they’re smiling and laughing and enjoying the unmistakable signs of life sprouting around them. The work of Lent has borne another season of growth, thanks be to God, but that is not why we are celebrating this morning. And we are not celebrating a comforting promise of hope either. No. We are celebrating something else entirely, something beyond the expressible, something radically unexpected, something defying the first and concretely steadfast natural law that every one of us learned as a kid, the law that every living thing must die. And stay dead. No exceptions. Even sons of God. 

Almost everything about the Christian story can be explained away somehow. There is nothing particularly unique about a poor first-century Palestinian Jew with an inspiring message and a knack for healing. And this man, Jesus, was clear that he wasn’t trying to begin a new church, much less a new religion. But something happened that propelled us to these pews today. Quite a force, apparently, that still resonates across two thousand years. Resurrection. Resurrection. Jesus was raised from the dead. 

He lived. He died. He lives. 

If you have trouble believing this, so do I. There’s no way to believe it with your head. Because the job of your twenty-first century’s head is to separate out the important stuff from the fluff, the agenda-riddled commercial and political ads that bedevil us. 

But help me with this. What was the agenda of a bunch of faithful Jews in Jerusalem confronted with the empty tomb that first Easter morning? I know if I were one of them my first response would not be appropriate to share from this pulpit. Because nothing good was going to come from telling the Roman authorities, or the religious authorities, that this man Jesus who was dead, was, according to him, alive. Yes, according to him, because we’ve just been talking to him. Yep, that wasn’t going to be a great message to tell the folks who just put a lot of effort into killing him. 

There was only one power that propelled those first women and men to tell their friends about what happened: joy. Just joy. Joy! Nothing else. What else could it have been? And do you know when you experience something and tell a friend about the story and it can be quite striking, but when they tell their friends it’s a little less compelling, and the energy and enthusiasm and accuracy of the tale fades away in the retelling? That didn’t happen. How can that be? How can that be? The story sustained its persuasiveness. 

I’ll tell you how the Church understood this to have happened, and I can’t think of a better reason myself. Somehow the risen Jesus was making himself known to more and more people. Sure, there were some good storytellers out there who could tell quite a compelling tale about it all, but there was something else at work, there is something else at work, God’s very Spirit, making Jesus himself known to the hearers of this unbelievably good news. What other explanation could there be? I mean, the four Gospels are good, but between you and me, they’re not that good. Not good enough to sustain two thousand years of this movement’s growth. 

But you know this already, because you’re here this morning. You’re not here because someone told you that two thousand years ago a wise and plucky Jewish teacher died and rose again. No, you’re here because Jesus has made himself real to you in some way. Or because resurrection has made itself real to you in some way.
 
Because resurrection is something we’ve seen. We’ll witness it tomorrow as 36,000 Boston Marathon runners safely cross the finish line. We’ve seen it in the lives of sobered alcoholics, healed victims, the re-housed homeless. We’ve seen it in our own lives, how the inexplicable has come to pass anyway, and for our own good, however we understood it at the time. We’ve watched how our mistakes, our fears, our sins do not have the last word, that somehow lightning hasn’t struck and we are still living and breathing, thanks be to God. 

So if I may let me tell you what I know -- that God raised Jesus from the dead. Not in some metaphorical, hazy, figurative or poetical way. No. God raised Jesus from the dead. I trust this with all that I am. I know of no other explanation for the behavior of millions of thoughtful people over millennia, starting with those first flabbergasted disciples faced with an empty tomb. I know of no other way to explain my sense of Jesus’ loving presence in my life, reminding me again and again that I am not my fears, I am not my sins, but I am alive and loved and live in Christ, the Risen One. 
No, Easter is not like Christmas. Easter is unlike any other day, any other season, any other event recorded in the history of our people. My friends, the waiting is over. The hoping is over. The living has begun. Living our lives out from under the shadow of death. Living our lives free from the fear that enslaves. Beginning to live our lives in love, like the love we feel for those dearest to us, that kind of love, living our lives with that kind of love for everyone. 

The miracle of life, the miracle of the seed that dies deep in the earth so that it might grow, this miracle is what will feed us in the days, and weeks, and months ahead. The harvest is so plentiful. Be filled by it. Be filled by its joy. There is enough for all and then some. Even death cannot rob us, finally, of life in God, the One who loves us as much as Life itself. 

People's Prayers for Sunday, the Seventh Week of Easter

Readings for the Seventh Sunday of Easter (Year C)

Prayers of the People

O Holy One, we pray for your Church universal;
that its members may be strengthened to carry out your mission in the world.

Give the leaders of all nations wisdom, patience, and wide hearts;
that peace and justice may reign, and all peoples flourish.

Grant safety, stability, and sufficiency to every home, neighborhood, region, and country, especially in Syria, Israel, Palestine, and Nigeria;
that every person may seek after you and find you.

We pray that your good creation may be honored and conserved;
that our children's children may enjoy the riches of nature's blessings.

We pray for all in distress, and particularly for the victims of sexual violence, the incarcerated, the abducted, the hungry, and those without access to adequate health care;
that all needs may be met through the power of your Holy Spirit and the generosity and courage of your people.

Grant the departed rest eternal;
let your never ending peace be with them, now and always.

Given to Water

the pebbled beach stretches before us 

yawns, still waking up

insistent waves rake against rock

baptizing shore incessantly

with Robin in my arms I jog imbalanced

a 25-pound toddler clinging to my left while 

the ground slopes seriously to the right

given to water

so is she: wiggling loose from grip, I let her down

and watch her waddle-sprint across the wind-whipped beach

last spent waves greet little shoes

bell-like laughs ring from her belly

I scoop her up and stride farther still

until, passing a dilapidated dock

we spook a heron into flight:

startled, speechless, we witness

primal escape to safety

now loping more easily, the sand sturdier here

I turn in circles as I run with Robin

“moh,” “moh” she cries and signs

we dance, we two, to a song of creation

divinely designed in Eden to harmonize 

the two of us to each other, to all people

the kingdom of heaven a concert of 

insistent waves and herons wings

belly laughs and serious sand

given to water

Sunday Prayer: Knowledge

O God, all-wise in love and keeper of knowledge, who invites us through Jesus Christ to be fools so that we may be saved; grant that students everywhere may persevere in their task with clearness of head and stoutness of spirit, so that all power and glory enabled in human understanding may be finally poured out onto you; through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Softball and cookout

Softball playing with sixty percent kids, the rest semi-out of shape adults, on a chalked field with bases: then grilling in the park with my parents and fellow seminarians, perfect weather: this is the shape and taste of an Easter blessing.

Parents

There's not much more joyful than a visit from my parents.  I'm feeling as full of love as I am of carne asada burrito(s)!

Laurel's Spanish sermon, Chapel of the Apostles

Laurel's sermon delivered at the Chapel of the Apostles, April 24, 2012, on the day remembering victims of genocide.  Here's the text.

Yogurt Beard

She is a joyful pirate.

Sunday Prayer and Poem: Tread and Wait

O very real God, who knows our pain as fellow sufferer and sojourner along life's way, grant that we may comprehend the fullness of your risen life so that our hope may be sustained in the face of the brokenness that surrounds us; through Christ our Lord, who makes all things whole and all matters new.  Amen.

Tread, and Wait

Our Father plows furrows
ever deeper into our hearts, so that He who is in heaven
may be glorified by weary feet
trudging alongside that coming kingdom, bearing a
portion of its willed freight
the footsteps joined in happy pilgrimage wear down
this godly trail till the earth brings forth
its luminous fruit.
And so we tread on holy ground, and wait.

Fog

Fog transforms our home into a lonely ship on a still, dark sea.  Looking out a porthole I glimpse waves of trees sprayed with leaves.  Once in a while a headlighted whale glides by.  Ships beside ours remain unmoved, above water, catching their breath.  Grey, mysterious peace.

Easter Light

A classmate's sermon tonight invited us to reinterpret the past in light of Easter using a lens of joy.  That's exactly what I've been trying to do but had been working with the present instead of the past.  Does Easter light redeem all it touches?  Perhaps not, but even when it doesn't, it illumines something new worthy of fresh consideration.

Sea Trees

Waves crashing into coved tide pools

stir confused water back upon itself, sideways

all around

leaves follow this wild watery course when

wind blows their slender trees in every direction

cauldrons of chlorophyll

could anything be as complicated

or as simple?

Sunday prayer: Springtime

O God of leafing trees and playgrounds, O Lord of the hopefulness of windy spring; Grant that we who are made new through your Son's Body the church may show forth your joy to the world with the energy and conviction of breezes, laughing kids, and sunshine; through Christ our resurrected Savior.  Amen.

Pasture Walk

An after dinner stroller walk with Laurel, a friend, and two toddlers led us to a quiet sloping pasture with three horses.  We learned that holding out our hands in a feeding gesture can be quite attractive to horses,  so they lolled over.  A breeze picked up, the sunset waited patiently for the kids to pet their furry friends, and we laughed a lot on the way home.

Allegri Miserere

Our systematic theology professor played Allegri Miserere for us today, and it is surely one of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard.  It was composed in the 1630s for the pope, who only allowed it to be sung in the Sistine Chapel for a hundred years until the composition was finally leaked to the rest of Europe.  Its words are those of Psalm 51.  Listen!

Bread

This evening I finally figured out how to make whole wheat naan that won't set off the smoke alarm: bake it!  There are few things more satisfying and joy-filled than making, then eating bread with friends.

The prayer for today, which is Wednesday in Easter Week, is: "O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen."


Back in the pew after communion during today's service, I felt deliciously full.

Bark

It's morning and I'm staring up into almost leafed-out birch trees towering above my patio.  I'm supposed to be praying and I sort of am, since God's all over this beautiful umbrella forest.  The light is a fair gold, fresh and ready to burn deeper orange soon.  Joy girds like bark.

Finished a Paper!

Joy came quickly when invited to celebrate my finishing of a 21-page paper on the "theological ethics" of Stanley Hauerwas.  Thanks be to God!

Joy's Risen

Easter feels like this.  During Easter season, I'll try to find a slice of joy in each day's pie to serve briefly here!

On Sundays I'd also like to write a prayer:

O Risen One, Lord of the line separating life and death: May the power of your holy victory spread to the ends of the earth, so that all people may know the gift that is your love; through your mighty and mysterious majesty, O God, now and forever.  Amen.