Faded Away as Grass Into Mother Earth: Where New Life and New Possibility Await

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
December 6, 2020
2 Advent, B
Isaiah 40:1-11
2 Peter 3:8-15a

Mark 1:1-8

Faded Away as Grass Into Mother Earth:

Where New Life and New Possibility Await

When I hear of John preaching a baptism of repentance, images often come to my mind of a Hollywood version of someone shouting, “repent” to unsuspecting and rather baffled passersby.  The shouting is kinda lame, usually overacted, and is basically just some forced tone-setting for the film.  As for he crazed “repent” shouter, he’s kinda ridiculous, as if people changing their ways would somehow end the alien invasion which had just begun with space ships arriving and lasers firing.  So much for Hollywood’s version of repentance.  

Now, when John was in the wilderness proclaiming a baptism for repentance, he wasn’t trying to end an alien invasion.  Israel had been invaded, more or less, by Rome, but John wasn’t trying to end invasion with his calls to repentance.  He was also far less creepy than the Hollywood guy.  Rather than frighten unsuspecting people on the streets of New York, John was out in the wilderness, and people came to see him.  They actually liked and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

Rather than ending an invasion or scaring people, John’s call for repentance was less crazy, Hollywood, weirdo guy, and more “Comfort, O comfort my people…Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term…”  John was calling people into a life freed from the worst of themselves and into a life of hope, mercy, and love.  That is what the people went out into the wilderness to hear. 

A voice says, “Cry out!”  And I said, “What shall I cry?”

All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. (Isaiah 40)

Those are words of comfort.  In the great struggle and hectic nature of our lives, striving for so much, weighed down by the great importance of all we have to do, we are reminded that we are grass.  The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it.

Our efforts and striving are important to us and to those we love.  Our lives are important, but eventually, we will all fade as the grass.  We will become one with the earth once again, and someone else, some new grass, will grow in our place.  They will take the place on the earth that we once had. 

They will do their own striving while we rest, faded away as grass into mother earth, where all kinds of new life and new possibility await with the God of hope, mercy, and love who calls, “Comfort, O comfort my people.”  That is the kind of repentance that John calls for.  Rest.  Breathe.  Trust.  Let go the weight of your struggles.  Remember that you are grass, and be at peace.  

Repentance is not a call of anger and fear.  Repentance is a call of hope, mercy, and love which helps lead us to a place of peace.  

I heard the radio show, On Being, with Krista Tippett where she interviewed Bryan Stevenson an attorney who is the founder and executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama.  Mr. Stevenson began working for justice for people on death row, many of whom were incarcerated unjustly.  You may have seen the movie about him and his work called, Just Mercy, based on his book, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption.

In the interview with Krista Tippett, Mr. Stevenson talked about his work for justice and his way of viewing the world with hope, and mercy, and love.  Without hope, he said, we’re trapped where we are, unable to move beyond whatever has us stuck.  Without hope, we’re unable to move beyond injustice.  Without hope, we’re unable to move beyond the worst of who we are as people and as a society.

So hope is how we can begin to move beyond the worst of ourselves.  Then we need, mercy.  With mercy then, we can understand people as being more than the bad parts of ourselves.  Mr. Stevenson says, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done.”  That’s the view of God towards us as well.  God offers us hope, sees us with mercy, and tells us that we are so much more than the worst thing we have ever done.  That’s the baptism of repentance to which John called people in the wilderness.  

Repentance means that with that hope and mercy, we then get to reckon with those worst parts of ourselves.  We have to reckon with the worst of ourselves because we can’t be free of those things, free of the worst parts of ourselves, if we don’t bring them with us when we come seeking mercy and redemption.  When we do bring those worst parts of ourselves with us on our journey of repentance, then we find God saying, those worst parts of you are grass.  “The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it.”  

With John’s hopeful and merciful calls to repentance, we find that we are loved and that we are lovable.  Repentance is not a scary, angry call from a lunatic.  Repentance is a call of love, calling us to turn from and let go of the ways that keep us down.  Repentance is a call of love to turn from and let go of the ways that keep us selfish (and therefore fearful).  Repentance is a call of love to turn away from and let go of the ways that keep us callous and unconcerned for others (and therefore fearful and contemptuous).  

Repentance acknowledges the fear and anger within us, and then repentance turns and lets go of that fear and anger.  Repentance frees us from the hopelessness which keeps us bound and stuck where we are, so that we then we find mercy and love from a God who does not define us by the worst things we have done.  We find instead a God who says, “Comfort, O comfort my people…” Rest.  Breathe.  Trust.  Let go the weight of your struggles.  Remember that you are grass, and be at peace.  

Then, we can live that peace.  Freed from that which binds us, freed from our shame, freed from the anxieties and fears of this life, we can look at this world through the eyes of hope.  See, there is anger, injustice, greed, exploitation, all sorts of terrible things in this world.  With hope, we can see that the world doesn’t have to stay that way, and we can see that there is so much beauty and light in the world as well.

Through repentance and hope, we can view ourselves, and others, and the world with mercy.  Mercy to see that those who do terrible, thoughtless, and callous things are also so much more than the worst things they have done.  Those we view with the most contempt need mercy and hope just like we do.

Then, with hope and mercy in our hearts, repentance leads us to love.  Having been loved by a just and merciful God, we are freed to love with justice and mercy.  We are freed to strive for justice and mercy.  Those places and people in our society in need of justice and mercy, the ones that grab our hearts and call to us, we are freed to strive for justice and mercy through God’s love.

That is the repentance to which John calls us, a repentance which allows us to strive for justice and mercy because we have been loved by a God who sees all of the crud and horribleness of our lives and deeds and says, “You are so much more than the worst things you have done.”  Through the repentance to which John calls us, we find a God who says,“Comfort, O comfort my people…”  Remember that you are grass.  “The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it.”  Rest.  Breathe.  Trust.  Let go the weight of your struggles.  Remember that you are grass, and be at peace.

The Path of the Righteous Man…

The Rev. Brad Sullivan

Emmanuel Episcopal Church

November 22, 2020

Proper 29, Christ the King, A

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

Ephesians 1:15-23

Matthew 25:31-46

The Path of the Righteous Man…

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.” 

That’s from the Quentin Tarantino movie, Pulp Fiction, and it was said by the character, Julius, a hit man played brilliantly by Samuel L. Jackson.  I gotta say I hear some echoes of Jesus’ story of the judgement of the nations in Samuel L. Jackson’s speech from Pulp Fiction.  To the righteous, Jesus says, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world…,” whereas to the unrighteous, Jesus says, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels…”

The way of the righteous man is great and good and beloved of God.  The way of the wicked, the tyranny of evil men?  God seems rather less than pleased with that part, and I love the idea of Samuel L. Jackson’s character Julius as the king, in Jesus’ story declaring to the unrighteous, “…depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.”  There’s something kinda delicious about that.

I’m not entirely convinced, however, that the image Jesus had in mind with this story was of a hitman with a 9mm scaring the daylights out of the unrighteous before they met their end.  I don’t know that Jesus told this story so that we hearers would be perpetually afraid of some almighty hitman standing over us telling us we didn’t do a good enough job of loving each other.  

Fear of doing enough good for God was actually the kind of crazy religiosity Jesus was telling this story against.  Unlike angry hitman God or a god who wants a bunch of crazy religiosity that would make us pure enough, or good enough, or religious enough for God, Jesus is showing us a God who is not concerned with our purity, sinlessness, or religiosity.  Jesus is showing us a God who cares most deeply about how we treat each other.

Now there is some fear present in the story, and it is meant to be present.  Maybe less Samuel L. Jackson as Julius the hitman and more Samuel L. Jackson as Mace Windu, the Jedi Master, telling us we’ve been removed from the Jedi order.  Like the Jedi who were supposed to care for others, the point of this story is that those in Jesus’ kingdom are meant to care for others.  

When we don’t, when, as we heard in Ezekiel, we push against each other; scatter each other; take those weaker ones, get what we want from them, and cast them aside, then it seems only right that the king would say, “leave my presence.”  Jesus wants us to take seriously the idea of being removed from his presence as a natural consequence of not caring one whit about each other.  

Jesus told this story in the way he did, with that element of fear in it, so that we would recognize our propensity at times not to care that much for others, and that we would also recognize the great value and importance of those around us.  Further, in telling the story the way he did, Jesus is hoping that we would hear his words and then strive to be those “who,” as Julius said, “in the name of charity and good will, shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness.”  

See, that’s the kind of king Jesus is.  As our king, Jesus wants us to see the importance of people all around us and seek to walk to the path of the righteous one, shepherding one another, caring for each other, and lifting each other up.  That’s life in God’s kingdom.  Not with God as an angry hitman, and not with God as a king who, quite apart from all of us, tells us we better be pure enough, or good enough, or religious enough for his liking.  In Jesus’ kingdom, when we don’t treat each other as we want to be treated, that’s when we are blaspheming God.

Notice that, as king, Jesus is not far away from us on some high and lofty throne but is instead always present in his kingdom among his people.  “Lord, when did we see you naked and clothe you or hungry and feed you?”  “Whenever you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.”  Jesus is always with us, walking among us.  The king of all creation is with us at all times and in all places, even during the crazy of 2020 with continued COVID-tide.

Where is Jesus, our king, during all this pandemic crisis?  Jesus is working shift after shift at the hospital, risking infection, caring for patients.  Jesus is lying in hospital beds, sometimes recovering, sometimes dying.  Jesus is working insane hours trying to teach children both online and at school.  Jesus is those children, crying amidst all the chaos and loss of play and interaction, children in desperate need of hugs and soothing baths, and words of comfort from loving adults.  

Jesus is the grocery store delivery driver working for little and risking his own health so that others can stay home and be safe.  Jesus is all those who can stay home and are staying home, going stir crazy, so that they’ll contribute as much as they can to stop the viral spread.  Jesus is the people working for a vaccine, and Jesus is the people who have lost all hope, knowing the vaccine will come far too late for them keep their livelihoods or gain back anything of the everything they’ve lost.  

Jesus is the former tenant who lost her job due to the economic downturn, couldn’t pay her rent, and then lost all of her possessions as she was evicted from the apartment with her belongings left on the curb.  

Jesus is all of the weary and downtrodden, the hungry and hopeless, the sick and suffering.  Jesus told his story so that we would see Jesus in all of these people.  Jesus told his story so that we would see the least around us and and think to ourselves, “My king,” and then treat them as such.

The Oil of Courage, Faith, Hope, and Love

 The Rev. Brad Sullivan

Emmanuel Episcopal Church

November 8, 2020

Proper 27, A

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Matthew 25:1-13

The Oil of Courage, Faith, Hope, and Love

Keep oil in your lamps; be awake and ready for God’s kingdom coming among us at any time, in any situation.  There’s the basic lesson Jesus was teaching in his parable of the bridesmaids waiting upon the bridegroom, some of whom had extra oil for their lamps and some of whom did not, so that those who didn’t weren’t actually able to make it to the wedding feast.  

I have at times seen this as a fearful parable.  What if my oil runs out?  Oh no!  That fear certainly plays well in the world today where we seem to have messages of, never don’t be afraid, and always be on the look out for some new thing to fear.  Well, fear not.  Jesus is not adding one more thing to our list of things to fear.   Rather, Jesus is giving a loving reminder for us to remain prepared.  Keep your lamps full of oil, or as a modern Houstony example, keep your car gassed up during hurricane season.  Keep a mask at hand and on your face when you are outside of your home during this time of COVID-19.  Remain ready to accept, receive, and walk in God’s kingdom at whatever moment it may show itself or show itself again in your life.  Keep close at hand oil for your lamps, the oil of courage, faith, hope, and love.  

See, far from fear, attitudes of never don’t be afraid are the exact opposite of Jesus’ message in his parable.  If we’re always living in fear, then we are likely also always living in anger, and if we’re always living in fear and anger, then we’re not living in courage, faith, hope, and love.  Our oil lamps will have run dry.

Now, we get afraid and angry in our lives, of course we do.  We often have good reasons to be afraid and angry, but living in courage, faith, hope, and love we choose not to be overcome by that fear or anger.  We choose not to be overcome by fear or anger, because when we are overcome by fear and anger, we let the oil in our lamps run out, and we miss so many beautiful times when the bridegroom walks among us.  When we are overcome by fear and anger, the oil in our lamps runs out, and we miss when God’s kingdom happens in our lives.

Some folks have been overcome with fear and anger because Joe Biden was elected president last week, and prior to that, some folks were overcome with fear and anger when Donald Trump was elected president four years ago.  In both cases, with both our president-elect and our current president, some of our fear and anger is a natural reaction to things not going the way we want them to go.  For some, however, our fear and anger get us so worked up that our oil runs dry and we become afraid that it’s all coming to an end.  By the way, this last part about the president is quoted almost exactly from the sermon I preached four years ago:  copied, pasted, and edited.  

When we have so much fear and anger, that we lose our courage, faith, hope, and love and are instead overcome by our fear and anger, then we have let the oil in our lamps run out.  While the president and vice president do give many of us courage and hope, the source of our courage, faith, hope, and love need not be the person sitting in The White House, because the source of our courage, faith, hope, and love is a loving God in whom we have our hope, and who gives us courage and faith.  When we lose sight of God as that source that source be eclipsed by the person in The White House (or any other person) we let our oil run low and our lamps go out.  

We need our lamps lit because there is darkness in the world, and there are dark times in our lives.  Being overcome by anger and fear only adds to that darkness, and we cannot see when the bridegroom come into that darkness.  So, we keep our lamps lit to see during the times of darkness, and we keep our lamps lit by keeping them filled with the oil of courage, hope, faith, and love. 

One way some of us have been keeping our lamps lit recently is through praying daily and meeting weekly together (over Zoom) to strive for justice.  This began a couple months ago with a conference on racial justice put on by the Episcopal Health Foundation.  Several of us from Emmanuel attended the conference from our homes, sitting on Zoom calls in front of our computers, and we decided to continue meeting to pray, and discuss, and learn together how we could strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.  Part of that work is, when we see injustice, not to be overcome by fear and anger, but to keep our lamps lit with courage, faith, hope, and love.  

One of the folks in this group shared an article with me about two pastors who strive together for justice with their lamps lit.  The Reverend William Barber and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove were unlikely friends when they met:  Jonathan, a young white man from a deeply conservative church in the heart of former Klan country and William, a black preacher who strives and works for social and racial justice.  

Jonathan was 17 at the time and associated his faith with right-wing politics, and so he went to Washington to page in Senator Strom Thurmand’s office.  “When [he] came back,” he said “[he] was very disillusioned.  [He’d] been told about how people [in Washington] were representing [their] values and standing up for Christian faith, [but that was not what he found] life in a senator’s office…to really be about. It was mostly,” he said, “about lobbyists coming in and saying what their interests were, and trying to keep wealthy people happy.”

He was rather disillusioned after that, but instead of being overcome by fear and anger, he kept his lamp lit, and shortly thereafter, he heard Reverend Barber preach at an event in North Carolina.  He said he “immediately recognized someone who shared [his] faith, but who lived it out very differently than [he] had ever seen.”  So, with all of the courage and chutzpa of an enthusiastic 17 year old, he asked Reverend Barber to speak at his upcoming graduation.   

Now, Reverend Barber had no intention of speaking at this kid’s graduation in the middle of Klan country, but he said, “Ok, if I get an invitation, I’d be glad to come.”  So he got an invitation.  At that point, put up or shut up time, he could have been overcome by fear and anger, and he was afraid, but he had given his word, so he agreed to go.  His lamp was still burning with courage, faith, hope, and love.  

He spoke at their graduation, was invited over for dinner afterwards by Jonathan’s mother, and they shared some transformative time together.  Years later, they reconnected, and they began working together for social and racial justice and healing bringing people of all races and classes together.  They’ve worked to bring greater equality and justice to the people of North Carolina, and their work continues to this day.  

What if when they had met, they had been overcome with fear or anger, and their lamps had not been lit?  They would not have seen the bridegroom.  They would not have recognized the kingdom of God coming alive in those moments, and they would have missed the opportunity to become brothers and to strive together for justice and healing.  

Thankfully, their lamps were lit, and they had a good supply of the oil of courage, faith, hope, and love.  Be not afraid, that oil told them, and they found even more courage, faith, hope, and love in each other.  

See, we can and do find oil for our lamps in each other.  Our friends and family can provide that oil.  Public figures, authors, musicians, teachers, folks who are experts in their fields of study or work can all provide us with the oil of courage, faith, hope, and love.  Additionally, those who are downtrodden and oppressed and are not overcome by fear and anger can provide us with oil.  Those who strive for justice and peace can provide us with oil for our lamps.  Even presidents and vice presidents of the United States can provide us with oil for our lamps.  

None of these people, though, need to be the source of our courage, strength, hope, and love because we believe in a higher power than any of them.  We believe in God who is the source of all courage, faith, hope, and love.  We keep the oil for our lamps full by continually reaching out to God in prayer.  We keep the oil for our lamps full through service to one another and through fellowship and joy with one another.  We keep the oil for our lamps full by seeking justice and mercy in the lives of the world around us.  

With this oil in our lamps, we can continue walking in courage even when disillusioned.  We can keep hope alive, through faith in God and the resurrection of Jesus, and we can continue to give and to live love for all people.  

That is the oil which we keep in our lamps so that come what may, in dark days and in times of joy and plenty, we are still walking in the light, ready for the many times and ways that Jesus and God’s kingdom come among us to lead us with courage into even greater hope, and faith, and love.  So fear not, and do not be overcome by fear and anger.  Through God and through countless others, through prayer, fellowship, justice, and mercy, keep your lamps full of oil and walk in the light of God’s courage, faith, hope, and love.  

Bath Bombs and Cookies: A Loving Response

The Rev. Brad Sullivan

Emmanuel Episcopal Church

October 25, 2020

Proper 25, A

1 Thessalonians 2:1-8

Matthew 22:34-46

Bath Bombs and Cookies:  A Loving Response

The way of our whole lives is love.  “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment,” Jesus said, “And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”  Love is the guide through all of the laws and situations in our lives.  

Last week, I said that everything we do, we do to God.  Every kindness we give one another, every act of cruelty or disgust, every word we utter, and every action we take, all are done and given to God.  Little wonder Jesus says to act out of love.  Love is the summation of the law and the lens through which we view the law.  If we read the law and do not first and foremost read it out of love, then we’re reading it wrong.  Some of the law is hard to read through a lens of love, and you’ll notice that sometimes Jesus broke the law in order to follow the law of love.  

When Jesus didn’t stone to death a woman caught in adultery, he was breaking the law.  Stoning the woman to death, murdering her, was not just the actions of an angry mob.  Those were the actions of people who were following the letter of the law.  By not killing this woman, Jesus was breaking the law.  He was, however, following, the law of love, the law of compassion.  “Go and sin no more,” he said to the woman, after he convinced the crowd that they had all sinned and messed up in their lives too, and so they didn’t need to act as some holier than thou executioners, ignoring their own faults while killing a woman for hers.  Jesus saw this law as not fulfilling the law of love.  Jesus saw this woman and realized that her life had more value than the poor choices she’d sometimes made.  Go and live your life with that value and the possibility of what may be; go and live a life of love as one who is beloved of God.

Like the woman in that story, we’re all God’s children, eternally beloved of God and eternally worthy of each others’ love.  When we break our own modern laws and when we harm each other, we’re still worthy of each other’s love.  That includes the people we really don’t like and the people who have really and truly hurt us.  Jesus said to love our enemies, and he even broke laws in order to give compassion and love to others, even those who were criminals and notorious sinners.  

Act out of love toward all people, Jesus taught, for all that we do for or against others is done for or against God.  All that we do for or against others is also done for or against others, other people, people who matter eternally, people whose live and possibilities matter more than their misdeeds, people whose misdeeds may be cries of hurt or brokenness.  

I read a story last week of a mom whose young daughter is completely worn out by COVID life, school, stress, all of it.  The mother recounted how her daughter came home in tears because she was so exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.  She said this exhaustion sometimes come across as anger, and I’m guessing disrespect and poor behavior at home, but she said she understand that it is exhaustion.  So, on the day she recounted, she “listened for about ten minutes, held her [daughter] tight and scratched her back, and told her to meet [her] in [the] bathroom in five minutes.” 

Cue: Awesome Bath. Big clawfoot tub, gorgeous bubbles, delicious bath bomb, her favorite candle next to the tub, sweetened iced coffee in a pretty glass, [she] teed up Alexa to play her best music ("Fly Me to the Moon" by Frank Sinatra LOL) and put fresh cookies on a little table. I threw a towel in the dryer to get warm and cozy and dimmed the lights. [Her daughter] took one look at it all and grinned from ear to ear.   (https://www.facebook.com/jenhatmaker/)

Now that was a loving response.  She saw her daughter hurting.  Past the tears, anger, and probable shouting and disrespect, this mother saw her daughter in desperate need of some soothing, some love, and some being cared for.  Past some possible misdeeds, this mother saw a cry of hurt and brokenness, a loving response.  

This particular loving response, however, is not some a new law.  We’re not just going to start drawing baths for each other anytime someone is upset, rude, or disrespectful.  For one thing, not all of us are going to have fresh baked cookies and bath bombs on hand, every time we see someone stressed out and in need of some soothing, and for another thing there are a whole lot of us for whom the bubble Frank Sinatra cookie bath would not be a pleasant, soothing treat.  The bath was given because this mother saw a cry of hurt and brokenness, a loving response, not a law.  

Laws make response easier because a law is something of a formula.  This transgression equals this punishment.  This situation equals this treatment.  Stressed out person?  Have a bath.  Angry person?  Have a bath with lavender.  You were disrespectful?  Go to your room for 30 minutes and think about how to behave better.  Well, for some, that would be a great cool down period.  For others that would be a great building a strong resentment period.  

The formulas of the law can be helpful guides, jumping off points for how to handle difficult situations, but laws are not written or meant to apply to every situation perfectly.  What is going on within each other that we hurt one another, that we break our various laws?  That’s the question that the law often doesn’t ask.  Our laws say, “You did this, and so your punishment is this.”  

Further, we sometimes follow the strictures of the law because we just don’t know what the hell else to do.  As parents, as friends, as teachers, as employers or employees, as police, as lawyers, or even as lawmakers, we often don’t know what the hell to do, as a loving response, when people are behaving terribly and harmfully.  We don’t know how to respond in a loving way, so we do the best we can figure with the laws that we have.

There is an organization nationally and here in Houston call ReVision which works with youths who are in or recently out of the juvenile justice system.  These are kids who have broken laws and so they have gone to juvenile detention centers, been put on probation and the result is that these kids often end up remaining in the criminal justice system through adulthood.  The criminal justice system itself, try though it might, can’t do the work of loving response, and so these kids’ value and possibility as beloved children of God are lost to the law.  

So, ReVision works with these kids with paid staff and with unpaid ministers and volunteers to mentor these kids, to love these kids, to help guide these kids into their value and possibility as the beloved children of God that they are.  That is a loving response.  That is the law of love.

The law of love or a loving response says, “What cry of hurt or brokenness am I hearing within you that you did this harmful thing?  What response might actually bring healing to you and maybe even to me?”  “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment,” Jesus said, “And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’

What Do We Give to God? Everything.

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church

October 18, 2020

Proper 24, A

Matthew 22:15-22

What Do We Give to God?  Everything.

“Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and give to God the things that are God’s.”  Well, that shut the Pharisees up as they were trying to get Jesus in trouble.  See, being under the authority of Rome, no one in Israel could say they shouldn’t pay their taxes to Rome, to the emperor.  That kinda thing could get you in a lot of trouble pretty quick.  Then again, as an Israelite, you really couldn’t be boasting about giving money to a country whose leader claimed to be God.  

So, the Pharisees’ trap:  how could Jesus say to give financial support to a government that claimed divinity of their leader?  How could Jesus say to give financial support to a Roman society that ate exceedingly non-kosher and lived exceedingly not according to the ways of Israel?  How could Jesus say to give money to a government that kept soldiers garrisoned in Israel to keep Israel in line, no longer as a free nation?

The Pharisees thought they had Jesus pretty well caught in their trap.  I dare say, we often think we have each other similarly trapped when we talk about and question how people who say they love Jesus can vote differently that how we, or I, or you vote.

Sometimes the government doesn’t do what we believe is following the ways of God, and sometimes they do.  So, how we vote is important.  Our faith will likely influence how we vote, and our faith is going to influence some of us to vote one way and some of us to vote another.  Yet, in our convictions and in our faith, we often wonder, “How can anyone who claims to be a Christian vote differently than how I vote, as a Christian?”  Then, in our hubris, we lay for each other the Pharisees’ trap.  

Into that trap, Jesus said, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s.”   

Jesus recognized that we live simultaneously in at least two kingdoms.  Jesus and all of Israel lived in the Empire of Rome, in the Kingdom of Israel, and in the Kingdom of God.  Whether Jesus liked living under Roman control or not, he accepted it as a reality that would not change without bloody, armed revolt, and even then, it probably wouldn’t change.  So, Jesus decided, or realized, or knew that he could live simultaneously under the authority of Rome and still live in the Kingdom of God.  

We too live in at least two kingdoms.  We live in the kingdom of The United State of America, and and we live in the Kingdom of God.  How do we live in these two kingdoms as faithful followers of Jesus?  Some would say that doing so depends on how you vote and that voting for a candidate who believes in something contrary to a teaching of Jesus is voting against Jesus.  I would say, that’s not what Jesus said.  Remember that in saying “yes” to paying Roman taxes, Jesus said “yes” to giving financial support to a government that was decidedly anti-Jewish.  Jesus said “yes to giving financial support to a government that did things with that money that Israel and Jesus himself really didn’t like.  In the difficult situation of paying taxes to the Roman government, Jesus said, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and give to God the things that are God’s.”

Remember also that before answering the Pharisees’ question, Jesus had them show him a coin which had the emperor’s likeness on it.  Jesus used the coin as a symbol, and not only a symbol of money.  The coin was a symbol of the Roman government and authority under which they lived, like it or not.  Notice, however, that he used no such symbol for God’s kingdom and authority under which they lived.  By having a symbol for Rome’s kingdom, Jesus showed that their kingdom was limited; God’s was not.

So how do we live in at least two kingdoms, one limited and one not?  What do we give to our government, and what do we give to God?  Well, we give to the government our votes.  We give what we owe for taxes.  We give our opinions to our elected officials, and we give our basic obedience to the laws they set forth.  Sometimes we also give our civil disobedience to the laws when those laws are unjust.  That’s a decent non-exhaustive list of what we give to our government, but what about God?

What do we give to God?  Everything.  I don’t mean that we should give God everything or we aught to give God everything.  I mean, whether intended or not, we give God everything.  

The kindnesses we give to the people we know and love, and the kindnesses we give to the people we hardly know are given to God.  Similarly, the hurt, contempt, and indifference we give to the people we know and love are given to God, and the hurt, contempt, and indifference we give to the people we hardly know are given to God.  Our votes even are given to God, and I daresay most of us are doing are darnedest to vote in a way that honors God’s kingdom, even when we vote differently from each other.  So, don’t let anyone tell you that vote goes against God’s kingdom or God’s way just because you vote differently than they do.  Do contemplate seriously how your vote does or does not follow the ways of God’s kingdom; realize also that by “God’s Kingdom,” I don’t mean particular religion or religious practice.  By God’s kingdom, I mean the beauty, light, and love of everything that is.  Everything we do is giving to God’s kingdom. 

Realizing that we give everything to God, the point is not to feel shamed or scared of messing up and giving God the wrong thing.  The point is to see the beauty of God’s kingdom all around us, to see the light and love of God’s kingdom all around us, and to let that beauty, light, and love transform us continually into beauty, light, and love, and then to live naturally out of that.  

Looking at all we have as part of God’s kingdom of beauty, light, and love, we see that everything we do and everything we give, and keep, and take is done in God’s kingdom to enhance or diminish the beauty, light, and love of God’s kingdom.  Again, as to any thoughts of shame or fear, we’re all going to take a lot of actions which diminish the beauty, light, and love of God’s kingdom.  God knows this, and God works to redeem those things.  Perfection is not what God asks of us; it never has been.  God asks that we work continually to align our motivations and our actions to accord with God’s will and God’s ways so that we make continual progress towards enhancing the beauty, light, and love of God’s kingdom.  

Now I can’t give every specific action of how we are to act to enhance God’s kingdom, but I can say, based on Jesus’ teachings, that the more we act as Lords over others, demanding our will and our way, assuming we know best for them, the more we diminish the beauty, light, and love of God’s kingdom.  On the other hand, the more we act as servants to others, and not as servants who are superior to others, but as true servants, the more we enhance the beauty, light, and love of God’s kingdom.  

See, God’s kingdom is in all of creation and through all of creation.  God’s kingdom is in and through and beyond all governments and political systems.  So yes, how we vote is part of what we give to God.  How we spent our money is part of what we give to God.  How we spend out time and how treat others is part of what we give to God.  What exactly do we give to God?  Everything.  

Playing Harmonica with Jesus

I played harmonica with Jesus today.  Actually, I was playing guitar, and he was playing harmonica.  We were standing outside of his car as he and his caregiver were attending our drive-thru Gathering Place.  

The Gathering Place is a monthly time of respite, entertainment, and hospitality for people who are living with Alzheimer's / dementia and their caregivers.  We had been holding these monthly gatherings for years indoors at our church, then with Coronavirus, that changed.  After months, we were able to have a drive-thru Gathering place in which our guests drove to locations in our parking lot with our church ministers there to provide the activities.

I was serving as a "roving musician," playing my guitar and singing songs for folks as they drove through.  The first guest was also a musician. 

They had arrived early, so I walked up to their car and asked if they wanted a song.  They did, and the elderly gentleman in the passenger seat had his harmonica with him, so I asked if he wanted to play with me.  He was very glad to do so and began getting out of the car to play.   His daughter/caregiver said of his playing, "It's just noise," not as an insult to him, it seemed, but to let me know out playing together might not be a rock solid jam session.  I smiled and said, "No, it's music," as I went around to the other side of the car to play.

Getting his harmonica out of its case took a few moments as his elderly, shaking fingers weren't as adept as they used to be.  The Alzheimer's had taken its toll, slurring his speech and slowing his movements.  I asked about his playing, and he said he used to play in a country band.  Then, taking note of the pitch of his harmonica, a blues D harp, I chose a couple of songs in the key of D.

We began playing together, he on his harmonica and I singing with my guitar.  It was beautiful.  His playing was mostly on one note, changing with the blow to the draw.  His disease and age had taken away his former skill, but it hadn't taken away the music.  We played together, savoring every note, enjoying the gift of song, of story, of the divine dance and whispered love that is music. 

After finishing a second song together, it was time for them to drive on up and through the rest of The Gathering Place.  I don't even know the gentleman's name, but I know who he was.  He was Jesus.  He was God with us.  He was who he was, a man born decades ago, beloved of God and of countless others, family and friends, all fellow children of the Divine One.

In Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus says, "Whatever you have done to the least of these, you have done to me."  Whether sharing food with one who is hungry, water with one who is thirsty, visiting one in hospital or prison, or sharing music with one whose mind has been ravaged by Alzheimer's, Jesus said these things we have done to him, we have done to God.

Every single one of us is a beloved child of God, and God lives within each of us.  Making music together with this beloved man, playing harmonica with Jesus, I was blessed, and for a few moments, God revealed the world beyond the veil.  A couple of things stuck with me.  

One:  Jesus plays a mean harp.  

Two: moments of blessing and union are all around us, the world alight with the Divine One who is in and through all of creation, every moment, every speck bursting with opportunity for life and love.