Glorious Train Wrecks and Glorious Symphonies

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
September 26, 2021

Proper 121, B

Mark 7:24-37

Glorious Train Wrecks and Glorious Symphonies

Have you ever had a terrible empathy fail? You’re overcome with emotion, exhausted, and totally stressed out by all that is going on, and you feel completely not good enough for all that is going on. So, you talk to a friend about it. The friend responds with, “Oh, that’s ok, it was so much worse for me last year.” You end up feeling even worse, like you’re still not good enough, but now you’re also unimportant.

I’ve been in a workshop for the last couple days called, “Dare to Lead,” made by and based on the work of Brene Brown. She is a researcher and author of “Dare to Lead,” “The Daring Way,” and other books about shame, how destructive shame is for us, and how empathy is the antidote for shame. 

Different from guilt which says, “I messed up or did something bad,” shame says, “I am messed up, and I am bad.” Shame is the feeling of being totally unworthy of love and belonging. Alone. Scared. Not good enough. Not worth people’s time. One of the major  antidotes for shame is empathy. Empathy helps us feel connected to others. Empathy doesn’t dismiss our pain, our fears, or the things we’ve done. Empathy looks at us as we are, warts and all, and says says, “I’m here with you; I get it; you aren’t alone; and you are totally worthy of love and belonging.”

Sadly, a lot of Christian theology says the opposite. We’re sinners, totally unworthy, and destined for torment forever. That’s what we deserve…unless we believe in Jesus. Then, we’re still unworthy, but God loves us anyway. That’s a pretty abusive theology. Shame is at its root. You’re terrible, unworthy, you don’t belong; you’re no good; you should be punished. Shame, being unworthy of love and belonging. 

Then, according to these theologies, Jesus comes along and says, believe in me, and God won’t punish you forever…because God loves you. That’s what abusers do to their victims. Tear them down, make them feel worthless, and then say, “I love you, and I alone can make you well, not worthy of love…but I alone will love you even though you are totally unworthy.” 

That’s about control, not empathy or love. It’s bad theology which turns God into an abuser, rather than a loving God. 

See the truth of our nature is that we are made beautiful, wonderful, and totally worthy of love and belonging. We’re not born with some stain of original sin. That's bad theology. We’re born, and we are hurt over time. We fear. We act out. We hurt others our of our own hurt. God is of course not happy with all of the hurt and harm we do, but God does not see us a terrible and totally unworthy of love. God loves us and hates to see us hurting ourselves and hurting each other.

So, to help heal us, God became human, showing us empathy and love. God, Jesus, knows exactly what it’s like to be human. Life is hard; being human is hard. It’s beautiful, and messy, and painful; a glorious train-wreck, and a glorious symphony all at once. By joining with us in being human, God says, “I’m here with you; I get it; you aren’t alone; and you are totally worthy of love and belonging.”

So then, believing that theology, that we are worthy of love and belonging, believing that God is not just trying to control us with fear and shame, what is Jesus saying with this dismemberment/mutilation lesson?

Well, obviously, Jesus is not literally telling us to cut off our hands or else he’ll punish us forever. I know it sounds that way. “It is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands…and to be thrown into hell.” “If you mess up too much, I’m going to hurt you…forever.” That’s not love. That’s shame, control, fear and abuse. Remember, Jesus loves us and we are worthy of God’s love and belonging. This dismemberment/mutilation lesson, then, cannot be saying, cut off your hand or I’ll punish you forever. The lesson cannot be about shaming us and forcing control over us with coercion. 

Hear the lesson instead in the light of empathy and love, and you’ll see that this lesson is about taking seriously the harm we can cause, showing us just how bad that harm can be, and so encouraging us to take big steps to choose instead a way of healing and restoration. 

“Golly, cutting off my hand sounds terrible, and Jesus is saying that the harm I can cause to myself and others with my hand can be even worse than that. I can harm other people in ways that are worse than removing my hand; I can in fact harm people in ways that become like Hell on Earth. I can’t bring about Hell on Earth. I really don’t want to do that; I don’t want to cause harm like that. I mean, I’m often hurt and angry, but gee whiz, I don’t want to bring about Hell on Earth. Maybe I oughta seek another way?”

See, this cast into hell part of Jesus’ lesson is not really unknown to us. Planes flown into buildings. Being so angry and feeling so alone that it seems like me against the world. Choosing numbing behaviors so much that people never address the problems in their lives, but just keep growing more isolated and resentful. Politicians wanting to win so badly and being so assured of their righteousness that they denigrate the other side as being evil, bringing about such division and strife that we can’t even countenance the thought that there may be some good coming from the other side, that freedom and public health become enemies of each other.

We get being cast into hell. We do it to ourselves all the time. Not casting ourselves into Hell on Earth can take drastic change, drastic giving up of something we hold dear and can’t imagine being without. Giving up the need to be right in a religious belief and for others to share in that belief. Letting go of resentments and accepting one’s own faults so that it is no longer me agains the world. Letting go of numbing so that we actually have to work together on life’s challenges. Giving up dehumanizing anger and entrenched wrangling over ideological differences so that we don’t make things even worse than our fears of what might happen if the other side won.

Giving up these things can feel like cutting off one’s own hand, or foot, or eye. Jesus is then hold up that pain next to the pain of the hells that we often make and cast each other into. Jesus is showing empathy and love, saying, “I know the healing work is hard, and I know, as we all know, how much harder life is without that healing work. Even though it can feel like cutting off your own hand, doing that healing work is so much better than living through Hell on Earth.”

God loves us, not in spite of us being unworthy of God’s love. God loves us as God’s children, and we are totally worthy of God’s love and belonging. God also teaches us hard lessons because God knows life can be even harder without them. “I’m here with you; I get it,” God says. “You aren’t alone; and you are totally worthy of love and belonging.”

Casting Down Our Idols (selves)

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
September 5, 2021
Proper 18, B
Mark 7:24-37

Casting Down Our sIeDlOvLeSs

There have often been times when I’ve been in a large group of people and found that I had a great fondness for a good many of the people there, and at the same time, I’ve found a great antipathy for another large part of the group. I’m referring to times when I’ve been to a sporting event like an Astros game. Folks wearing the Astros shirts and hats, well they’re my people. There is this connection, this bond, this belonging we feel for each other. We don’t know anything at all about each other, but we’re wearing the same color t-shirt. We belong together for that night in the tribe of the Astros.

Now the fans in the Yankees shirts, for example, well we just don’t belong together. I may have much more in common with them, may like them immensely more outside of that stadium and in different t-shirts, but for that night, at the game, we are two different groups who do not belong together. I’m overstating things a bit of course, but forming exclusive groups is something we humans tend to be pretty good at doing.

“No girls allowed.” “No boys allowed.” Little kids making their own often temporary exclusive groups. It seems innocent enough; it usually is, and children’s “No Boys Allowed” and “No Girls Allowed” clubs also show us how, even early in our lives, we tend toward forming like groups that exclude those who are not alike. 

This forming of like groups makes some sense. Sometimes people want to be with folks who are most obviously like them. Sadly, these like groups or exclusive groups can end up hurting those who are excluded. Even kids’ “boys only” or “girls only” clubs can unintentionally hurt those who are excluded. Some kids grow up not quite sure where they fit, not sure where they belong: with the girls or with the boys. I think of Steve, as I knew her years ago, now Beth, who had this experience growing up. There was no intention of excluding her, and yet there wasn’t really a place for her on the playground when the gym teacher said, “Boys over here, girls over there.”

Oftentimes we don’t mean to exclude, we’re just trying to have a group gathered around a particular similarity. Other times, we very much mean to exclude, to exclude those who are deemed as unworthy, undesirable, or not belonging.

“Whites only.” “No Jews.” “No Irish.” “Women need not apply.” There are countless ways our society and all societies have excluded others, and the Church, much as it tries to love, has often been a willing part of such exclusion.

In the past, our churches have been intentionally racially segregated. We have kept women out of ministry even though Jesus and the early Church did not. We’ve allowed members of the LGBTQ+ community to be a part of the church, so long as they were quiet about and hid who they were. That’s just a partial list of how the institution itself has excluded groups from the church. Even more are the ways individuals have removed people they felt were undesirable. They disapproving look given, the audible whispers of disdain, the snubbing of some, and the outright statement that “you would be happier somewhere else” to others.

Excluding others in the church has a long history, probably as long as the church has been around. Even the earliest members of the church were human and full of the same challenges that we all have, wanting to feel comfortable, wanting to belong, and sometimes excluding others to make sure we felt comfortable in our own belonging.

Even in Jesus’ day, before he had established his church, Jesus was a part of this human tendency toward exclusion. When a woman who was a Gentile begged Jesus to cast a demon out of her daughter, he initially refused. He called her a dog. He saw her as unworthy, as undesirable, as not belonging. Jesus was acting as he had been taught. We don’t associate with those Gentile dogs.

Then, the woman didn’t fight Jesus or refute his claim of her beastliness. “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” she said. Supporting Jesus’ claim, she revealed it for what it was: cruelty and exclusion. It seems that she brought Jesus up short. It seems that his eyes were opened in that moment, that what he had been taught about Gentiles as less than human dogs wasn’t really the case. Here was not an unworthy dog, but a woman and a child. These also were beloved children of God, and Jesus healed the daughter immediately. 

Jesus, who was God, yes, but also fully human with human limitations and frailties had been taught one thing about humanity, that there were undesirable less than humans, and then when he saw one of these undesirable less thans up close, he realized that he had been given a false teaching. This woman, and by extension these Gentiles, were not less than humans, but full humans, beloved of God, who were deserving of love and belonging.

Now, you could say when we exclude others that we’re only human, also following what we’ve been taught. That’s true enough. Even so, when we exclude others from the church, we don’t do so by acting as humans. When we exclude others from the church, we become idolaters, acting as though we were God. It’s God’s church, not ours, so when we start to proclaim who can be a part of God’s church and who cannot, we are moving God out of our way so that we can make God’s church what we want it to be. Putting ourself in God’s place, we end up becoming our own idols, ultimately worshipping ourselves, rather than God. 

Who is in, and who is out? Who is worthy, and who is unworthy? By the teaching of various days, the out and unworthy were black people, women, homosexual people, children who made noise or moved, folks without enough money, or folks with the wrong clothes. All of these people have been excluded from the church at various times and places, following accepted norms of the majority at the time, only to have those norms cast out, those idols thrown down, and the people seen no longer as dogs, but as beloved children of God.

What norms, against what people, do we still hold, putting them down as dogs and raising ourselves as idols in God’s place? Who would make any of us personally uncomfortable sitting next to us, or preaching to us, or celebrating at this table? Realizing who those people are, remember that they are not dogs, but God’s beloved children, and we are not God to exclude them or anyone from God’s church. 

No longer in charge as gatekeeper, we simply get to enjoy the rich diversity of who God’s children are. Astros and Yankees fans. Rich and poor. LGBTQ+. Cis-gender. Heterosexual. Any and all races and skin colors. American. Immigrant. Children. Adults. Felons. Men and women and all those in between. There is such a rich and beautiful diversity of God’s children, and God’s intention for God’s church and God’s kingdom is for us to enjoy all of each other. We are each others’ family, God’s family. No one of us welcomes another, but we meet each other together, for we all belong here, in God’s church as God’s family.

Spiritual Meals: Jesus, IT, and Other Tasty Treats

The Rev. Brad Sullivan

Emmanuel Episcopal Church

August 22, 2021

Proper 16, B

Ephesians 6:10-20

John 6:56-69

Changing Our Diets

I’ve been re-reading IT, a novel by Stephen King about a group of friends from Derry Maine who band together as children and then again as adults to defeat a shapeshifting demon-clown monster thing, called “IT.” IT feeds off of fear and violence, most of which IT perpetrates, though IT also feeds off and seems to help cause greater violence and hatred in the people of the town. IT is most famous for taking the appearance of a clown, and if you haven’t read the book, you may have seen or heard of the miniseries back in the 80s or the recent two part movie series.

Pennywise the dancing clown, IT, is a terrifying villain in this terrifying horror story. IT scared me as an 11 year old, and IT still scares me as a 43 year old. To this day, I quicken my pace walking when past storm drains due to the opening scene in the book.  

Even more disturbing than the monster itself, however, is the response of the people of the town to IT. When things get bad, the people generally do what they should: hold curfews, encourage adults to walk children to school, and increase police presence. At the same time, however, there is a general apathy within the town about the presence of IT. None are really aware of IT, and yet all seem to accept the fact of a high rate of murder and violent crime, and they seem largely to take in stride as well the large number of children who are victims.  

The town prospers, and the people go about their lives accepting IT as simply the way things are. On the one hand, what else are they supposed to do, not really knowing what is going on? On the other hand, how can they just accept IT as the way things are?  See, the people of the town despise IT, and they also feed off of IT in a spiritual kind of way. IT has become so intertwined with the town and the people that IT feeds off of them, and they unknowingly feed off of IT. IT has become their spiritual food. 

Like the people in this novel, we too seem to feed in spiritual ways off of the suffering of others. This is not intentional. It’s not what we strive for. It’s simply the inescapable result of a world full of brokenness and conflict.  

Consider how companies and people profit off of war: weapons manufacturers and others. I’m not saying the military or weapons makers are bad. At its heart, the military’s goal is to protect the weak and the innocent. Weapons manufacturers help make that possible. At the same time, we can’t escape the fact that part of our wealth comes from the destruction and killing of others. That’s just part of the way things are, and that destruction and killing becomes part of our spiritual food.

Think about how many products we wear or use that are made with overseas, underpaid, and oppressed workers? That becomes not only part of our wardrobe, but part of our spiritual food. How much of our economy depends on the same? How much value is derived off of impoverished and crime ridden areas remaining impoverished and crime ridden so that other areas can have premium pricing as a safer alternative? 

How many of us get angry and stay angry at any number of world or community problems that we probably can’t change, but that we can at least get righteously angry about and feel a resulting strength and moral superiority? Anger and contempt, fighting over who is right. Brainless liberal. Heartless conservative. Masks or no masks. The righteous indignation and moral superiority, the anger and contempt are all part of our spiritual food.

In all of these and countless other ways, we are feeding off of the brokenness and conflict in our world. That brokenness and conflict has always been with us and will always be with us. Whether we want it to be or not, the darkness, violence, brokenness, and conflict of our world will always be part of our spiritual food.

In this rather problematic spiritual diet then, Jesus says, “Eat my flesh, and drink my blood.” Eat and drink me as your spiritual food, Jesus says. Feed your spirit off of my spirit. Change your diet.

So, how do we feed less off of brokenness and conflict, anger and contempt, and make our meals of Jesus instead? Well, if we really want the diet to stick and last, then one thing we likely can’t do is make a sudden, drastic, and huge dietary change. If we try to divorce ourselves from everything that is of violence, oppression, and conflict, we are going to find just how interconnected violence, oppression, and conflict is in all we do. We’re not going to make the world perfect, and we’re certainly not going to increase our consumption of Jesus by angrily and contemptuously decrying anything we feel is not of Jesus.

So how do we feed off of Jesus? How do we eat his body and drink his blood? Well, there are countless, infinite ways, including sharing communion here, the spiritual communion, embodied in the meal we share. Other ways to eat Jesus’ body and drink his blood are to take note of each other. Pay attention to each other. Help each other out in fun times together and in rough times together. Stand up for each other. Love each other. Such is the spiritual food of Jesus’ body and blood.

Take time for yourself. Rest. Rely on the Lord and the strength of his power, knowing you can’t get it all done. Have faith and trust in God. Trust in God and in God’s goodness. Trust in your own goodness, being made good and beautiful in the image of God. Trust in God’s love of you and guidance of you. Such is the spiritual food of Jesus’ body and blood.

Strive for justice and peace in how you interact with others, in how you vote. Strive for justice and peace in how you shop, in the things you consume. Seek truth and live in righteousness, meaning live a life seeking good for others and for yourself. Such is the spiritual food of Jesus’ body and blood.

Enjoy the sun, the sky, the grass, the trees, the air. Enjoy the ride. Breath. Breath in the beauty of the moment, even during anxiety, depression, sadness, and fear. Trust in God enough to let go and not have to control everything all the time. Pray. Pray a lot. Make it weird. Such is the spiritual food of the body and blood of Jesus.

We can’t purify ourselves by completely ridding our spiritual diet of any and all darkness, conflict, violence, and oppression. Such things are intertwined within our lives and this world, and there is no ridding ourselves of them. Also, Jesus didn’t say remove from your spiritual diet all things that are objectionable. He knew that wasn’t possible. Instead, Jesus said, “eat my flesh and drink my blood.”

“Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.” (Ephesians 6:10) Make your spiritual meals of Jesus. Eat Jesus' spiritual flesh, and drink Jesus' spiritual blood, that you may abide in him and he in you.

“These Are the Pale Deaths Which Men Miscall Their Lives”

The Rev. Brad Sullivan

Emmanuel Episcopal Church

August 8, 2021

Proper 14, B

Ephesians 4:25 - 5:2

John 6:35, 41-51

“These Are the Pale Deaths Which Men Miscall Their Lives”

We aren’t wretched, you know? Paul writes in Ephesians about ways which we want to give up: lying, anger, bitterness, wrath, slander, evil talk, malice, stealing, all of these and more. These ways of being live inside of us. They are a part of us, or maybe they have become a part of us. Perhaps they weren’t there initially and only came to dwell within us as we were hurt and broken throughout our lives. In any case, we have lying, anger, bitterness, wrath, and all of these ways dwelling inside of us.

We are, however, not wretched and terrible. Our truest selves, are kind, tenderhearted, forgiving, loving. We are made in God’s image, and so the beauty of love, forgiveness, tenderheartedness, and kindness is intrinsic to who we are. Those ways of life are our truest selves. We are not wretched. We are beautiful.

Now again, the other ways, bitterness, anger, all of those, are part of us. We may call them our inner demons, and we’ll likely never be rid of them. As much as we may strive for love, forgiveness, and beauty, these darker parts will always come back, rearing their heads. We can fight them, but that’s like fighting fire with fire. We can pretend they aren’t there, but they’ll just gradually take over. Rather than fighting them or denying them, I suggest (as a friend of mine suggested) that we dance with them. Maybe have them over for a meal. Offer them some coffee or tea. Just don’t feed off of them, for they are the things that bring death.

One of my favorite bands, Metallica, has a song called, To Live Is to Die. The short and poignant lyric of this song is, “When a man lies, he murders some part of the world. These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives. All this I cannot bear to witness any longer. Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?” I’m fairly certain I’ve used that quote before in a sermon, though what I didn’t know previously is that the first part of that quote comes from 17th century German, Lutheran theologian and minister Paul Gerhardt. The second half of the lyric comes from Metallica’s former bassist, Cliff Burton. 

That is a beautiful blending of sacred and secular by my favorite heavy metal band, and it shows this need that we all have for healing and salvation, from all the pale deaths that we miscall our lives. 

Taking these quotes from a Lutheran theologian and a heavy metal bassist, we can apply this lyric to Paul’s writing from Ephesians that we heard today. “When a man [is bitter, angry, wrathful, and all of those other ways of death] he murders some part of the world. These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives. All this I cannot bear to witness any longer. Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?” 

These ways Paul writes about truly are the ways of death, and when we feed off of them, we are feeding off the bread of the pale deaths which we miscall our lives. When we live these ways, we murder parts of the world.

Paul writes in Romans 6:23, “the wages of sin is death…” What was the first sin that we hear of in scripture? Garden of Eden, eating the fruit of the tree which God said not to eat. So what was that first sin? Disobedience? Mistrust? Desire for power rather than a good relationship? Bitterness at being told “no”? Stealing what wasn’t theirs to take? Believing and living the serpents’ lie? Which of those was the first sin? Id’ just say “yes,” all of them.

Adam and Eve wanted something good, maybe greater power, maybe to sate their curiosity, maybe just a tasty piece of fruit. In any case, God had said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.” Well, they didn’t exactly die, at least not physically. Their relationship with God, however, took a drastic cardiac arrest kind of turn. Their relationship with each other was deeply harmed. When they ate of the bread of bitterness, mistrust, desire of power over relationship, living a lie, they fed off of the pales deaths which we miscall our lives, and they murdered some part of the world.

“The wages of sin is death,” Paul writes. Now remember, sin does not mean we’re wretched and terrible. Sin is missing the mark: seeking something good, but missing the good we seek and hitting something less good or something harmful instead. 

These harmful things end up hurting us and others - our relationships are broken. We find these things to bring pale deaths rather than life. 

Now again, these harmful ways are a part of us, but they aren’t parts that we need to hate. When these parts of ourselves start speaking up, we dance with them, or have some tea with them. They may have something important to say about ourselves or about the world. When I’m angry about something in the world, there may be something I could do to help make it better. When I’m bitter towards someone, there may be something going on in me that I need to address, or maybe a broken relationship that I need to tend to and work to heal. So we can listen to our anger, and bitterness, etc., over a cup of tea, and we learn what they can teach us about ourselves and the world, but we don’ feed off of them.

Jesus teaches us not to feed off of these pale deaths. Rather, Jesus teaches to eat the bread of life. “I am the living bread that came down from heaven,” Jesus says. “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever…”

“I am,” Jesus says. “I am.” “God is.” Remember that “I am” is the unspeakable name of God. “I am the bread of life.” God is the bread of life. God dwells within all of us, and we are made in God’s image. The bread of life is within us all. Kindness, tenderheartedness, forgiveness, love: these are all aspects of God, aspects of Jesus, the bread of life which dwells within us all. 

To eat the bread of life is to feed off our truest selves. When Jesus gave his life, his body, his flesh as the bread of life, we recognize Jesus as someone other than us, a human who lived a couple thousand years ago, a human who is also God. Jesus is that particular God-incarnate man, and he is the particular bread of life. Jesus is also something, someone who is not external to us, not other than us. Jesus is that particular God incarnate man, and Jesus is also our truest selves. We are all one with God, made in God’s image, and Jesus lives within us all, not as something external, but as who we are. 

The bread of life is shared and eaten as we reach out to Jesus who is wholly other than us, and the bread is shared and eaten when we feed off of the kindness, tenderheartedness, forgiveness, and love which is our truest selves. The bread of life is part of us. The bread of life dwells within us, and the bread of life dwells among us, in community, in the communion we share. 

Rather than feed off the pale deaths which we miscall our lives: bitterness, wrath, anger, lies, murdering some part of the world, and rather than fighting against those things, we dance with them, we invite them for tea. We learn what we can, and we let them go.  We aren’t wretched. We aren’t terrible. We are kind. We are tenderhearted. We are forgiving. We are loving. Those are our truest selves, beautiful and wonderful. When we live those truest parts of ourselves, when we feed off of that bread, we’re feeding off the bread of life which is Jesus, and when we feed off that bread, we bring life to the world.

Is Anyone Else Tired?

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
July 18, 2021

Proper 11, B

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Is Anyone Else Tired?

Is anyone else tired?

One thing people have been finding coming out of the pandemic is that they are exhausted. Part of this is that people are tired from the pandemic itself and all of the stress and extra work that has meant for so many. Another piece of this exhaustion, however, is that many folks have found that the time they spend in in rest and time they spend with family and friends is far too precious to be squandered by the endless demands of our jobs. Folks are realizing that their exhaustion has been there since before the pandemic.

Some folks are finding jobs better suited to them, jobs which are more fulfilling. Some are quitting their jobs without yet having another because they are tired of doing the work that used to be done by three people without getting a corresponding raise in pay. Some jobs just aren’t being filled because at the wages being offered, the jobs aren’t worth people’s time to do. I had an uncle-ish type guy, not family, but close friend, who was arguing that minimum wage shouldn’t go up. He said he’d hired people who weren’t worth minimum wage. What I didn’t say at the time was, “That may be true, but those same people might be worth three times minimum wage,” because minimum wage isn’t worth many people’s time.

People working tirelessly, still struggling to make ends meet. People working tirelessly with more than enough for ends to meet, but with little or no time for the people and things that matter in life. There is so much going on, and there is always more coming. 

That is the situation in which Jesus and the apostles found themselves in our Gospel story today. Jesus had been working tirelessly, and then he appointed the twelve disciples to be apostles. He sent them out to do the teaching and healing work he had been doing. I like to think Jesus took a break during that time. Then, they came back to tell Jesus about all that had done and taught, and there was so much still to do, so many people still hungry for their teaching and healing, that the couldn’t even eat, much less spend some time together resting and enjoying each other’s company. 

So, going away on a little vacation, they had some time off on their little boat ride, car trip, airplane flight journey, and once they landed, they found work had followed them there. Zoom calls, cell phones, meetings with leaders, questions from the team back home, fires to put out, the boss calling to say, “I need you to come back in.” The only real time off they had was the boat ride, and the people were all there waiting for more teaching and healing. 

One thing I noticed, however, is that once they arrived, the apostles weren’t recorded as having done much of anything at all. In the portion of the story that was cut out of our reading today, Jesus was teaching the crowds, and later, the apostles realized the huge crowd of people was hungry, and they told Jesus they didn’t have much food. Then Jesus turned their meager fare into a lot of food for over 5000 people. The apostles kinda got to sit back while Jesus did all the work. Then they went on another boat ride, a nice little nighttime pleasure cruise, and Jesus walked across the water to them. 

When they arrived on shore again, there were even more people coming for teaching and healing.  At this point, with all of this new additional work to be done, we heard about Jesus doing a lot of healing, with the apostles doing…we don’t know what. Something? Anything? Nothing?

Whatever the case for the apostles, the people just kept on coming. The needs were far too great. There was no end to the work to be done, and amidst this endless amount of work, we saw that Jesus had taken a break before our story started, asking his apostles to go and do the work he had been doing. Then, when they returned, he had his apostles take a break, one which seems to have continued even as the huge crowd was all around them.

“Rest, and let me take care of this for a while,” Jesus said.

Nowadays, whether people are working for a wage that isn’t really worth their time, working for a darn good salary but doing the work of three people for the salary of one, or working for a job that isn’t terrible but is relentless and rather soul crushing, many people can’t quit their jobs. Many can’t take time off, and most certainly can’t say, “I’m gonna take a couple weeks off or even a couple days off, but don’t worry, boss, Jesus’ll take care of this for a while.”

Even so, we see in our story today Jesus teaching us to rest. We hear Jesus say to us, “Rest, and let me take care of this for a while.” How are we to do that in our present situation of endless work, endless need?  How are we to rest and let Jesus take care of this for a while when even taking time off a job may put at risk that mighty powerful need we have to eat?  

Well, first off, something that won’t be particularly helpful, and that is resenting those with immeasurably more than they need.  I’ve seen and heard a good amount of uproar over the head of Virgin Galactic, Richard Branson, taking a flight into space in his new low orbit space plane, when, as people have been saying, he has the money to end poverty.  It is true that he and many others have immeasurably more than they need.  It is true that with his and their wealth, they could probably be doing more than they are doing to alleviate need in the world.  It is also true, however, that they are employing folks, creating jobs, and it is true that focusing on those others and shaming people with wealth and resenting those who have far more than they need isn’t going to bring about the rest that people need.  

How often have any of us resented someone who has more wealth or more time for rest and then felt more rested afterwards?  I’m guessing never.  

There are societal changes that would be helpful, and striving for those is a good thing.  Resenting those who can rest, however, is not going to give rest to anyone. Jesus didn’t resent the crowds who followed them. Rather, he had compassion on them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd.

So, rather than resentment and focusing on what others have or what anyone doesn’t have, Jesus shows us to take time to rest in ways that really give rest.  He shared the load with others.  He let his apostles work while he rested, and he let them rest while he worked. Are we connected enough with our friends and neighbors to let them share our loads and for us to share their loads as well?  

Jesus took time for quiet and prayer.  He spent time outside, enjoying creation.  Do we seek and keep practices of quiet, prayer, and time outside to give rest to our minds, our souls, and our bodies?

For many of us, these times of rest will have to be short and often, and for those of us in Houston during the summer, times outside need to be particularly short, and these are still times we can take.  Especially if we can let go of resentments, we can rest more fully even in the short times we have and let Jesus say, “Rest, and let me take care of this for a while.” Bothered and harassed by so many worries about problems throughout the world, we can let go of those worries and let Jesus say, “Rest, and let me take care of this for a while.” Seeking and keeping practices of quiet, prayer, and even time outside, we can give rest to our minds, our souls, and our bodies while Jesus says, “Rest, and let me take care of this for a while.” 

Filling the Hollows of Our Lives

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
July 11, 2021
Proper 10, B
Mark 6:14-29

Filling the Hollows of Our Lives

Paul wrote in Ephesians that we have an inheritance in Christ as God’s children, God’s beloved people.  That inheritance is living God’s kingdom of love, united to God and to one another in this life and in the life to come.

Paul went on to write, that we could squander our inheritance, removing ourselves as God’s children.  “Entirely out of place”, Paul wrote, “is obscene, silly, and vulgar talk; but instead, let there be thanksgiving. Be sure of this, that no fornicator or impure person, or one who is greedy (that is, an idolater), has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.” (Ephesians 5:4-5)

That’s what we saw with Herod when he had John the Baptist killed.  Herod was king of Israel, a puppet king propped up by Rome, but still king of Israel.  He had power and authority to build up the kingdom of God within Israel.  He could have led the people to live in love, to care for one another, to “put away…all bitterness and wrath…slander and malice, and be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another…”  (Ephesians 4:31-32) That would have been living the inheritance of the kingdom of God. Instead of living the kingdom of God and guiding the people of Israel into the same, however, Herod used his power and authority, to enrich and glorify himself.  

He had John imprisoned for speaking the truth to him about his actions, and at the same time, he was drawn to John.  He was drawn to the kingdom of God which John preached and taught people to live, but he would’t then follow John and live the kingdom of God himself.  For him, with much potentially to lose, the sacrifice was too great.  

If he didn’t continue to enrich himself, would those with wealth look at him as less powerful, less important than they?  If he chose to do the right thing, at John’s urging, would he look weak in the eyes of his courtiers and officers?  If he broke his oath after his silly and vulgar talk to his step-daughter, would he appear foolish and lose some of his credibility?  Money, power, influence: these were all Herod’s to lose, and wanting to keep those things, he executed an innocent man, a man whom he admired, a man who was leading him to the Kingdom of God.

Herod had the Kingdom of God, the Kingdom of Love, right there to be received and to be grown and spread to others, leading others to the same Kingdom of Love, and instead, he squandered God’s kingdom, squandered his inheritance in money, power, and influence.

Squandering his inheritance, Herod reminds me of a man in a parable Jesus taught, the parable of the prodigal son.  In the parable, a son demands his inheritance from his father, receives his inheritance, and then squanders it all in raucous and extravagant living.  Once the money is all gone, he finds himself starving and alone, feeding pigs on someone else’s land, wishing he could eat even the slop he is feeding the pigs.

Herod is like that prodigal son, having received his inheritance and then squandering it completely.  Herod had wealth, power, and influence, but the Kingdom of God was nowhere to be seen in his life.  As far as joining with God in a life of love, grace, and mercy, using what he had to bring about justice and peace among the people, Herod was as poor and alone as the prodigal son, starving and penniless, wishing he could eat even the pig slop. 

Of course, the story of the prodigal son does not end there.  The son eventually wakes up, realizing he is starving and miserable, and he returns to his father ready to work as a hired servant, knowing that at least he will have food and shelter.  Then, while he is still a ways off, his father sees him coming home and he runs out to greet him, restoring his as his beloved son, overjoyed that he is back, alive and well.  

That’s God’s way.  When we squander our inheritance and live selfish lives, unconcerned with others, leaving hurt and harm in our wake, we may eventually realize that we are starving for a life of love, grace, and mercy.  When we realize that we are starving, and we begin to return to God’s kingdom of love, God runs out to us with open arms, strengthening us and guiding us back into our inheritance, living the Kingdom of love.

The challenge for Herod was he never realized he was starving.  He had his wealth, his power, his influence.  He had his courtiers and officials all suckling up to him, and so he was able to remain blind to the damage left in his wake.  He thought he had arrived, thought he had it all, but he was hollow on the inside, a puppet, not just of Rome, but also a puppet to all of his cravings, led by his desires for money, power, and influence.  As a puppet mastered by his cravings, Herod lived outside of the Kingdom of God, squandering his inheritance.

Of course, living the Kingdom of God is rarely as simple as you either are or you aren’t.  Most of us are living our inheritance in God’s kingdom of love except when we’re not.  So, my question today is, what is keeping us from living more fully into God’s kingdom of love?  What fills the hollows of our lives, controlling us as puppets?  For some, like Herod, it may be money, power, and influence that we are afraid to risk losing.  I don’t mean to imply that any of us have people beheaded over it, but for some, money, power, and influence may master us, keeping us from decisions, actions, or beliefs which would risk our money, power, and influence for the sake of others’ well being.  

For some of us, our past hurts may be mastering us, keeping us from living more fully into God’s kingdom of love.  All of us are hurting in some way and we end up building walls and defenses just trying to be ok.  Sometimes those very defenses end up taking over, harming us and others, and we miss out on God’s kingdom of love. 

There are many things which can end up mastering us, taking over the hollows of our lives and controlling us as puppets.  God’s response is to help wake us up to realize the ways we are being mastered, like Herod.  God’s response is to help us become aware of the ways we are starving, squandering our inheritance like the prodigal son.  God’s response is then to guide us back to our inheritance, to let go our fears, and to let God guide us into his Kingdom of love.  

God’s way is to offer to fill the hollows of our lives so that we are not puppets led by our fears and desires, but are instead walking together with God and one another.  That is life in God’s kingdom, as Paul writes to, “put away…all bitterness and wrath…slander and malice, and be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven [us].”  Even when we squander our inheritance through fear and desire leaving ourselves hollow and hungry, in God’s kingdom, there is inheritance still waiting for us when we wake up and return and strive again to live in the way of love.