The church year is coming to an end, and that means Jesus is talking about the end. A lot. The end of each church year has Jesus in a different mode, if you will. That’s because Jesus has arrived in Jerusalem, he knows that his mission on earth is nearly over, and he speaks to his disciples with a sense of urgency. He’s not on his death bed—not exactly—but he knows that death is coming for him soon. He is contemplating the end of his earthly life, so he has things to tell his followers before his chance to tell them is gone. Some of these things are difficult to hear…

Image: Bauernfeind, Gustav, (848-1904) The Wailing Wall, Jerusalem. Public Domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

This morning is all about giving. We are celebrating six years of serving our community through our food pantry. The food piled on our Communion table is a reminder that we are sharing what God has given us all—from our table we see others whose tables are bare, and we try to help. We are also marking the end of our Stewardship campaign, during which we’ve been attempting to remember what “living like kings” means when Jesus is our role model of a king. And we’ve all just heard what is, probably, the Bible’s most famous story about giving. 

 The passage we’ve just read is so famous that even many non-Christians have heard the story of the Widow’s Mite, as it is traditionally called. That’s m-i-t-e, meaning, something very small, vanishingly small, such as the two copper coins the poor widow dropped into the Temple treasury, evidently, the last resources she had in the world…

Image: Tissot, James, 1836-1902. Widow's Mite, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56665 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Brooklyn_Museum_-_The_Widow%27s_Mite_(Le_denier_de_la_veuve)_-_James_Tissot.jpg.

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A. That I am not my own,

but belong—

body and soul,

in life and in death—

to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,

and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.

He also watches over me in such a way

that not a hair can fall from my head

without the will of my Father in heaven;

in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him,

Christ, by his Holy Spirit,

assures me of eternal life

and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready

from now on to live for him.

Image: Swanson, John August. Take Away the Stone, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58578 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.

Recently, I was offering to place a member of our congregation on the prayer list. They declined, saying, “Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list.” And, you know, I get that logic. Each of us has our pain, or our pains. Each of us has a story that sometimes lifts us up with joyful remembrance and sometimes takes us down a rabbit hole of regret or hurt or self-recrimination. Every person in Gaza belongs on our prayer list, as does every person in Israel, and Iran, and Lebanon. Every person in Endicott and Endwell and the Town of Union, everyone in Broome and Tioga counties. 

Hurt, fear, injury and illness are everywhere. Another election is coming up in which both sides are sure the success of the other side will mean the world is ending. We lose people we love and wonder how we will survive. Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list…

Image: JESUS MAFA. Jesus cures the man born blind, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48383 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: http://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr (contact page: https://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr/contact).

...This is a passage that has caused no end of consternation among readers and hearers, ever since the words recorded here left Jesus’ mouth. Jesus is making an impossible ask: that we should sell all our possessions, and give the proceeds to the poor, so that we can follow him. How do we do that? I’m here to tell you that preachers over these last nearly two thousand years have done backbends trying to make this passage better, make it easier, make it doable. Or at least, make it so that we can all have some hope that we can be faithful followers of Jesus ourselves. Other sermons have enumerated in detail the many ways this was done—everything from the entirely fictional “Eye of the Needle” gate in the Temple wall, to casting aspersions on this young man as insincere, to the Hail Mary pass of “For God all things are possible.”

I propose to address this passage by looking at seventeen words, or, more specifically, three words and four phrases we find here. I think these words can lead us somewhere useful. I think these words can lead us to hope...

Image: Wesley, Frank, 1923-2002. Meeting with the Rich Young Ruler, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59188 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: Estate of Frank Wesley, http://www.frankwesleyart.com/main_page.htm.

Today is World Communion Sunday, and as Presbyterians, we always connect this day with our Peacemaking and Global Witness offering. It is a day when we remember how connected we are with others around the world. We are connected with other Christians in that we are all one in the body of Christ. We are connected with those other than Christians in that we are all part of one human family. Therefore, we care about others. We even care about people we don’t know, and will probably never know.

Today is also the beginning of our Stewardship campaign. It may seem like this is somewhat a clash of priorities, but I think these celebrations and observances are more connected than we might imagine.

Our working theme for our Stewardship campaign is this: Living Like Kings. Not the King Charles kind of king; the kind of king Jesus is. What does it mean to live like Jesus, to let his ways direct our living?

P. Raube, Grapevine Window and Fig Tree Window, Union Presbyterian Church, Endicott, NY. September 2024.

Jamie Tartt is one of the best footballers in the Premier League; in fact, he’s considered one of the greatest footballers of his time, not to mention the most famous. At the opening of season 1 of Ted Lasso, Jamie is on loan from Manchester United to AFC Richmond. The limelight-loving, brand-obsessed Tartt, who is a brilliantly gifted striker, sees himself as the only real talent on the team. He speeds toward the goal at every opportunity, a one-man powerhouse who, really, doesn’t consider himself a member of the team at all. He carries the team. Jamie is the greatest. And he’ll be the first to tell you that.

The fictional character of Jamie Tartt is a beautiful image of what the world tells us it means to be “the greatest.” Strong, talented, good-looking, rich, at the top of his game.

Enter Ted Lasso, AFC Richmond’s new coach, who looks at Jamie and sees a challenge: how to make him a member of the team. By the end of the second episode, Ted says to the young man, “Jamie, I think that you might be so sure that you're one in a million, that sometimes you forget that out there, you're just one of eleven...."

Image: Olivier, Ferdinand, 1785-1841. Jesus with Disciples, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=47426 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ferdinand_Olivier_003.jpg.

...This morning’s passage from the gospel According to Mark is a turning-point that finds Jesus asking the question, “Who am I?”, or more specifically, “Who do people say that I am?” The ultimate answer to that question—who is Jesus?—puts him on a path—the only possible path—for the rest of his ministry. The answer to that question poses a question for us: Who are we, if we claim to be followers of Jesus? What does that mean for our lives? It’s a very September kind of question, if you know what I mean. Who are we? Who will we be...?

Image: Anonymous, Jesus-the Holy Mural, The Way of Jesus Christian Church, New Orleans, LA., ca. 2000-2019, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58372 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/volvob12b/48740737607.

...But there is no not noticing Jesus. We don’t know exactly how it happens. Does someone who had traveled to Galilee recognize Jesus? Does the homeowner share just enough information with a neighbor for whom it rings a bell, that wandering preacher everyone is talking about. Maybe a household servant—an enslaved person—tells a friend—a surefire way for news to travel, and fast. Or maybe, as one writer puts it, Jesus will always be noticed because of his divine identity and his power. We can try to put ourselves there, in the scene. We can imagine what it would be like to see Jesus, without introduction, without preparation, if he didn’t look like all the paintings and stained-glass windows. Would we guess it was him? Would we know...?

Image: Tihanyi, Lajos, 1885-1938. Gipsy Woman with Child, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55594 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tihanyi_Gipsy_Woman_with_Child.jpg.

I have never once preached on this passage, not in almost twenty-one years as an ordained minister, nor in the opportunities I had to preach in the fifteen or so years prior to that. I just couldn’t see my way clear to preaching on a passage where Jesus gets mad about hand washing. How do I defend that? This was an era when people ate with their hands, and did everything else with them, too. It's unimaginable, especially post Covid era. I remember going into a public restroom in a Massachusetts theater, in March 2020, where there were pages taped to the mirror in front of each sink. The pages contained lyrics from different showtunes—each amounting to twenty seconds worth of singing, so that we’d all sing and wash our hands long enough to fight off this new, terrifying virus. Each of us was told by our parents over and over again: You need to wash your hands before supper. Because little kids will pick up everything including cat poop if they get the chance. We all need to wash our hands.

I’ve never preached on this passage before. But in there, beyond everything that makes me squirm and say, “Ew,” is a message that is important. A message that is central to the gospel, to scripture itself: What we put out into the world, whether our words or or actions, matters. Even more important, where they come from matters. Where they come from, what matters, is the human heart...

Image: Van Dyck, Anthony, 1599-1641. Christ and the Pharisees; verso; Christ and a Pharisee, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57935 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_and_the_Pharisees;_verso;_Christ_and_a_Pharisee_MET_DP802093.jpg.

Years ago, I led a study of a terrific book from the Upper Room called Companions in Christ. During one of our sessions, we read this passage from the Gospel According to Mark. We were a small group—just four women and me—and, like most readers, we found ourselves deeply moved by the story—especially the faithfulness of these four friends of the unnamed, paralyzed man. Their commitment to getting him to Jesus—that it extended to their climbing up on the roof of the house—is amazing. That they got up on the roof and removed the mud and tiles that would have been attached to wooden beams, and then, let down their friend on the mat, so that Jesus could heal him. Which, he does. The chapter encouraged us to end this session by taking turns sitting on a chair, with the rest of the group gathered around the chair, mimicking the action of the story. Each of those standing around the chair took turns praying for the person in the chair.

By this time in our study, we really were a group of friends. We knew so much about one another. Each of us knew the prayers the others needed. The experience of being prayed for in that way was humbling, and it was beautiful. It was an unforgettable experience.

All of which is to say: I love this story, and I love the interpretation of this story that tells us these were friends of the paralyzed man. I love that Jesus saw the faith of the friends. It is a moving story. And there’s another way to read it…

Image: Koenig, Peter. Paralytic at Capernaum, 20th Century, Parish of Saint Edward, Kettering, U.K., from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58524 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.

A funny thing happened the other morning. I was having breakfast with a group of clergy women, friends and colleagues from different denominations, who have been meeting for breakfast for something like 15 years. I’ve been away, and it was my first time back. We were talking about communion, the Lord’s Supper. One of my friends, Lisa, said that she remembered as a child walking into a room where her younger cousin—maybe five years old—was holding a small ceramic bowl, and lifting it over her head, eyes gazing up. I said—"Oh, my brother and I played mass!” simultaneously with the other two women at the table chiming in. Apparently, we had all played “Communion” at home when we were very young. Rose said, “Oh yes—we used Nilla Vanilla wafers!” Janet said, “We used Sweet Tarts!” And I said, “Oh man, I wish my brother and I had thought of using cookies or candy. We squished white bread flat and cut it into circles.”

I am still pondering this. I didn’t check out this theory, but I have a feeling we all did this before we were permitted to take communion. I had my First Communion at age seven. For my friends, they were probably anywhere between seven and twelve or thirteen years old. But we, all of us, witnessed the adults or older siblings in our lives walking forward, or being served in their seats, and receiving bread that we knew was somehow special, different, more than the regular bread our parents used to make our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Something about this special bread called to us, even before we’d had it ourselves. Something made us long for that bread—and, whether we knew it or not, to long for Jesus…

Image: “The Gathering of the Manna,” by James Tissot (1836-1902), Public Domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

…It all started with a trellis covered with morning glories. I’ve always loved morning glories, probably because my mother, who disliked receiving flowers as a gift, nevertheless loved various flowers and was genuinely excited to see them growing. I remember her oohing and ahhing on a day trip to Cape May, when we came upon a fence covered with sky-blue morning glories. Years later I came across just such a fence on a vacation in the Berkshires, and my heart squeezed in recognition and delight. They were amazing. Their color was visual joy. Their abandon—the way they created a living wall of color—was thrilling.

Imagine my surprise in my adult life when I found out that there are people who hate, loathe, despise, and abominate morning glories. It’s ok. You’re looking at someone who bought her house because there was a stained-glass window and a trellis covered with morning glories. The heart wants what it wants.

Anyway, fast forward thirty years, and it turns out morning glories also have hearts, and they want what they want, and what they want is the entire world. The trellis long gone, I’ve cultivated them on a fence along my driveway. They cooperated at first, but then jumped to the other trellis, where the clematis were minding their own business and not hurting anybody. Then they apparently jumped right over my car and started growing on the other fence, at which point they decided their job was to make their way into and among all the other flowers—the clematis, the cosmos, the daisies, the black adder, and the peonies.

The kingdom of God is like a packet of morning glory seeds…

My friends, welcome to this Sunday in Ordinary time. The seasons of Lent and Easter are past, as well as the festivals of Pentecost and Trinity Sunday. So, it’s fitting that Jesus and his disciples, too, are just trying to have an ordinary Sabbath.

The Sabbath is important for all three Abrahamic faiths—for Jews, Muslims, and Christians. We all agree that God commands us to observe a day of rest. Jews and Muslims observe sabbath on Saturday, the seventh day of the week: “sabbath” means “seventh.” This is according to the commandment as we read it in the book of Deuteronomy:

“‘Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you… Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.” ~Deuteronomy 6:12, 15

In Jesus’ day, according to one scholar,

From sundown on Friday until Saturday’s sunset, Jews encouraged one another to enjoy a day of delight (Nehemiah 8:9–12; Isaiah 58:13–14), worshiping the Lord (Isaiah 66:23; Ezekiel 46:3), laying aside ordinary work (Amos 8:5), and fighting only in self-defense (1 Maccabees 2:29–41).[i]

Yes, you heard that right. Sabbath is supposed to be a day of delight. A day of joy, rejoicing in God and in the goodness of life and love. And this has not changed for Jews. These are still the tenets that keep the day holy, a day set apart…

Image: Healing Mural, Hospital Teodoro Maldonado Carbo, Guayaquil, Ecuador, 1970, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57939 [retrieved May 25, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mural_en_el_Hospital_Teodoro_Maldonado_Carbo.jpg.

Welcome to the only Sunday in the church calendar dedicated to a tenet of our theology as Christians: Trinity Sunday, the Sunday when we ponder what it means that we claim faithfulness to a Creator who is One God, and yet, somehow, three Persons.

It’s hard to talk about the Trinity—it’s complicated, it’s speculative, and impossible to grasp, so let’s all rest in that knowledge at the outset. It is impossible to grasp, the truest definition of a mystery. Something experienced, and yet, somehow, still unknown. Our small minds can’t fathom it.

But after perusing the website, “Art in the Christian Tradition,” this week, I would venture to say it is even harder to paint the Trinity, to depict it visually…

Image: Rublev, Andreĭ, Saint, -approximately 1430. Hospitality of Abraham, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58465 [retrieved May 25, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Angelsatmamre-trinity-rublev-1410.jpg.

We call Pentecost Sunday “the Birthday of the Church.” And so, it is! Following the resurrection, and Jesus’ fifty days with the disciples, something strange happens, and they can’t see him any more. He seems to be gone, vanished into heaven. This is a hard moment. So much trauma and loss, followed by such a startling and miraculous return to life, followed again by loss. He is gone. Where is he?

Image: Kraut, Ronald. Pentecost, Our Lady of Pentecost Church, Quezon City, Philippines, 2003; from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56950 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:0329jfOur_Lady_of_Pentecost_Parish_Church_Quezon_City_Loyola_Heightsfvf_25.jpg.

Let’s set the scene.

It is the night of the Last Supper. Imagine with me, just for a few moments: We are there. We are the disciples. We are in an upstairs room in a building somewhere in Jerusalem. It is night, so the room is lit by oil lamps. Supper was over some time ago, but we’re lingering at the table, which still has remnants of bread, pitchers of wine, the smell of the delicious food still in the air. A while ago, we were all talking. First, Judas left, abruptly; it seemed to be something between him and Jesus. The word, “betray” was hanging in the air. It caused a stir. Then Jesus told us, he would only be with us a little while longer, which caused an even louder stir. But we quieted down when Jesus said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, so also, you should love one another.” 

Peter broke the silence. “Where are you going?” he asked. Then, Jesus said a strange thing. “Where I am going, you cannot follow me. Not now. But you’ll follow me later.” Then Peter got up and asked, “Why can’t I follow you? I’ll lay down my life for you.” But Jesus shook his head. Not only won’t you follow me, he told Peter, before this night is over, you will deny me three times. Peter sat down again, hard. He looked like he’d been punched.

Then everyone was quiet. Jesus began to speak. The first thing he said was, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Don’t be afraid…”

Image: “Jesus of the People,” copyright 1999 Janet McKenzie www.janetmckenzie.com.

I think, with very rare exceptions, it’s a universal experience: being the one left out. Don’t we all remember a moment when we felt or realized, we didn’t belong? On the playground, when sides were being chosen for kickball. In class, when we didn’t know what was going on, or we knew too much. At work, when the buzz around the watercooler quieted as we came near. For me, one evening in high school stands out—a Friday night when the girls I had gone to the dance with decided to leave early, and they were all clearly gathering at one girls house—but I wasn’t invited. Being on the outside, not belonging, leaves a mark on the heart, but not the good kind. Leaves memories that last, but not the good kind. Leaves Taylor Swift to write lyrics like, “Some day, I’ll be living in New York City. But all you’re ever gonna be is mean. Why you gotta be so mean?”

Image: Philip Catechizes the Ethiopian Eunuch, Exeter College Chapel, Oxford, University, U. K. from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58595 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/5712497198/.

… Baptism unites us with Christ in his resurrection. We are a risen people, living the risen life. What does that mean, exactly? In the Sundays we have together between now and the day of Pentecost, I’d like to explore this. What is the risen life? How does it affect us? How do we live it? How do we share it?

Today’s psalm and gospel passage offer us some very specific ideas of what the risen life means…

Image: Dupre, Julien, 1851-1910. The Good Shepherd, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=54256 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thomashawk/2202377733/.

… And this chapter finds seven of the disciples, and Peter most particularly, in a kind of mood. Hard to say what mood, exactly. But scripture and tradition tell us that Jesus was with the disciples—as many as 500 of them at one time—for almost fifty days following the resurrection. We are still within that timeframe. It is the first resurrection season. But here are the disciples. They’re not in Jerusalem anymore, they’re in Galilee. And it’s a beautiful day on the Sea of Tiberius, also known as the Sea of Galilee. So Peter announces, apropos of nothing in particular, “I’m going fishing.”

On the surface, this feels odd. It feels like there is a restlessness in Peter, one the others join in. It feels like they’re not sure what to do next, so they go back to the thing they still know best: fishing…

Image: “Feed My Sheep” by the Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda, A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org