Sermon for Palm Sunday - March 29th, 2026

Palm Sunday - March 29th, 2026

Isaiah 50:4-9 | Psalm 39 | Philippians 2:5-11 | Matthew (26:36-27:10) 27:11-54(55-66)

Lord God give me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with Your word.

Today we’re going to talk about sleep. 

I suspect I am not alone here in that I like to sleep, and never feel like I get enough. To    me the worry and isolation of the pandemic was tempered at least a little by the fact that  I didn’t have to get up in the dark, rush through a cup of coffee and try to escape the gravitational pull of the warm house before the full insanity of North Jersey traffic set in. Scientists say that over a third of Americans get less than the recommended seven hours, and 20% get less than five. As a result, many of us are tired, all the time, leaving us less able to cope with the pressures of our world, the needs of our loved ones, and our own care.

This is apparently not a new phenomenon. I love when the verse of Psalm 127 comes up during Compline: “It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil.” I am sure the characters in the Bible faced many of the same stresses and discomforts we do, and then some, with no earphones or white noise machines or melatonin or Tylenol PM (or Xanax) to be had.

But the main sleep deprivation story I want to talk about is in the beginning of Matthew’s Passion which we’ll hear later in the service.  Since the order of things is a little different today, I will have to tell you what to listen for instead of asking you to recall what you’ve already heard.  

 

It’s a familiar enough story: After the Last Supper, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John to the Garden of Gethsemane. He parks them in one spot, then goes off a short distance by himself to pray alone, quickly becoming very agitated. Not once, not twice, but three times, he goes back to check on them and finds them asleep.

Imagine with me Jesus’ frustration and sense of isolation. His human self is in the throes of an existential crisis as the reality of what is about to happen sets in. He gets as close as he can to the point of asking his Father to release him from this duty, maybe call his bluff… but--out of love for his human family, for US… he doesn’t do it. Then he looks at his friends, as if to say are you getting this? … and finds them asleep. Through his whole ministry, he’s been telling them to  “Keep awake!  You know not the hour!” and now the hour has come when he needs for that metaphor to become, well, NOT a metaphor, and they fail him.

Matthew gives no specific explanation for the disciples’ fatigue besides “their eyes were heavy”, but In Luke’s recount of the same events, the passage is “he found them sleeping because of grief”. 

We know that these were simple, working people who had already been through a lot; a long and very emotional day of highs and lows which we consolidate into this space of an hour and a half.  As they joined Jesus’ triumphal procession into the city for a hero’s welcome, they surely had his recent dire prediction of his own death on their minds. Then the dinner at which he described the bread and wine as… his own body and blood? And the admonition, whenever you do this, remember me.  Wait, didn’t he say he would be back?

Faith called them away from their livelihoods and families, some of whom may have thought they had gone insane, or even disowned them. This was not exactly a society that encouraged free thinkers. They took a gamble on Jesus, likely having very little to fall back on, and--in this moment, when one of their own has betrayed Him and the authorities are closing in--they must have been wondering… what if Jesus’ claims were all a delusion?  What then?

Thus Fr. Ron Rolheiser, a Catholic priest in Saskatchewan, surmises that the disciples fell asleep not from their long walk or the late hour or even the wine at dinner, but because they were disconsolate, disappointed, confused, and depressed. 

And we can relate, can’t we? How often--especially lately--have we wanted to pull the covers over our eyes, swat the alarm clock into silence, and shut out the world? Between the surreal parade of political events, concerns about rising prices, and wild weather which is an ominous reminder of our impact on our planet, the urge to isolate ourselves is hardly a surprise. Encounters with strangers or even family members, also possibly sleep-deprived, in our fractious world have become fraught with anxiety. I looked at the news headlines that have taken place just since Ash Wednesday, and it’s easy to see why it feels like the calendar is broken and it’s been Lent for about ten years, with the joy of Easter still way out in the future. Hibernation starts to sound good.

As Christians whose baptismal covenant charges us with a mandate to care for those around us, it can feel like there is an ever increasing pressure to respond as crisis seems to be always present. I recall the scene in Bruce Almighty when Jim Carey’s character, playing God for a day, rapidly becomes inundated by a blizzard of Post-it notes, each representing some need. One shocking disaster or act of violence is eclipsed by the next, each demanding emotion and action that seems like more than the sum of us can muster, or could lead to consequences beyond what we can afford to risk.

A recent thread in our Episcopal community on the app Reddit focused on this feeling . A father of two young children and wife living with severe disabilities lamented not being able to join in protests of what he sees as grievous injustice against the migrant population, out of fear of real repercussions for his children should he himself be detained.  Many others expressed a fear of being “too lukewarm”  compared to saints of our church like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whose faith led him to try to rid the world of Adolf Hitler, or like Martin Luther King. 

Even for the most empathetic among us, it would be easy to let ourselves become overwhelmed and simply shut down. But if we do, if we close our eyes to what Holy Week is here to teach us, much like the sleepy disciples missed what Jesus was showing them about the depth of his obedience and devotion to his Father.

We are asleep in grief, Fr. Ron argues, when we feel so weak and overcome by disappointment that we give into actions that we know are not good for us. When the unfairness of life so embitters us that we cannot resist the urge to give back in kind, anger for anger, recrimination for recrimination, pettiness for pettiness. When the complexity of life so confuses us, that we no longer feel any obligation to take care of anyone beyond ourselves and our own. When we feel so overwhelmed by the fact that God seems silent, withdrawn, and unwilling to intervene and clean up the world that we can no longer imagine that God exists at all. Whenever we feel like a minority of one, so alone, little, and despairing before the powers of chaos and darkness that we believe that Christ is no longer Lord of this world, we have fallen asleep out of sorrow, just as the disciples did in the Garden of Gethsemane.

So how do we stay awake? How do we balance caring for our own needs and being Christ’s hands and feet in the world?

The answer is of course, first and foremost, to pray.  Author and Sunday school teacher Anne Lamott points out that “help!” is a complete sentence and a perfectly fine prayer. We start by admitting where we are and what we’re feeling. And we pray for guidance on that scary first step, in whichever direction.  But--like Christ--we must pray “not what I want, but what you want.” 

And then, it is to listen. The outcome may not come right away, and when it does, it may not match the script in our heads, which may be slightly problematic for those of us with--as Lamott calls them--“teensy control issues” but it will come if we are listening for those other voices out there in the darkness of our own personal Gethsemane. 

That discouraged dad in our Reddit group received a reply from a neurodivergent breadwinner mom who expressed similar concerns. She stopped attending protests for similar reasons to his, but suggested numerous other ways she’s found to make a difference in her community. Within our own parish and diocese, many of us have gotten involved with new and long-standing ministries which have stepped up to the challenge of surviving these unprecedented times. 

Lastly, it is to act. On Tuesday night, Bishop Hughes and others from our community will gather in prayer and witness outside Delaney Hall, the ICE detention facility in Newark. Like the disciples in the garden or at the foot of the cross, there may be little in the moment they can do to alleviate the fear and suffering, but by simply not averting our eyes or running away, we tell Christ and those he calls us to serve, I see you. I am awake, tired and discouraged, but present.  Use me, tell me how to help. Often the answer is as simple as making the time to listen to a fellow traveler for a minute and letting them know they are not alone. But if you can, also I invite you to take a new look at the various ministries that happen in this place and out in the world, and ask God what it is that you should be doing. And--because we need to also care for own minds and bodies--what would it be okay if you stopped doing?

Looking back again to Ash Wednesday, which for me feels both like last week and twenty years ago with the strange elasticity that time has taken on since the Pandemic, I am comforted by the verse from Isaiah, in that service:

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

Christ is there in the Garden with you, and in the darkness, He will call. “Come.  Follow me.  And I will give you rest.”

Amen
 

The Cake of Life

 

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 11th, 2024

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33 | Psalm 130 | John 6:35, 41-51

Through the written word and the spoken word, may we come to know your living word. Amen.

When we left King David last week, he’d just been told by the prophet Nathan that his somewhat impulsive decision to sleep with the wife of one of his soldiers and then have him killed was going to cost him dearly, with much violence and discord in his household. And friends, God wasn’t kidding. In the verses between that passage and this one, the baby who was the result of that dalliance dies. Then David’s favorite son Amnon forces himself sexually on his own niece Tamar, causing her father Absalom to arrange for Amnon’s untimely death. Absalom hides from David for a time, but then starts plotting to steal the people’s loyalty from his father. Seeing no choice but to engage his son and his followers in battle, David nonetheless urges his troops to “be gentle” with the young man. It wasn’t clear if that meant a mercy killing while Absalom is left hanging by his head from a tree, but that’s apparently what they heard. “Make it look like an accident, eh?”

In case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, David is a pretty complicated individual. While his mourning for Jonathan, his partner in possibly the world’s first recorded bromance, is understandable, he has almost the same reaction over the death of Saul, his father-in-law, former boss, and the guy who tried to have him killed a few times. British theologian Paula Gooder writes, “David’s grief over Saul’s death is a powerful example of the biblical theme of loving one’s enemies. It speaks to the complex nature of forgiveness and loyalty, and to the deep personal integrity that David sought to maintain in his own kingship.” 

And David is similarly vexed by the confrontation with Absalom… on one hand he is facing an existential crisis for himself and his people, but on the other hand, it’s his son, and he’s already lost two others. It’s a decision no parent would want to face, and yet it roughly parallels some of the impossible choices families confront, brought about by addiction, gang culture, and abuse.

"Eternally" by Daniela Muñoz Santos
Used under Creative Commons license
Some rights reserved

“David’s struggle with Absalom’s rebellion reveals the profound pain of a parent betrayed by their child,” writes British theologian Jane Williams. “His command to spare Absalom, despite the threat to his own life and kingdom, speaks to a deep-seated hope for redemption and reconciliation. This story underscores the heartbreak that accompanies broken relationships and the enduring love that persists even in the face of betrayal.”

When he hears that the rebels have been defeated and Absolom is dead, one must wonder how much of David’s grief is for his traitorous offspring versus the realization that kingship is not all it is cracked up to be. In the verses following, he is jolted out of his misery by the accusation that he’s selfishly upsetting the troops by mourning his son instead of celebrating the victory they won for him.

Jesus might have been feeling equally unappreciated and misunderstood in today’s Gospel reading. After weeks of following him around so he could heal, teach and even feed them, when he tries to explain who he is and why he was able to do the miraculous things they witnessed, the crowd suddenly turns sceptical. “Who does this guy think he is?” they ask themselves. “We know his family, and now he’s claiming to be the Messiah, the One who is to come.”

Unsurprisingly, they are not very satisfied with his response, in which he claims to have been sent by the Father not bearing but embodying the bread from heaven which is the key to eternal life. In the verses that follow, which we’ll hear next Sunday, he says again “my flesh is the bread and my blood is the wine, which you must eat and drink to obtain salvation.” Taken at face value, this is a troubling concept, and more than a little bit icky if we’re being honest, even for a culture that was accustomed to the idea of ritual sacrifices. And more than a few of his followers walked away.

Fortunately, as we know, Jesus did not ask his friends to take his command literally. Instead, when he was about to face the cross, he joined them for what liturgist Steven Shakespeare calls “a meal that tasted of freedom” at which he turns the metaphor around. He holds up the bread and wine and said “this is my body, which will be broken for you; this is my blood, which will be poured out for you. Whenever you share them, do it to remember me.”

And remember it we do as we gather each Sunday morning. Some traditions including Roman Catholicism hold that the bread and wine become Jesus in that moment. Others maintain it is merely a memorial symbol. In the liminal space that is the Anglican tradition, there is room for both schools of thought, and room in between. In my first Episcopal church, we used real bread, crumbs of which sometimes ended up on the carpet. A dear friend who was raised Catholic like me, made it a habit to pick up the larger crumbles and eat them. Since they were consecrated he couldn’t abide the idea of them getting vacuumed up. Our priest--who had also been raised Catholic--had also been a plumber in a past life, and brought that practicality to the situation. He told us, “If Jesus is smart enough to know when to get into the bread, don’t you think He’s smart enough to know when to get out?”

Bread and wine are--by nature--rich in symbolism because of how they are made and how long they have been a part of human culture. Rising dough seems almost alive; wine needs to be uncorked at the right age. And they are ideal symbols of community and generosity, given the care that must be taken in their preparation. But they are by no means the only ones. Yesterday we remembered Jeanette Cole, whose marvellous home-made cakes were an institution at every St. Mark’s event… how better to tell someone you love them than in fondant and edible flowers? Author Anne Lamott has asserted a shared bag of M&M’s works just as well as a Communion wafer in a pinch. And in the classic movie Moonstruck it’s prosecco and oatmeal that is ceremonially shared to welcome Ronnie Cammareri--coincidentally a baker by trade--into his new family.

Sometimes the thing which we gift to each other, isn’t even… a thing. In 1966, a teacher named Sister Suzanne Toolan spent her lunch break in an empty classroom, trying to get a song written for an upcoming diocesan event. When the bell rang, she was dissatisfied with her work, tore it up and threw it out before heading to the next period. Out in the hallway she encountered a student exiting the infirmary next door. “What was that music?” the girl asked her. “It was beautiful!”

Whether that was a chance encounter or the mischief of the Holy Spirit at work, Toolan’s confidence was restored. She retrieved the scraps from the garbage and taped them back together. The song she eventually finished is called “I Am the Bread of Life” and today it is sung around the world in over 25 languages, second only to “Amazing Grace,” or so I’ve been told.

Decades later, radio personality and author Garrison Keillor recalled an Easter service when it was heard. He writes, “As the congregation sang, a few people stood and some raised their hands in the air, a charismatic touch unusual among Anglicans, and then more people stood. I stood. I raised my right hand. I imagined my long-gone parents and brother and grandson and aunts and uncles rising from the dead and coming into radiant glory, and then I was weeping and my mouth got rubbery and I couldn’t form the consonants.” He continues, “That’s what I go to church for, to be surprised by faith and to fall apart. Without the Resurrection, Episcopalians would be just a wonderful club of very nice people with excellent taste in music and literature, but when it hits you what you’ve actually subscribed to, it’ll blow your mind.”

This kind of experience, which we help create for one another here, through prayers and music and hugs and ideas and, yes, food, are all expressions of the instruction Jesus gave his followers around that table. Author and Episcopalian Madeleine L’Engle said, “When Jesus says he is the Bread of Life, he is inviting us to a banquet of spiritual richness. It is a reminder that our deepest needs are met not by material things but by the love and presence of God made manifest in Christ.”

The important thing is that we gather and share it, even when--like Saul--we’d rather sit with our sadness and not engage with anybody. Maybe especially then. Feeding each other… physically, spiritually, and intellectually, is our common purpose here and it is Christ who set this example and in whose name we continue to gather around the table. Rowan Williams, theologian and former Archbishop of Canterbury, writes, “In calling himself the Bread of Life, Jesus invites us into a relationship that sustains and nourishes our very being. It is a call to partake in the divine life, a life that is both transformative and sustaining.”

That relationship is with Christ and about Christ. In that way he is the bread that we share, but it is also with one another. There is a reason why our priests do not say Mass when they are alone… the holy Eucharist, and all the other ways we follow Christ’s example, are meant to be shared. In this place where we gather in times of joy and of sadness, we are all His body and blood, his hands and his feet, sustaining one another until the day when we see Him face to face again.

Will you pray with me?

Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all, Loving God in whom is heaven:

The hallowing of your name echo through the universe! The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world! Your heavenly will be done by all created beings! Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on earth.

With the bread we need for today, feed us. In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us. In times of temptation and test, strengthen us. From trials to great to endure, spare us. From the grip of all that is evil, free us. For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and forever. Amen

- From A New Zealand Prayer Book

This Guy Again

This letter was written after news broke that the Cathedral Church of St. Peter & Paul in Washington was offering advance tickets to some of its holiday services for a fee of $7. The Cathedral has since walked this back, saying that the $7 is an "optional offering" to defray the cost of the reservation system. 

 

The Very Rev. Randolph Marshall Hollerith, Dean
The Cathedral Church of St. Peter & Paul, Washington DC


Your Reverence,

Woke up to discover that the Cathedral is once again taking the Internet by storm, and not in a good way. There are arguments underway on both Reddit and Facebook about the Cathedral's decision to charge admission for holiday services, with comparisons to indulgences and pointing out that it puts the Eucharist out of reach of many Washingtonians.

I understand this is not a new thing, but apparently the phrasing is different, or it has just caught the public's attention. While neither I nor those taking part in these discussions have much background as to what led up to the decision, the idea of charging to attend a service is anathema to me and--I suspect--to most Episcopalians. Surely you could find a better way to manage this... such as taking reservations with a standby line to compensate for the inevitable no-shows, or reserving the front half for your members?

I also understand that the Cathedral is also a tourist attraction and can't count on regular support from a lot of the people who come through its doors. However the same is true in New York and--while St. John's does rather aggressively enforce an admission "donation" which is now up to $15--I have never been asked to pay to attend a service. Again they might be able to offer you ideas as I know they issue advance passes for the St. Francis celebration, but--as far as I know--they don't charge for it.

The argument was made that this is for crowd control. Would that we had this problem in most of our churches! And hearing that our "mother church" is once again generating public outrage by its decisions, you aren't doing the rest of us any favors in our effort to get there.

The Cathedral has--right or wrong--claimed a status beyond that of most metropolitans by nature of where it is and the events that have taken place there. With that comes a responsibility in that your actions have implications across the wider church. The Max Lucado incident stirred up a lot of angst for the LGBTQ community, many of whom are refugees from the very brand of Christianity he represents. I was grateful that you acknowledged that in your reply to my message at that time. However, You have once again, in my opinion, been reckless with that responsibility. I work very hard (volunteering) to try to keep my parish's doors open/lights on by trying to convince an increasingly jaded and secular public that the Episcopal Church is a good place to be. Incidents like this just make that work even harder.

Sincerely,

Christian Paolino
Diocese of Newark

CC. The Rt. Rev. Marian Edgar Budde, Bishop Diocesan

A Right-Brained Bridesmaid at the DMV - Sermon for 24th Sunday after Pentecost

The Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost - November 12th, 2023

Wisdom 6:12–16 | Psalm 70 | Matthew 25:1-13

Through the written word and the spoken word, may we come to know your living word. Amen.

If you woke up this morning before the alarm, feeling refreshed and invigorated, ate a balanced breakfast and then put on the coordinated outfit you’d ironed and laid out the night before, and then got here in time to hear our choir practice while putting your heart and mind in the right place for worship, congratulations, you pass. You can skip ahead to page eight in your bulletin to complete today’s Sudoku puzzle, assuming you haven’t already.

If, however, you skidded in behind the choir… or later… because you or someone in your direct care could not in an entire two-story house find one pair of matching socks, then lean in… I see you.

Our Gospel this morning creates a dichotomy through society between those who have their act together, and those who do not. One group is ready and waiting when the bridegroom arrives, but the others are caught off guard with not enough oil for their lamps. With a somewhat uncharacteristic harshness, Jesus spins a rather bleak ending for them. Their peers, not willing to share, send them off to refuel, and in the meantime the wedding begins without them. By the time they get back, the tardy to the party are forgotten and shut out.

While in reality it’s likely we could fall into either group at different times in our lives, I suspect most of us instinctively saw ourselves in one or the other, and the people who love us would also have a ready opinion about where we would land. And if we do see ourselves in the latter group, it comes across as a stinging rebuke from our Savior.

“So, um what exactly are we to take from this parable?” puzzles Lutheran pastor and author Nadia Bolz-Weber, “That we should not rely on others? That we should not give to those who ask of us? I mean, that would be weird wouldn’t it, if Jesus just suddenly took back everything he said about generosity and self-giving and instead gave us a parable about how we should be stingy and self-reliant?”

But, she argues, and I agree, that is only if you assume that Christ intended us to view the outcome of the story as just and meant to be taken at face value. Surely the prepared women were “good” and the unprepared women were “bad” right? I mean, they are called “foolish” right there!

But what if instead of using those terms, we looked at them as not good or bad, but just different? We are big fans of a now-deceased humorist from North Carolina named Jeanne Robertson, whose affectionate name for her husband was “Left Brain”. Left brained people, she explains, are analytical and like things in order. They like to color within the lines and would never think about doing otherwise. They’re happy in that box we’re always being told to think outside of, and will measure it to make sure the sides are all even. Right-brained people, on the other hand, don’t even know where the box is!

Those of you who know me and my other half well, probably have a pretty good idea who in our house would land where. Many of the long-timers have received a binder from one of us with your name on the cover, at a meeting with a clear agenda that started and ended exactly on time. Many of you have also warned… repeatedly… a certain Chaos Muppet that his shoe was untied as he scuttled past, likely about to drop something

In case you have any doubt who is who, I will risk telling you this story. A few years ago, we had appointments to get “Real ID”. I guess what we had before was “Fake ID” although it’s been a long time since old santa-beard here has been carded by a bouncer. In the instructions, they listed what kinds of documents would be acceptable to confirm your identity with enough certainty to earn that little star on your new licence. These were hard appointments to get and we had to drive to Elizabeth in the middle of a work day.

Within moments, we fell into our usual roles because we have the brains we have. One of us breezed through the line, found the Wifi and was soon happily working until his name was called. The other had read the instructions at home and decided that surely a security alarm bill, which, um, HE already had, should count as a statement from a utility… isn’t an alarm a utility? We don’t get a paper bill from Public Service anymore because I struggle with clutter and you can pay it by replying to a text message. And I… okay fine, it was me… don’t want to upset the Green Team by wasting paper. They also wanted “a statement from a bank”. I get a paper statement for long-term care insurance from Prudential even though I’ve repeatedly asked them to email it. Isn’t Prudential a bank? They give out mortgages. But I digress… you can see how we got here.

You can probably also guess what happened when I got to Miss Congeniality at Window #6. My papers were definitely not in order and she was not interested in a debate about it. At that point I lost my usual cherub-like demeanour and went outside to cool off. Much like our bridesmaids, I was shut out and facing the prospect of having to start this process all over.

Fortunately for me, a more sympathetic DMV employee heard all this and kindly told me, “you know, you can go to the library down the street and print stuff out on the computers there.” Excitedly I went there and did just that. One left-brained thing I have done is set up a secure password manager in my phone so that I can get into these accounts anywhere without a lot of memorizing. I found what I needed and queued them up to print… only to discover that they only take cash, and I didn’t have any. “Will it still be there in the printer when I get back?” I asked hopefully. “Probably not.”

Nevertheless I hustled BACK to the DMV to grub some cash. Unlike the stingy bridesmaids, the Wise One (I still have to call him that for four more months, per the terms of the loan) provided me with the three bucks to get my documents out of hock. By some miracle they had not been eaten yet, and in due course I was back on the line. When it was my turn, I saw I was teed up to my old nemesis, and told the person behind me “you go ahead” so I could get back to the nicer one, and this time made the grade.

While waiting for them to process our stuff, I couldn’t help but overhear some of the stories around me. And it made me wonder why we’re content to live in such a dog-eat-dog world, not that much different than the one in which our bridesmaids found themselves. Struggling with the old computers in the library, I had felt bad for the folks I saw trying to apply for jobs and do other tasks because so much of life now requires access to technology they don’t understand or can’t afford to own. What amounted to a minor annoyance to me was a much bigger problem for the young male couple being told a similar problem with ID meant one of them, who is chronically ill, would not be getting SNAP benefits that month. They had taken two buses to get there and weren’t going to make it back before the office closed

So perhaps Jesus was describing the world that is, not the world that should be. By telling us “stay awake” maybe he’s telling us to pay attention to who we are, and what gifts we have, and what we can afford to share, and when to do so. Pastor Bolz-Weber points out that five lamps were probably plenty for the groom--who was also carrying some sort of lamp or they wouldn't have known he was coming--to see where he was going. The right-brained bridesmaids’ sin, if you can even call it that, was not running low on oil, it was focusing on that lack and allowing it to distract them so much that they ended up missing out by trying to do the “logical” thing to fix it. They didn’t know what would happen if they had instead started singing or doing cartwheels or contributing in whatever way they could to the festivities of the groom’s arrival. Awkward, perhaps, but definitely memorable.

And so it can and should be with us. We can’t all be in the choir, as much as George would like that. We can’t all be the treasurer or the Sunday school teacher or write a big check when something breaks. We can’t all preach, either, and right now you may be thinking some of us shouldn’t. Yes, we are different, but in ways that complement and can learn from and sustain each other. If we put together all the bits and pieces we do have and are good at, the family party that is St. Mark’s will continue to shine with more than enough light for ourselves and all those out there in the dark, trying to find their way in.

"That Red Stuff" - Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

 

Preached at St. Mark's Church, Teaneck, NJ, on July 16th, 2023.

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67, Psalm 45:11-18, Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30  

Through the written word and the spoken word, may we come to know Your living Word. Amen.

Thus Esau despised his birthright.

Not a sentence you hear everyday, and the small group of folks that I was sitting with remarked on this and other aspects of the story. Typical commentary on this passage paints Esau as a physical, even crude man, one writer going as far as to compare him to a dog who has little appreciation for the better things in life, like his little brother’s cooking which he describes so eloquently as “that red stuff.” One must wonder if despised was the best possible translation… perhaps disregarded would be more accurate. In the moment, he was hungry, and his brother Jacob had food, and Esau told him what he wanted to hear in order to get some of it. Although life then for most people was considerably harder than what we’re used to, as Isaac’s favorite son, perhaps he was, like many of us who grew up in relative privilege, used to shooting off his mouth knowing Daddy would fix it later.

But this careless exchange was enough to seal his fate in history. Esau’s act is referred to disparagingly by Paul several times. His seemingly rash decision to trade his inheritance for one meal gets him branded as “one whose god is his stomach” … relatable … and his apparent lack of focus on societal expectations and future material security somehow makes him an “enemy of the cross of Christ” … a cross he would have no means of knowing was coming some 1,500 years later, more or less. 

Jacob, by contrast, is described as “a quiet man, living in tents,” which I heard as “an avid reader who avoids getting sweaty or dirty,” but that may be projecting a little. He was also a lot more calculating than Esau. One must wonder what their relationship was like that he would place such a high price on sharing some food with his own twin, who at least appears to be pulling his own weight in the family. Esau apparently forgot about it pretty quickly, but Jacob, whose name literally can mean “he deceives”, stored this away for later when it would prove useful. In a subsequent chapter, he engages in an act of trickery at his mother’s behest to ensure it is Jacob rather than Esau that receives their father Isaac’s blessing from his deathbed, so perhaps it was in character. 

As a result, Jacob is set up as not only the heir to Isaac’s dynasty but ensuring his place in the lineage, outlined in Matthew’s Gospel, that continues from Abraham through some forty generations, to Jesus. As you’ve heard before, inheritance was an-all consuming concern in the culture to the point where people resorted to all kinds of things including incest and murder to ensure the lineage is known and pure, or at least appears to be. So the patriarchs and matriarchs of our faith were--like us--not without their flaws.

In our small group conversation, I wondered aloud whether Esau was prone to hyperbole or was literally starving, given the writer made a point of saying he was “a man of the land” and an accomplished hunter. The person across from me piped up, saying that in fact he could have meant it literally, given that someone in our society could have four degrees and still be making $18 an hour. That may sound like a lot until you know that White Castle starts its employees at $15 and probably also provides some free food. I also realized the one telling me this speaks from experience, and then felt like the largely random circumstances of my own relative financial comfort might have made me read this story through the lens of my own privilege.

 As you may have guessed, all of this took place at the church-wide revival meeting called It’s All About Love, which JoAnn, Joan, Marsha, and I attended in Baltimore earlier this week. With a threefold focus on racial reconciliation, creation care, and evangelism, the event was intended to help reawaken our sense of mission and explore what we might do with the gifts we have, both as a parish and within the wider church.

I know it’s a cliche, but I wished I could bottle up the energy in that room and save it for the times when we could use a boost. The preaching, the music, and the wisdom that was shared with us was intended for us to bring back to you, and over the coming months we will look for opportunities to do that. Besides our very charismatic presiding bishop the Most Rev. Michael B. Curry, we heard from the Rt. Rev. Gene Robinson, the first out gay person elected a bishop in our church; Julia Ayala-Harris, the first Latina president of the House of Deputies; The Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers, whose brainchild the event was; and others, some of whom I will mention shortly

But for today, I want to ask you, what aspects of our own birthright are we willing to “despise” for the sake of the Gospel?

In the beginning of the Sacred Ground curriculum, which Canon Spellers also spearheaded, she talks about the Episcopal Church’s legacy as the church of America’s aristocracy and what that has meant in its relationships with black and brown people. As we admire the grand structures of our cathedrals and universities, many of them funded by the philanthropy of the titans of commerce and industry that once graced our pews, can we do so mindful of the cost in terms of labor, much of it unpaid, that made those generous gifts possible? Sarah Augustine, whose roots are in the Pueblo (Tewa) nation, has spent her life working to undo the impacts of the Doctrine of Discovery, a papal decree which emboldened Europeans to colonize and subjugate much of the indigenous population of the world. She challenged us to learn about how our investments are still being used in ways that harm vulnerable populations and find ways to reduce that impact.

Brian McLaran’s book Do I Stay Christian? explores the many very valid reasons so many people, including many of our own kids, are doing just the opposite. These include the very public downfall of religious leaders and the bald institutional hypocrisy that is so easy to point out. As we recall our baptismal covenant and strive to live into its mandate of welcome and inclusion, can we do so without smugness when it seems that so many of our fellow Christians seem to have lost the plot?

Theologian Dr. Kwok Pui-Lan shared some sobering reminders from recent news about the urgent warning signs our Earth has sent us about the state of her climate. Even this morning a tornado alert was issued in Morris County. Are we willing to inconvenience ourselves or change the way we do things if it means even an incremental reduction in the harm our activities do to the planet?

And overarching all of this, Bishop Curry exhorted us to remember that--as the title of the conference suggests--love for God and our neighbor should be at the core of everything we do. He quoted Jimi Hendrix as saying, 

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, then the world will know peace.”

I marked 20 years since my first visit to St. Mark’s last month. I am happy to the point of tears more Sundays than not for the love and community that we share in this place. There is a new sense of energy and purpose and we have some new faces, for which we are so, so very grateful. But we still have a lot of room. I am not suggesting we should be as careless with the nearly one hundred years’ investment of time, talent and treasure that is St. Mark’s as Esau was with his inheritance, but are we as a faith community willing to--in the words of William Sloane Coffin quoted by Bishop Beckwith in his dismissal blessing--“willing to risk something big for something good,” if it means that those who do not yet feel welcome or invited or even SAFE inside these walls come to know that love as a result? 

I challenge you to ponder these questions in your heart, as those of us who attended have been doing. Think about them and share your ideas with your vestry, the guilds and committees, and ask questions about the groups you don’t know much about, and maybe take a leap of faith and sign up for something new. Or just start a conversation at coffee hour with a person you haven’t met yet. 

As I said, there will be opportunities to learn more about this program and discuss its implications in the days ahead. I hope you will join us and feel some of the joy and new purpose we experienced. We have so many gifts here at St. Mark’s and the latitude to reach out in many ways to the community around us, through our music, our outreach and--most importantly--the opportunities to worship God in ways that help heal the friction between races and cultures and respect our fragile earth. 

As JoAnn pointed out on our trip home, these efforts may be like the seeds the sower was scattering in various places in today’s Gospel, in that some of them may yield fruit and some may not. May we together develop a spiritual green thumb and thus yield an abundant harvest of Christ’s love for one-another and all those we encounter.

Will you pray with me?

O God of wondrous power and still more wondrous love, you who have borne us from chaos to creation, from dry bones to dancing flesh, from death to life: Renew and revive your Episcopal Church, especially as we gather this summer for worship, fellowship, learning, and action. Send your Spirit to set us, our ministries, and our communities ablaze, so that the world might come to see and know us as the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement – bold, open-hearted bearers of Good News, repairers of the breach, and stewards of creation who truly look, live, and love like Jesus. We make our prayer to him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit, our loving, liberating, and life-giving God. Amen.