November 19, Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon for the 24. Sunday after Pentecost

Deacon Sue Nebel

Some years ago, when I had started on the path to ordination, a priest in a nearby parish invited me to speak at an adult formation session.  I am fuzzy on the details, but my memory is that they were doing a series on the variety of ministries in the church.  Or, maybe the theme was  people’s faith journeys.  At any rate, they wanted me to come and tell my story.  So I went. I told them about the various places, as well as the twists and turns, that made up my path. Growing up in a Congregational church in a good-sized city.   Being part of all kinds of things there. Choirs, Sunday School, youth groups. . .and Christmas pageants.  In adulthood, an intentional turning away from organized religion to explore new ideas and concepts. To broaden my thinking and my understanding.  Then, after sixteen years, in response to a growing awareness of my spiritual needs, I returned to the church.  This time, the Episcopal Church, where my faith commitment deepened and grew. Leading, after many years to the exploration of ordained ministry.

After I finished my presentation to the group, there was opportunity for questions.  Someone asked me, “Looking back, what was the most important teaching in your early formation? No one had ever asked me that before.  I remember standing there for the briefest moment, thinking, ‘Oh my, what I am going to say?’  It is a little like being faced with a multiple-choice question on a test.  Teachers tell you to go with your first guess.  You have the knowledge inside of you and the right answer will emerge into your consciousness.  The answer to that question about the most important teaching was deep inside me, but not yet articulated.  I simply needed to trust the Holy Spirit to push it up into my head and my mouth. After a brief pause, I responded, “It was that the abilities we have are gifts from God and they are to be used in the service of others.” I was a little surprised to hear myself say those words.  Surprised because I had never verbalized that learning before. But, at the same time, I knew the deep truth of it.  If you were to ask me that question today, I would respond with the same answer. 

I have spent some time thinking and reflecting about that experience and my statement. The abilities we have are gifts from God and are to be used in the service of others. Where did that come from?  What are the threads that came together to form that belief?  Certainly, my family  experience.  I grew up in a faithful family with parents who were service-oriented, active in many organizations and projects.  They expected their children to do the same.  Church, of course. The Congregational church of my childhood was a downtown church, situated on the edge of the central business district.  The noise and the hustle and bustle of life outside its doors were impossible to ignore.  That church was always reaching out to address the needs of the city.  It filtered down to the youth groups. We had the usual educational programs and social events, but service projects were the big deal.  Mission trips to faraway places never occurred to us. The city and its needs gave us plenty to do right at home.  

Scripture was another shaping influence.  I got a heavy dose of Bible stories in Sunday School classes in my early years. Mostly stories of Jesus and his teachings.  Stories like the one we have in our Gospel lesson this morning: The Parable of the Talents.  A man, about to go off on a journey, gives talents to three of his slaves.  To one, he gives five. To the second, he gives two. And to the third slave, he gives one talent.  The first two slaves immediately begin trading with theirs and double what they had received.  The third slave, the one with only one talent, buries it in the ground for safekeeping. Then the master returns and asks for an accounting. He is pleased with the first two men, for increasing their amount of talents.  But he is angry with the third one for holding onto his one talent and doing nothing at all with it.  I can imagine hearing that story in Sunday School with my child’s ears.  The teacher might have told us that a talent was a large amount of money, or maybe she chose to just let us hear it as a story about human talents.  Whichever it was, I can tell you that I understood it as a story about human talents.  Talents were given to the slaves in the story and they were something given to me.  Not to be held onto, to be buried somewhere to be kept safe. . .and unused..  Talents were a gift from a master, from God, and I was expected to do something good with them.   It became a core belief.

The story of the talents comes near the end of the Gospel of Matthew.  Jesus is in Jerusalem; it is the final week of his life.  He is talking to the crowd about the kingdom. Throughout his ministry, he has taught people about the kingdom.  A vision of the world as God wants it to be.  A setting where human life thrives, where the well-being of everyone is a given.  Where every single person—even someone who was considered lowest and least—is valued and loved.  In this long speech before the events of his arrest, trial, and death, Jesus is talking about the kingdom in terms of situations and actions of everyday life.  The kingdom is like bridesmaids with their lamps lit, waiting for the arrival of the bridegroom.  The kingdom is like three men with a gift of money and what they do with it.  Next week, to give you a sneak preview, Jesus will talk about kingdom actions: feeding the hungry, giving a thirsty person something to drink, welcoming the stranger.  

The early followers of Jesus found hope in his talk about a kingdom. They anticipated that it would be a dramatic event, when everything changed.   After  Jesus’ death and resurrection, they told people about his teachings.  They continued the work he had started. Gradually they realized that the big, hoped-for event was not coming anytime soon.  Probably not in their lifetime. The kingdom then became something they would make real through their words and their actions.  They became kingdom-doers. Doing the work Jesus’ described.  Reaching out and welcoming the stranger.  Feeding and clothing those in need.  It is work that has been carried forward through the history of the Church. From then until now.  . We join in that long tradition to do that work in our own time and place. We too become kingdom-doers. 

Today, many of us are probably anticipating the holiday of Thanksgiving.  Planning a festive meal. Welcoming family, or perhaps planning to travel to be with family.  One of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving is the glimpses of the kingdom that we get.  St. John’s in Flossmoor where I served last Sunday, is having a Thanksgiving meal for their members today. A gathering that will be, for some people, their only Thanksgiving because they are alone or elderly and not up to making a big meal.  Other churches, not just Episcopal ones, are making Thanksgiving happen for the community beyond their walls. Welcoming those who are poor, lonely, or hungry. Some are happening today. Others will take place on Thursday.  TV news and newspapers, in the coming days, will give us stories and images of this kind of outreach.  People lining up to receive free turkeys and bags of  food. People gathering  to prepare community meals. People serving and people being served.   It looks like the kingdom to me.

Efforts like this will continue on through what we think of as “the holiday season.”  Efforts by St. A’s and Episcopal churches throughout the diocese to provide Christmas gifts for families served by the Revive Center.  Large boxes in local business, fire stations, and other places where people can donate toys for children.  Dry cleaners, churches, and a local TV station collecting warm coats and jackets.  For a brief, shining time the kingdom seems to thriving, all around us.  The holiday season will come to an end.  All those people who became kingdom-doers (whether they thought of themselves that way or not) will consider their work done.  They will return to their regular routines.  They may be done with kingdom work, but we won’t be.  Not us.  We know better.  The needs of the world around us will still be there.  We have to keep working. Our work as kingdom-doers is not seasonal work. It is lifelong work. not seasonal work for us

Proper 28: Year A

Zephaniah 1:7,12-18; Psalm 90:1-8,12; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Matthew 25:14-30

November 12, Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

We Have More to Offer Than Our Thoughts and Prayers

The Rev. Andrew Suitter

Matthew 25:1-13

My thoughts and prayers are with you. 

No, no. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Over the last few weeks, and especially since last Sunday and the horrific church shooting in Texas, these words have been the focus of many posts woven throughout social media because for many—these seven words have become a source of irritation. 

When a national crisis or tragedy happens—

—like the senseless killings of innocents while sitting in church—

—or when there is an epidemic like the opioid crisis—

—or when there is ongoing generational poverty in certain pockets of an entire city—

—or when there are increasing rates of mass incarcerations—

--these seven words always seem to find their place in the paths of those affected by these situations.

Well, my thoughts and prayers are with you. 

Now—to be clear—I think when these words are spoken—I like to believe they have true, honest, and sincere intent—and they are indeed a gift in the right circumstances.  My thoughts and prayers are yours.  They are indeed with you! 

But—let’s be honest—when tragedies happen—any kind of tragedy—we do not always know what to do or what to say—and clergy are no exception!  Not only do we not always know what to say, we don’t always know how to react ourselves—and so we say what might be most familiar—and maybe even what seems most appropriate given our Christian vernacular——my thoughts and prayers are with you.  And with this, we believe it, and we mean it. 

The recent pushback against these seven words comes on the heels of massively violent crimes aimed at innocent people. And this pushback, in all its various forms, asks questions that we don’t always know or have the answers for.  Questions like:

-Are our prayers working? 

-What can we do in addition to prayer so to spare the pain of these tragedies in the future? 

-Whose hearts do we pray, change?

-Am I able to offer more than just my thoughts and prayers?     

If anyone has read or listened to the news in the last 30 days alone, we know there is a lot of pain being felt all over.  And sometimes, it seems anyway, there is only so much that we have to give to the problems of the world on top of those we face in our own lives—and together it can be overwhelming as we search for a place in which to care for both.  Sometimes thoughts and prayers are the perfect offering, but what about when there is more to do?

I am thankful for the voices who have called out those of us who use this language—myself included, because deep down what they are saying is that apart from our theologies, apart from our beliefs about laws and government—we are a people who are called to the suffering of the world—and doing the work of relieving it. 

I am thankful for the critique of those for whom these seven words bother, because they remind us that we have more to offer than only our thoughts and prayers—and they remind us that what we say, isn’t always what is heard—even with the purest of hearts.    

And, if I am honest—the critique is just uncomfortable, despite the gains from it, because it asks me to check myself! 

It is asking me to rethink not only how I pray, but how open I am to ACT!? And what has made me most uncomfortable, is that these voices, calling us out, are a reminder to reconnect, to recommit, or even to begin walking on the path of loving and healing this world—and its not always easy.

Beloveds, these voices crying for deeper honesty, demanding more action, and requiring substance in our care in addition to thoughts and prayers—are reminiscent of the prophets of old who called God’s people to a higher standard of love.

These voices are our prophets today—they are the loud voices—they are the ones calling our attention to reconsider our words and our actions—and asking us to pay even a bit more attention to the pains all around us—because many times we indeed have more to offer than our thoughts and prayers alone. 

It is through our actions as disciples and witnesses to God’s grace, after all, in addition to our thoughts and prayers, that we make visible God’s kingdom in the world….

Today’s gospel lesson highlights the 10 bridesmaids who are a metaphor for our own preparedness for God’s kingdom. And while this lesson is a lesson on heaven—a lesson on life in the aftermath of this world—I would rather like to think that this is an introduction to the kingdom of heaven right here—right now!

The foolish and the wise bridesmaids hold a mirror up to us as we traverse this world.  We run short sometimes.  We fall asleep when we might miss something.  We forget the prudence in being prepared.

Sometimes, though, we miscalculate in thinking that we are being prudent and prepared. Just this week, a friend was in my car and while I was driving, insisted that I pull over to the next gas station.  I was shocked.  I asked what his concern was, and he said, “as cold as it is, your gas light is on, and you need to stop and fill up.” 

I tried to explain that he needn’t worry, that for the last twenty years of my driving, its become a game—how far can I go—and only once have I ever run out and it was when I was 16.  He just looked at me with disgust, and clearly was not impressed.  And standing here telling you this, I myself am not very impressed either.  Processing out loud, always has a different interpretation, yes?   

He started to speak, and so I paused. He said what some of you might have said or be thinking with me now, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, Andrew.  Go to the gas station NOW!”

And so I went—but begrudgingly because I felt like I knew what I was doing—and because my game is fun—for me—but concerning for a passenger.  I was going to get it the next day, I knew I had another 50 miles or so, but any time save for now, did not work for my friend. And, I can’t blame him.  “Wake up Andrew, you’re gonna get us both stuck out here in this cold.” 

He may even have been right. 

****

“Keep Awake!”, the prophets say. 

“Wake up” my friend says. 

“You have more to offer than thoughts, prayers and good vibes” says the world. 

Our friends, while critical of our words, only want more of our potential from us.  Our friends are asking us to pay better attention to the pains we see and to be ever faithful in our care—or to consider that maybe our prayers can become our hands and feet doing the work we are praying for someone else to do. 

Maybe we are the gap.  Maybe we are the answer to another’s pain.  Maybe it is our hand, our time, our resource, our presence, our advocacy, our sense, our comfort that is needed in addition to our thoughts and prayers, that will make a difference for the pain we feel and observe all around us. 

One of the blessings you will hear from this pulpit, is a prayer that we might offer ourselves in care, and compassion for those around us.  The blessing goes:

“Life is short … and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” 

This, beloveds, is our task:  That we stay awake to love, to serve, to be kindness in the world where there is so much pain. 

May we be doers of our words, and answers to the prayers of all the faithful. Amen.