Sunday November 18, 2018, Proper 28, XXVI Sunday After Pentecost B

We’re at the end of the church year and approaching the beginning of Advent. It’s a time in liturgical churches when we focus on last things: Christ’s coming again as king and judge, the consummation of history and the world as we know it, the hope of new heaven and earth. Some of our lectionary readings, hymns, and prayers have an apocalyptic tone.

This should resonated with us because Americans are apocalyptic people.  We’re always looking for signs of the end of the world as we know it. When we experience one mass shooting after another and constantly raging fires and floods, it’s easy to think apocalyptic thoughts.

“Apocalypse” is the Greek word for “revelation”. Usually it refers to a special revelation, such as The Revelation to St. John the Seer, the last book in our Bible. Governor John Winthrop must have had an apocalyptic vision when he said at the founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630, “we must Consider that we shall be as a City upon a Hill, the eyes of all people are upon us…” President Ronald Reagan referred to that vision all the time when he called America “a shining city upon a hill”. The idea of the image is that we are to be an example to other nations. Our sense of American specialness is even engraved on our money: Novus ordo seclorum, “The new order of the ages”. But when the light of the city on the hill is darkened by storm clouds of bigotry and xenophobia or the new order isn’t going the way we think it should, some folks get that apocalyptic fear that it’s all going to come crashing down.

Politically, we seem to live in perpetual fear that our society is going to come crashing down. When I was growing up in the 1950s it was the “red scare,” which didn’t refer to Republicans but Communists and the fear that Soviet agents were infiltrating our institutions. How interesting that we’re again concerned about Russia undermining confidence in our democracy by tampering with our elections.

In the 2016 election many voters supported Donald Trump out of fear that they were losing their way of life. To be fair this was not just a resurgence of white supremacy, although Trump stoked those fires, but many of Trump’s voters had voted for Obama in the previous presidential elections. But opponents of Trump saw his election as a danger to our democratic institutions. We have become so divided as a nation with clashing views of social life that some critics have even said it has spelled the end of comedy as comedians go for applause lines rather than laughter, making caustic political comments rather than telling jokes.

Today we hear Jesus speaking in apocalyptic terms of the temple being demolished and prophesying that “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs, for the end is still to come.”  

Jesus had been teaching in the temple and as he left the precincts his disciples marveled at the immense stones that supported the Jewish Temple that had been erected by King Herod the Great. Jesus responded  that “not one stone will be left on another”. It was an apocalyptic prediction that came true. Forty years later in the Roman-Jewish War Jerusalem was conquered by the Romans after a lengthy siege and in 70 AD they did destroy the Temple. All that’s left of it today is the Western wall, the Wailing Wall – the giant stones that extended the platform on the temple mount so that the great Temple with all its courtyards could be built on top of it.

Jesus had an apocalyptic vision that the great Temple would be destroyed. But there’s nothing in his prophecy that predicts the end of the world – although to the Jews of his day the destruction of the Temple and the end of the world sounded like one and the same thing. But that’s not what Jesus says. In fact, anticipating the false prophets who would look for signs that would be a map to the future, Jesus said that these signs of destruction, whether of the Temple being destroyed or wars between nations or the calamities of nature, are not the end. In fact, Jewish life as we have known it for the last two thousand years was born in a new system replaced the Temple and its sacrificial cult. That new system was the study of Torah in the synagogue and common prayers offered as a spiritual sacrifice, a practice that was already developing at the time of Jesus in the Jewish diaspora.

I’d like to focus on Jesus’ prediction of the destruction of the temple. On one level, it is no more than what the late French-born philosopher René Girard called the imitative origin of violence. Imitative means that we imitate what we experience. It results in retaliation. If you hit me, I’ll hit you back. In fact, I’ll hit you back even harder than you hit me. You see it in the behavior of children. One child is playing with a toy. Another child sees the toy and wants to play with it too. So he takes it away from the child who had it and she fights to get it back. Soon there’s a war going on in the nursery.  Much violence in the world is caused by retaliation for real or perceived injustices or transgressions, whether it is an individual or a group afflicting terror on others or whole nations going to war against each other.  

So what Jesus could have been talking about is this: “If you keep retaliating against Roman oppression with more violence, Rome will keep upping the ante. And Rome will win because Rome is bigger than you and Jerusalem will be destroyed.” Forty years later that is exactly what happened.

But on another level, what Jesus is saying here is similar to what he was saying by his actions when he purged the temple, driving out the money changers and animal sellers and closing down the sacrificial system for the day: the old answers, the official sacred violence of the sacrificial system, is never going to set people free from this cycle of fear and violence.

Jesus unmasks our “officially sanctioned” violence – whether religious sacrifice, war, capital punishment, etc. – as just another crude imitation of the violence of those whom we fear. In Jesus’ actions in the Temple, which actually occurred in the gospel narrative just before his apocalyptic prophecy about not one stone left on another, the whole system was crashing down.

Why would he perform such a prophetic action? If we turn to the reading from the letter to the Hebrews, we hear a reminder that the heart of the sacrificial system in the temple is the need to offer something to God in order to procure God’s forgiveness. That’s what the atoning sacrifice is all about. And Jesus was saying that this is entirely unnecessary because it is based on an entirely wrong understanding of God – a view that misrepresents God as angry and judgmental and is only reluctantly willing to let anybody off the hook without punishment.

That’s not what God intended by instituting the sacrificial cult. The sacrifices prescribed in the Torah were a way for God’s people to relate to God in acts of praise and thanksgiving, in supplication and repentance. But people who are afraid that they will be eternally punished for their past deeds will go to great extremes to prove their repentance to a god whose mercy, in their view, is only begrudgingly given because that’s the way they forgive. They haven’t believed that they were entirely forgiven and therefore are not able to entirely forgive.

Often when I hear some right wing Christian family-values zealot criticizing the morals of other people, I often think of Shakespeare’s line, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks". This is spoken by Queen Gertrude in response to the insincere overacting of a character in the play within a play created by Prince Hamlet to prove his uncle’s guilt in the murder of his father. So, too, it has transpired that some family-values zealots have had affairs on the side, or had committed some transgression in the past that drives them to be the most zealous, most vehement opponent of “sins” they still fear being judged for.

The letter to the Hebrews promises us that we can have confidence to enter the presence of God in full assurance of faith with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with the pure water, because God gladly forgives all our sins. God forgave us in Baptism and promises forgiveness by returning to our baptism. So there is no longer any need for a further offering for sin. Jesus’ once-for-all atonement on the cross is an all-sufficient atonement; no further atonement is needed. No further scapegoat is needed.

All this was revealed when God came among us in the person of Jesus, calling us to follow him, to imitate him and his way of non-retaliation, and modeled for us the way of gratuitous mercy that overcomes hatred and violence with self-sacrificial love and forgiveness even of his enemies.

René Girard saw Jesus’ atoning sacrifice as the resolution of the imitative character of violence. We will imitate what we see and experience. But with Girard’s help in understanding more clearly the workings of the cycles of violence, the nature of Jesus’s way of salvation from this cycle becomes more apparent.

Although, as Jesus says, he had the authority to call down twelve armies of angels to violently repress his enemies, he knows that that would be to perpetuate the cycle of violence, not to break it. Self-sacrificial love and forgiveness are the only answers that will work. It is only when we know ourselves utterly forgiven that we are healed of our fear of judgment and are set free to offer ourselves for the life of the world. As forgiven people, we are not called to prove our zealousness in fierce crusades, imitating and outdoing our enemies. We are called instead to imitate Jesus by loving and forgiving our enemies. We are called to accompany the oppressed, put away our swords, and replacing our bullets with tubes of finger paint.

Jesus doesn’t just leave us with teaching. He communicates his life and forgiveness to us directly. Here at this meal of thanksgiving, we actually taste the self-giving love that can conquer the cycles of violence. Here we feed on the mercy that can sustain us for the journey through uncertain and terrifying times. Here you receive in your bodies and feed your souls with “the body of Christ, given for you. The blood of Christ, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins”. Here are holy things for a holy people and you are utterly forgiven. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Stewardship Sunday, October 21, 2018, Proper 24, XXII Sunday After Pentecost B

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts, be acceptable to you, O Christ, our rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Good morning, St. Augustine’s! It is good to be together today after the week we have had between pipe bombs, the final laying to rest of Matthew Shepard, and now the aftermath of the terrorist attack on our Jewish siblings in Pittsburgh. These events, they hit close to home, all of them, and so I thank you for holding the space of silence this morning and reciting together the prayer of St. Francis, as we remember and wait, and help in all the ways we can in the weeks ahead.

Our work together remains important now as ever, and so this morning, I wanted to talk about our Annual Giving Campaign as we are now at the halfway mark. As you might have read in the Parish Newsletter this week, we have to date 43 pledges, out of 119 from last year, and of these 43 pledges, 53% have grown from last year! This is good news! And, we are hoping to find at least 66 more so that we can plan for our year ahead and all the many things that we do together for the life of our church, and our world. And so for today, it is my hope that we find in our biblical narrative another way to see how vision and giving go hand in hand, and that we find what piece of this vision we can fulfill as our portion.

The gospel today highlights a person called, Bartimaeus, who is willing to bring everything he has to live into a vision for a future. He is a person who has lived faithfully, in so many ways, but comes looking for actual vision—and the scripture says that he comes—“again”—so we know that at one point he did have vision. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” he yells to Jesus—who he believed was the Messiah, the one who has provided the vision for his faith, and the one who can lead him again into a new vision for his life.

Like many things in our life—unfortunate circumstances, struggles, or even shame—they keep us from throwing ourselves into relationship with others—they even can become things we don’t want to share with God. Bartimaeus was no different. Everyone around Bartimaeus encouraged him to keep a healthy distance, to remain quiet focusing only on what was at hand and to leave Jesus alone. But Bartimaeus was really hungry—hungry for a vision that would not only change his life—but bring change to the world.

Bartimaeus identified his own need for mercy, and he believed that Jesus could actually help him and that this Jesus had something that could change all of us, too. He understood that his own experiences in life were not because of anything God did to harm him, but that despite his circumstances God used him. His experience was the only currency he had to share with God’s kingdom. 

When we look at Bartimaeus’ story, we see that there are clearly many things he could have asked Jesus for. He was a beggar—he could have asked for food—for shelter—for any other number of things—but he asked for new vision—he asked to see the way again. He asked for a vision that stems from his faith and the grace to live out such vision.

Bartimaeus understood that our God is one who cares for the poor and the brokenhearted, the destitute, and frustrated. This is the God our Psalmist sings about today—that there is a vision to live into and a promise of blessing from the God who holds us and leads us. We see a God working through all of our brokenness, so that we might live into our faith and into one another more richly. We see a God who casts vision for our shared life, putting before us the needs of this world and putting in us the resources and vision to make a way out of no way, and to find our work in this the holiest of mysteries.

Bartimaeus found hope in the vision of his Lord. He found hope in the work of the body, coming together to right the wrongs of this world, to change dyer circumstances into livable ones, and to live into a grace that makes room for everybody, everybody, everybody.

And do you see what happens at the end of the passage? Bartimaeus follows Jesus. He asks for vision, again, he receives it, and it changes how he lives in the world. We too, ask for God’s vision; and living into it, and participating in it requires us to give sacrificially so that our work together can continue.

Well, my beloveds, taking the lead from Bartimaeus, I too have asked God for vision—for us—and this is what I’ve received:

My vision is that we continue to be a community where everybody, everybody, everybody is welcomed; and that the work of loving and healing the world remains central to the work we do together. Beloveds, it is quite simple: we love God, we love one another, and whatever work it is that we are doing together, we continue together, and we do it conviction and grace.

Do you know all the ways this happens in our community? I have seen this vision lived out and I have seen this vision take root, and transform not only the people we serve—but I have seen it change us!

We see this in our work with Family Promise—and the satisfaction that we have knowing at least one less family is on the streets and that we can have a hand in meeting their basic needs. We hear stories of when past participants give updates, or return for trick-or-treating—because let’s face it—we give away really good candy!

We see this in the work we share with A Just Harvest Soup Kitchen—and the satisfaction that we have knowing that people will go to bed with full stomachs, feeling cared for and tended to. We show up, even when it is a stretch in our long days, and we give because our money really makes a difference!

We see this in the too numerous ministries we support through the Mission Grant Outreach program, where we know that all over Chicagoland, our dollars are providing basic needs and services to marginalized groups of people.

We see this in the ways we participate in diocesan ministries with world wide outreach and mission, and by supplementing the work of smaller parishes in rural areas doing really beautiful work.

We see this in the support you offer to your clergy enabling us to reach out to those traumatized by violence and then gather around those acts of injustice and work for change.

You all came together for support when our sister parish lost a student in the Stoneman Douglass shootings in Florida—and you sent some of us to March on Washington. This summer, at Pride, was one of the many times I was so honored to be your priest. Walking along the sides of the parade and greeting as many people as I could, many pulled me in for hugs. One person pulled me in and with tears in their eyes, said, “Rev., I can’t believe you showed up for us. My priest would never ever come here.” I told the young man that it was an honor to be here, that my church, all of you send me with joy, and that the Episcopal Church in Wilmette welcomes them anytime.”

In that moment, and in many others, too, ALL of you were with me hugging this teary-eyed man and welcoming him after years of unwelcome in his own church. All of our work together is missional, all of it is evangelism, and all of it matter.

And let’s not forget all the many ways that the time we spend together, whether in fellowship or formation, forms us to become the people of faith that seek to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God.

Beloveds, I’ve seen this vision, and I know it to be true of this place. It is not only our many ways of outreach, but it is also the ways that we care for and tend to one another. It is the beautiful funerals we prepare together; it includes the meals and help we offer one another; and its in all the many ways we surround one another when life requires it.

That vision is compelling to me, and it is why I am at St Augustine’s, and why I give of my own financial resources. This year, I have decided to increase my pledge from last year. I have decided to give in a way that is noticeable in my budget, and is a sacrifice—but a sacrifice I know is worth making for the vision I believe in.

As your pastor, I care about all our relationships to money both as individuals and as a church. Money has so much power over how we think of ourselves, that it can become something we only deal with in private. If you are worried about your finances or are financially insecure, I am happy to have a private conversation with you about it. If pledging seems too difficult to imagine in this current financial season—pledging even $10—is still a pledge and it is still a step in participating in the vision of this community and it helps us all walk further into that call with confidence.

While money may be an uncomfortable subject to talk about, it is a necessary part of our living and our being both as individuals and as the body of Christ. It is a tool that we have to build the kingdom of God, to live into the vision we have for this church and our world.

Our money is how we make our vision of this church a reality. Once God has given us a vision, we are invited into carrying that vision forward - following Jesus and giving of our selves—and our money. Our financial gifts enable us to have a place to gather, liturgy to share, and mission to live into with our whole being. As your priest, I see a vision for how all of our gifts are used to change the world we share, and I see all the many ways that our gifts can change the future of this community that we love. Surely, we have to pay our utilities, we have unplanned expenditures like boilers and furnaces, and we also have salaries of those who help to lead us—but living into our mission and outreach requires all of us to give sacrificially.

This week, has been a heavy week. For those of you who listened or watched the service of burial for Matthew Shepard, you too heard the welcoming words of Bishop Gene Robinson, when he said, “Many of you have been hurt by your own religious communities, and I want to welcome you back.” The Bishop’s words reminded me of the importance the three words “everybody everybody everybody” has in our identity, and how those words cast a vision for how we, St. Augustine’s, wants to be in this world together and as servants. And living into these words requires sacrifice and heart—two things we can share.

Yesterday’s news of the shooting at Tree of Life in Pittsburg, is yet another reminder of the work we have to share. It is work that stems from our baptismal covenant, it is work that calls us to shine the light we have and quell the darkness. Bishop Sean Rowe of the Episcopal Diocese of Northwestern Pennsylvania released a statement where he said: “In circumstances such as these the church has one mission: to comfort the afflicted, to sow seeds of peace, and to advocate for justice. In prayerful humility, let us be about it.”[1] I couldn’t agree with him more.   

Let us be about it. The work we have begun together, has not finished. The work of our church both nationally and locally, requires our bodies and it also requires our giving so that the work can continue.

I ask you, to please consider what sacrifice you can make in your budget, whatever the dollar amount, so that you too can pledge to make a difference in the work we do together as agents of justice and advocacy, speakers of truth and peace, and witnesses to the love of our God. The world needs the church, and the church needs you.

Amen.

[1] https://dionwpanews.org/author/jgoulet2014/

Saturday November 3, 2018: Funeral for Bill Doughty

Leading Us All on a Path to God

Beloveds, it was not long ago that many of us gathered in this space here today, were here to celebrate the life and ministry of Dee Doughty, the love of Bill’s life. In the days leading up to Dee’s death, I had the chance to sit with Bill and listen. I listened as he shared about the life he had lived and adored, and I listened as he shared about the family that he was so proud of, and I listened as he spoke about the bride who despite the effects of dementia, still captured his heart each and every day.

I listened to Bill speak in the same way that he read the mighty Old Testament lessons that he loved to read as a lector in this church. In his voice, one could feel his conviction and belief, and his ability to pull a listener in was captivating. This is perhaps why last year, I received a note from him that said, “Please only schedule me to read the Old Testament lessons.” Of course, it was an easy request to grant. Sitting in Dee’s room, I listened to Bill as he recalled the joys of his life. He spoke about the accomplishments of his three sons and their beautiful families. His pride for each member of the family came through in the broken voice that choked back tears when he spoke your names. Not only was he proud of his children and grandchildren’s lives, he was proud of the human beings they’ve become and the causes for which they stand. Bill went on about how all three of their sons adored their mother, and in return how much they both loved them. The joy all three sons and their families brought Bill and Dee life, vitality, and joy, and gave them incredible happiness.

Bill went on with stories of yesteryear about his own family of origin, as well as he shared more stories of when his own boys were growing up. Bill went on about all the many things both he and Dee were involved with that they hoped made a long lasting impression on their own children and grandchildren, alike. Bill went on at length about the love of his life that lay there, beside him, the one for whom he tenderly cared for right up until the end. At Dee’s service, just before we placed her ashes into the ground, I heard Bill say to her, “Honey, I’ll see you soon.” Little did we know just how soon.

On my way to the hospital after I heard that Bill had died, it occurred to me that the last time Bill had communion was at the funeral for his beloved Dee. That this meal—this spiritual food—that we shared with Bill and Dee for years around this altar—became the last meal Bill shared with all of us, too. For a couple so dedicated to food outreach and ministry, I couldn’t help but wonder about all the many simple meals they provided for hungry souls all throughout Chicagoland these last several decades, and the trail of crumbs that lay so beautifully in their wake.

In today’s gospel, we are seeing an exchange play out between Jesus and his disciples about the place where Jesus is going to next; a place that the disciples are also able to go—but not for some time to come. Jesus is taken back by the disciples’ confusion about where they think this place is—and their concern is that they wouldn’t know how to get there if Jesus were to leave them now after already having done so much together. They are anxious, uncomfortable, and sad that their leader might leave them and not take them with him. What Jesus tries to help them see is that where he is going, is a place clearly marked by their hearts and the work they have been doing. Jesus tries to help them see that they already know this place, that they already know the way to God, because they do the work of Jesus.

Jesus reiterates that preparing for the life that is to come, involves our living into this current one with all of our heart, and that the natural effect of our doing this work, is that we make a pathway to God. This gospel is a call to mission—it is a call to do the work of our God among all of God’s people. It is doing the work of loving people well, of feeding them when they are hungry, and it is capturing the image of God stamped throughout creation, the cosmos, and in one another, and celebrating it.

Beloveds, Bill Doughty lived a life that helped us all to better know our God. Through the ways in which he advocated for and sought out food and economic justice, Bill left us with a trail of breadcrumbs that lead us directly to the Holy. Through all the ways he captured beautiful moments of humanity and creation through watercolor, he painted for us another image of the Divine in every piece, giving us understanding about this God we know and love, who resides in each of us, and calls us beloved.

Bill scattered bread crumbs everywhere he went. With every person fed through his efforts, he left more crumbs in the trail he made toward God. He made for us a path that we recognize, a path that leads to our God, to that place where every injustice is made right—where humanity and creation are at peace—to that place where there is no sorrow, and where death cannot destroy.

Beloveds, Bill Doughty loved the Lord, and his life was proof that living in a way that made a difference was of the upmost importance to him.

When I first came to St. Augustine’s, one of the questions that many people asked me was: “Have you met with Bill and Dee?” People spoke to what kind and generous people they were, and how they have been the matriarch and patriarch of this church for such a long time. I soon learned that all the beautiful tings said about them, were entirely true. By the time that I met Bill and Dee, Bill was a fulltime caretaker for his bride; and mixed in with updates about how Dee was feeling, were stories about the many years they had as active ministry participants in our beloved church and throughout the North Shore.

One of the first things I was shown when I came to this church was the artwork that is on the front of your bulletin today. This particular piece entitled, Holy Sep-ul-kr, was inspired by Bill and Dee’s 1999 trip to the Holy Land and a larger version of it hangs in our chapel. Of the piece, Bill said, “The feelings of ancientness and holiness, and the crying needs for reconciliation, all inspired me to seek deeper levels of meaning in my art.” His words and his art, they so captivated me, and I began to ask around about other paintings of Bill’s that I could take in.

One of those paintings, was one that Bill did in the summer of 2016 following the PULSE Nightclub shootings in Orlando, FL. This piece moved me in a way I was not anticipating. The intricate details of expression on all the faces represented in the scape, the way in which the colors bleed, and the inspiration it invites, is striking. Of the piece, Bill said: “I knew I needed to respond to the Orlando tragedy in some way. It was deep inside me. So on Tuesday June 14, two days afterward, I did this painting. I named it "Darkness Shall Not Overcome". It means that, not just LGBT people, but all of us together will assure that the promises of the Rainbow will prevail.”

What brings me nearly to tears upon hearing Bill’s words time and time again, is that Bill believed that it was up to all of us doing everything in our power, to make our world a place where everyone is safe, a place where everyone is fed, and a place everyone knows they are beloved of God. That’s certainly the world Bill worked towards, and it’s the church he prayed for.

Within these walls, Bill worked tirelessly for outreach missions, and helping find resources for local agencies doing amazing work. He sought tangible ways that the people of this church could engage the world in ways that produced outcomes for them, improved life, and optimism. Bill cared about everything he put his hand to, and he has left mighty dreams to fulfill.

Crumb by crumb, Bill, your life, and your actions in this world, have led us to God.

Meal after meal, painting after painting, the pathways you’ve made to the God who holds us all, leaves us a changed people.

Where you have gone, we know one day that we shall see you again, and so until then, we thank you. We thank you for coloring our lives with the love of God, and for allowing the holy to work through you in this community, and in our hearts.

Amen.