Compassion Means Action

It doesn’t take the shaking voice of Sally Struthers overlaid on images of starving children for most 21st century Americans to understand that there is a lot of suffering in this world.  Even in a relatively affluent place like Bowling Green, those who never take the initiative to (literally) cross the railroad tracks are faced with the reality of poverty sitting outside the grocery store, on the corner near where they get their prescriptions filled, or playing a beat up instrument near the town square.  Even among those who aren’t noticeably impoverished there are many who suffer silently with addition, mental illness, depression, broken relationships, unfulfilling work, and more.

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In our Eucharistic Prayer C, which was last week referred to as the “leisure suit of liturgy” before being memorialized in amber for generations yet unborn (inside church stuff, sorry), we pray that our eyes might be open to see God’s hand at work in the world about us.  For Christians, then, it seems prudent to see where God might be calling us to serve at any given moment.  Our example in this work is Jesus, who in Sunday’s gospel lesson, despite searching for rest and refreshment, sees the crowds of people hungry for redemption and release and “has compassion on them.”

Now, it must be noted that there is a difference between seeing a need and wishing something could be done about it and actually having compassion. Compassion comes from the Latin compati which means to suffer with – to co-suffer.  Having compassion doesn’t just mean that we watch others suffer as if we are seeing them through a TV screen, but rather, that we feel their pain, which should, if we are doing it right, motivate us to action.  Here again, our role model is Jesus, who saw the crowds, had compassion on them and then he taught and healed them en mass.  For Jesus, and for those who follow in his Way, compassion requires action.

As I read the lesson from Mark 6 this morning, I was reminded of that portion of the letter of James, wherein the author is admonishing his audience to live an active faith.  “Faith without works is dead,” he writes.  As an example, he posits this,

If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?” – James 2:15-16

We who claim to be disciples of Jesus, who pray that God might open our eyes to see the world as God does, must be ready to roll up our sleeves and get to work – sharing the Good News in word and deed – for the upbuilding of the Kingdom of God.

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The Importance of Sabbath

Throughout high school and into my college years, I worked for a local grocery store chain called Stauffers of Kissel Hill.  SKH was named after the Stauffer family, and Mr. Stauffer was still running the place even when I worked there in the mid-90s.  It was a family run business, which held to some of the core values of their faith, including being closed on Sundays.  Every Saturday at about 7pm, the same group of old ladies would arrive ready to grab a deal on produce, meats, and fresh flowers that wouldn’t last through the day off.  It was a buy hour before we closed.  Each department had extra work to do in order to prepare for the 36 hour window, during which the store would be closed.  It was hard work, but everybody knew the reward – a day off was coming.  Rest was not far away.

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Right about my senior year of high school, Mr. Stauffer decided that the rest wasn’t worth the lost profits as his stores sat empty on Sundays while the bigger chains like Giant and WalMart raked in the dough, and we began to open on Sundays.  I’ll never forget that first weekend.  The old ladies showed up on Saturday night, as always, only to be disappointed that the quick sales they were used to were no more.  I opened the store as a cashier at 9am, and for the first hour, not a soul walked through the door.  “Brilliant plan,” I remember thinking to myself, “this was totally worth it.”  Of course, as time went by and word got out, more and more people shopped on Sunday.  Within only a few months, it was normal for SKH to be open seven days a week.  In one more place, sabbath was no more.

In Sunday’s Gospel lesson, we hear of Jesus and his disciples’ ongoing struggle to balance the cost of sabbath with the needs of the community.  The disciples are back from their first missionary journey and they are exhausted.  Jesus, who has been on the preaching and healing circuit for a while now knows how they feel and encourages them to find a place to rest.  As they search for a quiet spot, however, it becomes clear that rest will not find them as crowds rush to meet them, to hear them, and to be healed by them.  Still, Jesus doesn’t throw up his hands and say “sabbath isn’t important,” but rather, he steps out in front, allowing the disciples some time away, and he takes on the crowds all by himself.

Sabbath is important.  It is more important than profits.  It is even more important than preaching and healing.  Without rest and refreshment, without time to sit with God on your own, spiritual reserves slowly drain away, exhaustion looms, and burnout is not far away.  I may be preaching to myself here.  It has been a good month since I’ve felt like I had even a minute to think about a blog post.  Last week was filled with 14 hour days.  It is 9AM on Monday, and I’m already tired.  Sabbath is important, and it is coming.  The key, is making room to take it.

Me, Baptism Excited – a sermon

Back when I was in seminary, before anyone could even read a lesson in the chapel at VTS, they had to pass LTG4 – The Oral Interpretation of Scripture.  Somewhat un-affectionately referred to as “Read and Bleed,” this course was offered during the August term before my first year.  It was an hour a day for a week, and in it, we learned how to read the Bible out loud.  As you’ve learned over the past eighteen months, I’m not one to be overly animated in my tone, and so my experience in LTG4 was more bleed than it was read.  In my small group there was a former actor, a professional clown, and a man who grew up in the Black Baptist tradition, and so, comparatively, I was less expressive than a doorknob.  At one point, as my small group leader tried to coax me into a more excited interpretation of Matthew 22, I said to her, “I’m sorry, I’m trying, but this is me, wedding day excited.”  That expression has become something of a recurring joke for me over the years.  Never one to wear my emotions on my sleeve, I can be hard to read, which isn’t always helpful.  At times, when my expression doesn’t betray my joy or exuberance, I have to tell people, flat-out, that I am excited.

So, in case you can’t tell this morning, this is me baptism day excited.  I love baptisms, especially when those being baptized have asked for it to happen.  There is just something extra special about hearing someone take on faith for themselves, especially when it is a child who has been a part of this community for a while, who has grown in the faith thanks to the many role models they have seen here at Christ Church – staff members, Sunday school teachers, children’s church volunteers, and other members of the community.  As we prepare to formally welcome Zoë and Wyatt into the Body of Christ [at 10 o’clock] this morning, we do so with excitement and joy for what the future holds, both for them and for us.

One of the places where this excitement and joy really becomes clear is in the prayer that we pray after the baptism itself.  Despite my tendency away from emotional expression, this prayer catches me short every time I have the opportunity to pray it.  New to the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, this particular post-baptismal prayer uses more modern language to ask God to impart upon the newly baptized the seven-fold gifts of the Holy Spirit, which have been prayed for since the prophet Isaiah roamed the earth nearly three-thousand years ago.  For Zoë and Wyatt, we will pray for wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and awe.

It is by sheer coincidence this week, as we baptize Wyatt and Zoë into the family of the Church, that our appointed epistle lesson is from the opening verses of the letter to the Ephesians.  These words of affirmation read, in many ways, like post-baptismal prayer.  One long, run-on sentence in the original Greek, these words flowed forth from their author’s pen as an excited, joy-filled, admonition for the faithful in Christ Jesus.  Unlike last week’s lesson from Second Corinthians, which Mother Becca rightly reminded us was written by a particular person, to a particular community, in response to a particular set of needs and never meant to be read as a universal letter containing comprehensive truth, the letter to the Ephesians, in its earliest form, never actually mentions the Ephesians.  This text seems to be the antithesis of the Corinthian letters, written for more general consumption by Christian congregations around the known world.  Its goal, it seems, isn’t to address particular issues in one church community, but rather, to encourage all the faithful to seek unity in Christ, empowered by the gift of the Holy Spirit that was promised to us by Jesus himself and bestowed upon every disciple at their baptism.

Through this ancient exclamation of praise, Paul reminds his audience of God’s great power to restore all things.  Despite the fact that Zoë and Wyatt have asked to come to baptism today, Paul reminds us all that we are, first, passive participants in God’s redeeming work.  That any of us comes to faith is only because of God’s invitation.  It is God’s will that all of creation might be returned into right relationship with God, and each time a new believer comes to faith, we rejoice, alongside God and the heavenly chorus, that another breech has been repaired by the grace of God whose will it is to gather up all things.

All of us, then, who claim to be disciples of Jesus, are called to claim our inheritance and to work alongside God toward the restoration of all people.  Empowered by the Holy Spirit and gifted with an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love God, and, perhaps most importantly, the gift of joy and wonder, every follower of Jesus who has been sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism is encouraged to claim their inheritance and baptismal identity by working with God to bring the Kingdom of God to earth as it is in heaven.

And so, even as we prepare to pray the postbaptismal prayer for Zoë and Wyatt, in our Collect of the Day, we pray that by God’s grace we might all know and understand the things we ought to do as a result of our adoption as beloved children of God, and not only that, but that God might give us the power to accomplish them.  Both of these prayers aren’t simply about a future looking hope that someday God might fix everything in the great by and by, but rather, they are calls to action for today, that right here and right now, we might respond to God’s amazing grace by rolling up our sleeves and getting to work.  Utilizing the gifts that we receive in our baptisms; our everyday lives are meant to be spent working toward the restoration and renewal of God’s good creation.

I had the joy of spending this past week at All Saints, serving as a chaplain to the New Horizons Camp for 5th and 6th graders.  The theme for the summer at All Saints is “environments around the world,” and alongside seminarian Allision Caudill, we tried to help these young campers see that even at ten or eleven years of age, they too have a part to play in God’s ongoing work in the world.  The overarching narrative for our time together was the first creation story from Genesis 1.  Again and again, we reiterated that at the end of each day, God looked at what had been created and declared it good, but on the sixth day, as God looked over everything that had been made: the sun, moon, and stars; over the earth, its land and seas; over all the plants and every living creature that swims in the water and cattle and creeping things on the land; and ultimately over humankind, which God had made in God’s own image; when God saw everything working together in harmony, it wasn’t just that it was good, but rather, it was very good.  “Good good,” as the Hebrew says.

As baptized disciples of Jesus, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we have been set free to work toward making creation “good good” again.  We are encouraged by God to use our gifts to build up the Kingdom of Heaven through acts of loving service, through caring for our neighbor, by treating everyone with respect, and sharing the Good News of God’s redeeming love with a world that desperately needs it.  That is what makes me so excited this morning.  This is me baptism day excited, as once again, we are all reminded of our place as co-workers in the Kingdom of God.  Later on, as we pray for Zoë and Wyatt to take their place in God’s work of redemption, embrace that prayer for you as well.  May each of us this day be encouraged and empowered by the new life of grace to claim our blessedness and build up the Kingdom of God.  Amen.

A Fishing Story: God Cares – a sermon

I am a terrible fisherman.  It isn’t that I don’t like to fish.  There are few things I enjoy more than getting on a boat, rod and tackle in hand, in search of a good meal.  It is really more that I don’t do it often enough to know what I’m doing.  There is both a science and an art to fishing, and I know neither.  I don’t know what time of year what fish are biting.  I don’t know what time of day is best.  I don’t know what kind of bait to use to catch which fish.  I don’t even know how to filet my catch into something edible.  When I go fishing, I am 100% at the mercy of my guide.  When I would go night fishing with my friend, Brad, I trusted him to get us to the right spots, to rig the lines the right way, and to bring us home with a mess of speckled trout.  When my dad and I went out in search of red fish near Alabama Point, we paid a guy who knew the water, knew the habits, and, most importantly, knew how to keep us from running aground.

Trusting in someone else’s knowledge has worked for me almost every time I’ve gone fishing.  Almost.  Then, there was the time I went out on the Blue Sky in search of tuna.  It was to be a twenty-four-hour fishing expedition.  We left at about 5:30 in the evening and were headed ninety miles off shore.  I trusted that the captain would get us there safely, that the deckhands would put us on some big fish, and, erroneously, that the weather man would be correct.  After dinner, a few beers, and good conversation watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico, we all turned in to get some sleep ahead of our two am wake up call.  Somewhere in those few hours of sleep, the forecast for one to two-foot seas became a reality of six to eight-foot swells.

I can remember it vividly, even as I’ll spare you the vivid details, but with the combination of diesel fumes, a wildly undulating oil platform that in the dark of night looked like a giant spider bathed in yellow flood lights, and the rocking of the boat, by the time our second fish came aboard, I was doing a great job of chumming the water.  I didn’t really know what to do.  Ninety miles off shore, on a fifty-four foot boat, there isn’t really anywhere to go, and I knew inside the cabin would make things worse.  As my buddies fished and the deckhands worked to bring the giant fish over the gunwale, I wondered if anyone cared that I existed at all.  Were they all hoping that maybe I would just perish so that they could fish without the sound of me retching behind them.

Just then, the captain came down from his perch in the crow’s nest, high above deck with two pills in his hand.  “Take these,” he said, and I didn’t hesitate.  I didn’t question.  I trusted Captain Richard to know what to do about sea sickness. I popped those two pills and six hours later, I woke up.  The seas hadn’t calmed much, but my stomach had.

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Jesus and his disciples trusted one another.  James, John, Peter, and Andrew had all been called by Jesus right off of their fishing boats.  He knew that they knew the Sea of Galilee like the backs of their hands.  They’d fished deep into the night.  They’d experienced its violent squalls.  They’d seen everything that the Sea of Galilee had to offer, and so Jesus took the opportunity to rest.  The disciples, for their part, knew that Jesus had miraculous powers.  They had seen him heal many women and men.  They had watched as he touched a man with leprosy and made him clean.  They knew that he was a special gift from God and they trusted that Jesus was always going to take care of them.

And so, it was, that one night, Jesus had wrapped up his teaching for the day, and when he said, “let’s go to the other side,” they all loaded up and went, no questions asked.  Now, it must be pointed out here that this was no ordinary trip for Jesus and his disciples.  In Mark’s Gospel, this is the first trip outside of Galilee.  Leaving from Capernaum, they were headed east, across about six miles of lake to the region of the Decapolis, a Greek speaking area, filled with Roman citizens.  They were, for all intents and purposes, headed to Gentile territory.  Jesus’ disciples trusted that he knew what he was doing.  They must have assumed that he had a plan for what they would do when they arrived, and so, without any hesitation, they headed to Gergesa.

As the story goes, in the dark of the night, a storm rose up such that the seasoned fishermen had never seen before.  It would have taken a real doozy of a storm to scare the sons of thunder, James and John, but Mark tells us that all of the disciples were convinced they were going to sink.  No doubt, they all knew of someone who had found their demise 141 feet deep in the Sea of Galilee during a swift moving storm.  In the midst of their fear, the first thing to sink to the bottom of the lake was their trust in Jesus who was asleep in the back of the boat.

“Teacher!”  Not master.  Not Lord.  Those honorifics were swept up in the howling wind.  Tonight, Jesus wasn’t a miracle worker from God, but he had been demoted to teacher, the one who they had chosen to hitch their wagons to and were beginning to wonder why.  “Teacher!  Don’t you care that we are perishing?!?!”  This is perhaps the most challenging rebuke anyone could give to Jesus.  Don’t you care?  Of course, Jesus cares.  He cared about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law.  He cared about the man with the withered hand.  He cared about the crowds of thousands that pressed in upon him.  God cares about everyone, that’s why God sent Jesus to earth to proclaim the Good News of salvation for all people.

Jesus most certainly did care, and so he jumped up, and with the harsh words of anger rebuked the wind and calmed the waves.  Jesus deeply cares, and so when the ordeal was over, he looked his disciples square in the eyes and said, “Why don’t you trust me yet?”

It is not uncommon in times of hardship to cry out to God and wonder, “don’t you care?”  With the world changing so rapidly, it can feel like a mighty storm has whipped up on us in the dark of night.  It would seem that we have every reason to be frightened, and to wonder if all that we had hoped for might be for not.  It is totally natural to lament what feels like God’s absence, as if God were asleep at the helm of the entire universe, and wonder, does God really care about us?  No one said the life of faith would be easy.  In those moments of doubt, when our trust in God seems to be wavering, we are in good company.  Even Jesus’ closest friends had trouble holding on to that trust in hard times.

What this story helps me remember is that like Captain Richard, God is always paying attention.  God knows what you are going through because God is right there in the boat with you.  God does care, and even in those moments when God chooses not to stop the wind or calm the waves, God is there.  God will never abandon us to the pit.  The world may be rocking and rolling under our feet, but God is there.  God loves you, and God will never leave you alone.

When Jesus and his disciples get to the other side, they will be greeted by a man possessed with a legion of demons.  The momentary calm after the storm will break and fear will once again strike the disciples.  Yet, there again, Jesus won’t abandon them.  Nor will he abandon the demoniac.  God’s compassion and love knows no bounds.  God’s mercy is everlasting.  God cares – about you and about the whole world.  Amen.

[2 Corinthinas] five15

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Way back when, for several years, TKT and I did an evening service called five15.  It started, conveniently enough, at 5:15 pm, and was something of an experiential service.  We followed the form of An Order for Celebrating Holy Eucharist from our Book of Common Prayer (p 400-407). In the course of “[Sharing] the Gifts of God,” we had various prayer stations around the themes of thanksgiving, confession, adoration, and petition.  It was a lot of fun to imagine different ways of engaging prayer with all five senses.  As we prepared for five15, I looked through every 5:15 in the Bible, to find taglines we might use in advertising, and 2 Corinthians 5:15 was one of our favorites.

And [Christ] died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.

We did not discover this verse.  It has long been a part of the Eucharistic canon, thanks to its placement in our Prayer D, which dates as far back as the mid-fourth century.  It has had its place in the Eucharist as a ongoing reminder of why we gather for worship at all.  The goal of the Christian life isn’t to have “your best life now,” or to achieve self-actualization, or to be protected from harm, or even to get to heaven when you die.  The telos of the Christian life is to live for Christ who died and was raised, for us.  As the New Living Translation puts it, “He died for everyone so that those who receive his new life will no longer live to please themselves.  Instead, they will live to please Christ, who died and was raise for them.”

And how does one live “for Christ” or “to please Christ”?  Well, Jesus has summed that up elsewhere with the advice that we love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love our neighbors as ourselves.  That seems to be a good place to start.

A Wal*Mart Theologian

One of the gifts of ordained ministry is the opportunity to attend continuing education events.  I’ve been to all sorts over the years, from emergent church events to Episcopal Church conferences to one United Methodist Conference sponsored gathering to a one-day social media bootcamp.  Even my four summers in the Advanced Degrees Program at Sewanee counts.  The broad spectrum of opportunities has helped me continue to grow in my ministry, but I’ve also started to notice some similarities.  Most, if not all, of these events end up in small group sessions.  Most, if not all, of these small group sessions require you to make an introduction.  I’ve introduced myself in a lot of different ways over the last decade, but perhaps my favorite is as a Wal*Mart Theologian.  That is, I am a firm believer that what I am preaching on Sunday morning has to also work in the cereal aisle at Wal*Mart. (1)

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This understanding of theology and preaching came back to me this morning as I read the Gospel lesson appointed for Sunday.  This passage offers two fairly familiar parables from Jesus.  The first, maybe less commonly cited one, is about the sower who scatters seed, which grows, though he knows not how.  It is a parable about the Kingdom of God, and how it is constantly in motion, coming ever closer to our experience, even if we can’t always see it or feel it.  The second parable is of the mustard seed, which, though small, will grow to be a large bush that offers shade to the birds.  It too is a parable about the Kingdom of God, and how seemingly insignificant acts of love and grace can make a profound impact on a world desperate for redemption.

The particular nuanced understanding of what Jesus is saying isn’t what took me to the cereal aisle at Wal*Mart, however.   Instead, it is Mark’s narrative reflection on the way Jesus taught that caught my attention.

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it…

Jesus shared the Kingdom of God with the crowds by way of commonly understood images.  He didn’t sit in the Synagogue and pontificate academically about a systematic theology of soteriology, but rather, he told the people stories, using the world they knew, to try to explain the unexplainable love of God.  Jesus was a first-century Wal*Mart Theologian, and by way of parables, which we often scratch our heads over, dig too deep to understand, and make super complicated, he taught the people of God’s saving love.

While you are working hard, dear reader, to prepare a sermon for Sunday on the content of these two parables, remember the example of our Lord and simply tell your people of God’s mercy, grace, and love in a language all can understand.


(1) Wal*Mart made me angry several years ago, so I rarely shop there anymore.  I guess I’m a Kroger Theologian now, but regional grocery store brands don’t carry the same weight.

Crazy Enough to Hope – a sermon

It feels really good to be back in Mark’s Gospel.  After spending Easter season in John, I’m glad to be settling back into Mark.  Reading John reminds me of the rides my parents would make us take on Sunday afternoons.  We would load into the family sedan and drive out into the country, not really going anywhere, in search of I don’t know what.  Depending on which direction we were headed, either my sister or I would spend most of the time complaining about the sun baking us in the back seat, while we argued over what color the sky was.  Mark’s Gospel, on the other hand, is more like my trip back from the Gulf Coast of Alabama yesterday.  We pointed the car north and, with only a few traffic slowdowns and the Clanton, Alabama Whataburger trying to feed 5,000, we headed home just as fast as we could.

Mark’s Gospel moves very quickly.  You’ll recall that the author’s favorite word is “immediately.”  We hear it more than forty times, as Jesus immediately moves from this thing to that thing and on to the next thing.  In this morning’s lesson, we find ourselves only in the third chapter, and yet so much has already happened.  Jesus has been baptized by John, tempted in the wilderness, and called his first disciples from their fishing boats on the Sea of Galilee.  He’s healed Simon Peter’s mother, cast out demons, and cleansed lepers, and that’s only in chapter one.  By chapter two, Jesus has already gotten under the skin of the religious powers that be.  His disciples don’t fast like the Pharisees think they should.  Worse yet, they plucked a few heads of grain on the sabbath.  Clearly this man was not from God.

After what must have felt like a whirlwind couple of weeks, Jesus and his disciples returned to his hometown, presumably for a bit of rest and refreshment.  Instead, as our Gospel lesson opens this morning, we hear that the crowds that surrounded him were so thick and so desperate to hear his preaching and receive his healing that Jesus couldn’t even get a bite to eat.  His family feared for his life.  They had heard what the religious authorities were saying about him.  They could see the rabid crowd surrounding him.  They knew what he was saying and doing.  Despite the NRSV’s translation that says, “people were saying, ‘He has gone out of his mind,’” the Greek really seems to say that the people who thought he had gone mad weren’t strangers in the crowd, but his very own family.[1]  Having seen with their own eyes what was happening around Jesus, it was his mother Mary, his brother James, and his other siblings who were concerned that he had lost his mind.  They were fully convinced that he had gone crazy, and the only way to save him from himself, was to try to get him back under control.

Six years ago, next month, I was in Indianapolis with more than a thousand other Episcopalians worshipping in a convention center ballroom.  It was the third day of General Convention, and the then Bishop of North Carolina, Michael Curry, was preaching.  In a sermon that was later expanded into a book, Bishop Curry invited us to ponder the response of Jesus’ family to his ministry.  He asked us to look at the lives of the saints of the Church, focusing especially on the first Apostle, Mary Magdalene, and abolitionist and author, Harriett Beecher Stowe.  Bishop Curry called on us to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, Mary, and Harriett by becoming Crazy Christians.[2]  It has been six years since that sermon.  Michael Curry is now our Presiding Bishop, leading the church out into the world to be Crazy Christians.  He was elected for many reasons, not least of which is his ability to preach the truth of God’s love to the masses, but what struck me in the profile for the Presiding Bishop candidates was his desire to serve the Episcopal Church as CEO, Chief Evangelism Officer.  Not only does Michael Curry ask us to live as Crazy Christians, but he expects us to invite others to join in the fun.

The Good News of Jesus Christ that each of us are called to proclaim seems crazy to a world that is in love with power, privilege, and violence.  Jesus’ family thought he was crazy because he was challenging the status quo.  The status quo, whom Mark collectively calls the Scribes, went a step further, claiming that he was possessed by Beelzebul, the ruler of the demons, precisely because he was a direct threat to their power, privilege, and comfort.  Jesus, however, knew that the only thing that was truly evil in this world was an inability to see God’s hand at work.  Jesus was, and is, seen a crazy because he showed the world what it looks like to have hope in the face of hopelessness.  Jesus was, and is, seen as crazy because he believed that love was stronger than hate, that peace was stronger than violence, and that God’s grace was sufficient for the sins of the whole world.  Jesus was, and is, seen as crazy because he lived his life to show us that the power of God’s love could keep the plundering power of evil at bay.

The promise of God’s loving grace frees us to be Crazy Christians.  It frees us to claim that hope is stronger than despair, that love is stronger than hate, and that God’s grace is open to everyone.  In that same sermon, Bishop Curry called on the Episcopal Church, gathered in General Convention, to embrace the craziness of Jesus.  “We need some Christians who are as crazy as the Lord,” he admonished the fairly staid congregation, “Crazy enough to love like Jesus, to give like Jesus, to forgive like Jesus, to do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with God — like Jesus.  Crazy enough to dare to change the world from the nightmare it often is into something close to the dream that God dreams for it.”[3]

Here at Christ Church, we call that crazy way of living “radiating God’s love to all.”  We show the world God’s crazy love through our Wednesday Community Lunch, by opening our doors to the homeless, by helping our neighbors keep their lights on, and by bringing fresh water hours into the Amazon River delta.  We live out the crazy love of God when we care for the sick among us, when the grace we share at this table goes forth to be a blessing to others, and we engage our children, youth, and young adults.  We empower the craziness of God’s grace when we take the time to support these ministries and so many others, by giving generously so that our collective ministry can continue to flourish, and by sharing our gifts and talents for the building up of the church and the restoration of the world.  We share the craziness of God’s love when we tell the story of how Jesus has changed our own lives.

To the world, it makes a whole lot more sense to sleep in on Sunday mornings, to have whatever you give financially back in your monthly budget, and to not worry about the problems that exist outside your front door.  Many see all that we do as nothing more than a crazy pipe dream, but that puts us in good company.  Jesus was, and is, seen as crazy, and as his disciples, we too are called to be crazy: crazy enough to believe that God loves sinners, just like you and me, and that by God’s grace, we can change the world.  May God bless us with a willingness to be crazy enough to live in hope and love.  Amen.

[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3675

[2] https://www.episcopalchurch.org/posts/publicaffairs/general-convention-july-7-sermon-bishop-michael-curry

[3] Better to hear it than to read it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abJMKeyCWoQ