The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, July 20, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Wesley Borden

The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, July 20, 2025

• Amos 8:1-12
• Colossians 1:15-28
• Luke 10:38-42

Click here for an audio of the sermon

This morning, we meet Martha and Mary – two sisters who turn up in various Gospel stories along with their brother Lazarus. Or do they... Luke tells us about Mary and Martha. Luke doesn’t seem to know Br Lazarus... And Luke doesn’t mention the name of the town... Some scholars think it could be Bethany, home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus from John’s Gospel, but others are certain that it cannot possibly be Bethany. So, we cannot be sure if these are the same Martha and Mary we meet in John’s Gospel. When we read scripture, other parts of scripture tend to whisper in our ears. We know this family. We know about Mary not only sitting attentively today, but anointing Jesus’ feet with Nard. We know about Jesus’ great love of their brother Lazarus and about Lazarus being raised from the dead. We may know these things, but Luke doesn’t and neither would the followers who first heard Luke’s telling of the Gospel. John’s Gospel, where we learn about Lazarus and nard and such, was still years in the future. To really meet Mary and Martha as they exist in this Gospel, in Luke’s world, we have to forget some of that stuff. When we’ve gotten John to be somewhat quiet, we might notice first that this Gospel story is not really about Mary and Martha, it's about Jesus. Jesus knocks at the door. The sisters let him in and prepare to feed this unannounced drop-in crowd. Well – Martha prepares to feed the crowd. Mary prepares to enjoy the benefits of Martha’s labor with her new best friends... We get an interesting glimpse into sisterly relationships. We can guess that Martha is the older sister because it seems to be her house. At the death of the parents, the oldest child would inherit both the estate and any younger siblings... So, Martha has had to run the household and put up with Mary for who knows how long. Mary flaking out from the work of hospitality seems to bug Martha. Hospitality was an important social obligation at that time. If folks showed up at your door, you were expected to feed them and house them... So, Martha is busy serving drinks and putting out plates of hors devours and such. Mary, on the other hand, seems like she would be happy opening a bag of chips and letting folks fend for themselves. Martha is not having it. But she doesn’t speak with her sister... she chooses instead to complain to Jesus. Of course, she has known her sister all her life and perhaps she knows it will do no good to correct her. All we know is that she is happy telling this stranger who has come to her door that her sister is useless. “Do you not care that she has left me to do all the work? Tell her to help me.” Of course, Martha’s complaints have additional benefits. She gets to vent. She also gets to make sure that the honored guest knows all the work is hers. Do you like the food, Jesus? I prepared that. Another drink, Jesus? I stomped the grapes myself. Mary didn’t help one little bit. I can’t say that Martha is making a good first impression on me. Martha knows that Jesus is important since she refers to him as “Lord.” Does she know more about Jesus? Does she know that he is the Son of God? Does she care? Luke is silent about Martha’s story – because this story is about Jesus, not Martha, not Mary. This story follows directly after the story of the Good Samaritan, which follows the story of the sending out of the Seventy and their happy return. There is a sort of travel theme to this tenth chapter of Luke. When the seventy (or seventy-two) disciples are sent, they are told to each go to the appointed village and lodge with some random family. Eat and drink what is offered. This is, in fact, just what Jesus is doing at the home of Martha and Mary. Jesus tells the disciples, when they are sent, not to worry. Eat what is offered. Drink what is offered. Don’t wander from house to house looking for a better buffet. And if you are not welcome, just move on. So, when Martha goes into high hospitality gear, Jesus has a reaction. She is surely worried that her hospitality will not be up to snuff. She no doubt takes pride in her house and in her food and drinks offerings. That slacker Mary is no help whatsoever. Jesus has told folks to just accept what is offered. But Martha is so busy putting on a show for Jesus that she is missing Jesus. Of course, I suspect that Jesus and the disciples are quite enjoying Martha’s handiwork. I don’t suppose that they are refusing the food and drink. But still, Martha can chill. She does not have to prove her worth to Jesus through her catering. This is a vital lesson for us – we do not have to prove our worth, we do not have to purchase Jesus’ love. Jesus already loves us... God already loves us. Just as God already loves Martha. Martha needs to learn this. This story reminds us that we are called to do what we can do – not less, and not more. It would be easy, hearing the story of the Good Samaritan earlier in this chapter of Luke, to think we must always measure up to that heroic level of sacrificing hospitality. That is what Martha seems to be aiming for. And Jesus tells her it's really not what he wants. Jesus tells us, in Matthew’s Gospel, that the yoke is easy, and the burden is light. In some sense, Martha and Mary are illustrating that for us. We would feel like we were better Christians if the yoke were heavier. For all of Martha’s complaining, I think she enjoys the yoke being a bit heavy. It makes her feel validated. But Jesus has different values. Jesus’ yoke is easy because Jesus wants it that way. Mary has chosen the lighter yoke. Mary has chosen the better part. Mary has chosen to be present to Jesus. It sounds like the choice we would all make, but the truth is we’re all drawn to sit in that pew with Martha. The reality is that Mary and Martha need each other. They complete each other. We need to be hospitable to our brothers and sisters and strangers and orphans and prisoners, and so on. If we’re not, then we have not listened to Jesus... not heard the Gospel. But attention to those in need does not replace worship of God. Nor does worship of God replace care for our brothers and sisters, God’s Children... for all of God’s creatures. I have often heard this Gospel passage presented as a sort of binary choice. We must choose to be like Martha or to be like Mary – choose wisely. But in a Mary-only world folks would go hungry while in a Martha-only world, Jesus and the Gospel would be shoved aside. Our choice is not Martha or Mary – our choice is both... Mary and Martha... in balance with each other. The great commandment for us is to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves. And for each of us, this is a different exercise. Jesus sees us as individuals. Jesus calls to us where we are. In our modern world we often equate being busy with being good... valuable... important. The “Protestant Work Ethic” is part of our heritage. Or we quote the old truism that “idle hands are the devil’s workshop” - a notion that comes to us from Chaucer, not Jesus. Our modern world values activity over prayer. Yet you can’t look at the mess the world is in without recognizing that we need prayer, and we need it desperately. But we are badly out of balance on the Martha-Mary spectrum. Getting into balance does not involve going to the opposite end, just making little moves until balance is found. Our present secular world tells us that the Martha end of the spectrum is where we ought to be. But that is not a message from Jesus. Jesus loves us and wants nothing more that we should love him, love our fellow humans, and love God’s creation. Is there love in Martha’s heart? We don’t really know. If we listen to what she says about her sister, we can hear frustration and anger – lots of it. But love? I think the story is silent about that. Yet without love, as Paul would say, she is just a noisy cymbal. The work of discipleship is love. Anything done in love is discipleship. Anything done without love cannot be discipleship. It would be great if love were as simple as it tends to be in pop music... Easy to fall in love, to stay in love, to love forever... But popular music does not tell us the truth about love. The Letter to the Corinthians tells a more substantial story of love: Love is patient; love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast; it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. This story of Mary and Martha seems to me to embody the great command. Mary shows us the love of God and Martha shows us the love of neighbor. Our task is to unite them.

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost B - July 21, 2024

 Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, July 21, 2024

• Jeremiah 23:1-6
• Ephesians 2:11-22
• Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

In the name of God, the Creator, the Liberator and the Comforter.

Today’s gospel lection brings together two segments of Mark chapter 6 that frame more prominent episodes of Jesus’ ministry: the feeding of the 5,000 and the walking on water and calming of the storm. So, you’re missing the exciting bits today.

Today’s segments illustrate Jesus’ relationship to crowds. In the first instance, in the wilderness, he teaches them. In the second instance, back in Gennesaret, he heals their sick.

But before we go there, let me get something out of the way. All of my life, I have felt like I was missing a lot of points whenever the image of sheep and/or shepherds were used. Jesus’ audiences were way more familiar to sheep herding than we are. Pastoralists were everywhere to be seen with their flocks sometimes near and often in-between towns.

So, humor me. Here is “sheep and shepherds 101.”

Sheep or shepherds are mentioned over 1200 times throughout the bible. Obviously, this was a meaningful teaching image to the Israelites of Jesus’ time and centuries before that.

Sheep have been domesticated for over 10,000 years. Their domestication started in the Middle East which is the bible’s geographical context.

Over the time of their domestication, sheep lost the ability to self-regulate their flocking behavior. Small herds of wild sheep still can move about large landscapes in search of fresh grazing on their own. And they shed their coats naturally.

But domesticated sheep do not have natural leaders. They rely on the shepherd for leadership. Sheep recognize face, voice and smell of other sheep and of humans. So it is that a shepherd and his flock develop a symbiotic relationship. The shepherd keeps moving his flock, so it does not over-graze any one area of pasture. The shepherd develops calls that the sheep can interpret. Another human voice does not register in the same way.

Not only will sheep, left to their own device, over-graze an area; but individual sheep will wander away towards danger, possibly gathering a following. The shepherd keeps the flock together. When a sheep wanders regardless, the shepherd can go find it and bring it back.

Sheep can lie down and get stuck in hollows in the terrain with their legs sticking up, unable to reestablish a standing position. Shepherds can give stuck sheep a leg up.

Domesticated sheep do not shed their wool and need to be regularly shorn. 

As you can see, for their own safety and wellness, domesticated sheep can no longer be left to their own devices.

There, now you can go seek employment as shepherdesses and shepherds now.

The first part of today’s gospel lection talks about Jesus’ plan for him and the disciples after they come back from having gone on mission in pairs. They have worked hard and done wonders by the grace of Jesus while they were away. They are tired and would like to get quality time with Jesus to tell each other more about their mission trip.

Jesus, who understands the necessity for time away from the press of ministry to recharge in rest and prayer, makes a great suggestion. Let’s cross the lake and land in a wilderness where we can be on our own and renew our strength.

But by then, the crowds have become like the Swifties who track singer Taylor Swift’s jets online to know where she will be when. The crowds are hungry for Jesus’ teaching and healing. Some keen observers spot Jesus and his disciples getting in a boat and figure out where it is headed. The rumor spreads and enterprising fans of Jesus head that way by land, apparently making faster progress than Jesus’ boat.

“As Jesus went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.”

And there flounders the apostles’ hope for rest and recreation. Another sermon on this lection will need to focus on healthy boundaries in ministry to ensure resilience and durability. But we won’t go there today.

The operative phrase here is “he had compassion for them.” This is the essence of Jesus’ divinity. He sees the human condition. And as the dictionary defines compassion, He has sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings and misfortunes of others.

Jesus will consistently show that compassion throughout his ministry and up to his crucifixion.

The other salient phrase in this first part of our lection is:

“… because they were like sheep without a shepherd …”

Now you know in what jeopardy is a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Jesus sees the crowds and understands he can’t shirk his vocation to lead them by teaching them.

We are not all called to be teachers, but we can be witnesses to gospel values in how we live our lives amidst the other members of the flock. The way we behave in the world speaks volumes about our values. 

Jesus puts compassion before his immediate self-interest (a well-deserved rest with his best friends). How compassionate are we in our everyday lives?

The second part of today’s lection tells the story of Jesus and his disciples returning to an urban spot of the sea of Galilee; the town of Gennesaret and its surroundings.

They are back on the mission trail. There is no avoiding the crowds this time. Even going to a wilderness failed to achieve that.

Here again, people recognize Jesus as soon as they moor the boat. Word of mouth travels like dandelion seeds in the wind. And people rushed about the whole region to bring Him their lame and sick. Jesus does not subtract himself to the pressure of his ministry. Many manage to touch him and that is sufficient for them to be healed.

Jesus’ compassion led him time and again to meet the needs of his flock whether that be teaching or healing.

We may not be miracle-workers, but we can all have a healing effect on those around us.

Has a sympathetic hand on your shoulder or your forearm ever lightened your concern or pain? Has a loving hug from a friend or a relative ever soothed you? Has a kind smile ever lifted your spirits?

We can all do that, and more, given the right circumstances. Look out for opportunities to be a healer among those you live with and encounter.

We may not all be shepherds, but we can find ways to exercise our compassion for fellow sheep. And whenever we need leadership, look up to the Good Shepherd for guidance. May he lead you to green pastures.

Amen.

Proper 11 A - July 23, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

Proper 11, Year A - Sunday, July 23, 2023

 

Isaiah 44:6-8
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30,36-43

Click here for an audio of the sermon

“The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” is an episode from the original Twilight Zone series which aired on March 4, 1960.  Written by Rod Serling, the creator of the show and one of the main writers, it showcases his unflinching insight into the human condition in the form of a science fiction parable that spoke to 1960s America and, because there is nothing new under the sun, applies to our world as well.
     A bright flash crosses the evening sky. Curious, a group of Maple Street neighbors gather outside to ponder the event.  Then the strangeness commences - lights flicker, then power goes out, rumors of alien invasion creep in from the edges of the darkness. Fear rises in a slow boil.  The neighbors, so nice, so like us, grow desperate in their need to understand what is happening and reassert normalcy and control in the face of events that make no rational sense. Maybe someone knows something. Maybe someone is keeping a secret.  Guns appear, one is used to kill. The fear turns to mayhem - everyone against everyone.  The irony of the title is that the monsters never appear on Maple Street, they don’t have to - the monsters are already there - they have been there the whole time.  The fear of something monstrous outside has hooked these neighbors to become the thing they fear in order to conquer the foreign presence, and they infect each other.  As the episode ends, the camera pans out from Maple Street to a nearby hill, where we see a pair of otherworldly invaders observing the madness.
One says to the other, “Understand the procedure now?  Just stop a few of their machines, and radios, telephones, and lawnmowers - throw them into darkness for a few hours and then sit back and watch the pattern.”
“The pattern is always the same?”
“With few variations, they pick the most dangerous enemy they can find, and it’s themselves.  All we need do is sit back and watch.”
“I take it this place, this Maple Street, it is not unique.”
“By no means, the world is full of Maple Streets. We go from one to the other and let them destroy themselves. One to the other, one to the other, one to the other.”
Rod Serling adds this epilogue to what we have just seen:
“The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices… For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own - for the children and the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is that these things cannot be confined to the Twilight Zone.”

The irony in the episode is that the aliens understand human nature at a deeper level than the humans.  Rod Serling living in 1960 America sees the procedure in action.  The country had just come through the McCarthy era and was in the depths of the Cold War and ongoing racial segregation in the South. His call is simple and profound - we must look at what we are doing to each other and stop the slide to self-destruction.  The ones who proclaimed themselves the purifiers, the gatekeepers, the greatness-returners, employed evil language and behavior in the name of defending what they believed was right and moral.    
But Maple Street leaves us in despair, without a solution or an alternative other than the knowledge that collective prejudice and suspicion turn us into monsters. What is lacking is a larger narrative, some hopeful mode of resistance to patterns of suspicion and violence, and the promise that the world is held in loving care and is moving toward a just resolution that sets it right and sets us free.
Jesus created worlds familiar to us with surprising twists and unexpected turns.  We call them parables.  He, too, holds up a mirror, warns us about what lurks within us, but does not leave us there. He models and offers a way of being that expands the possibility of what we can hope for and beckons us to live with the memory of a future that informs how we live in the present.
Continuing from the parable of the soils we heard last week, the good growing plants that bring life are an image of we who have heard the word and put it into practice.  If the parable of the soils locates the identity of a disciple as one in whom life grows and flourishes, then the parable of the weeds and the wheat speaks of living our identity.  
This week the wheat seeds are sown, an enemy sows weeds among the wheat, both grow, and the crisis point is what to do now.  The slaves inquire about pulling out the weeds, but the landowner knows better than to do that before the wheat is ready for harvest.  He is the Christ figure, the voice of wisdom and perspective in the parable.  He can perceive what is below the surface and in the future: “Let both of them grow together until the harvest”, he tells the slaves.  The landowner loves the field. He asks the slaves to trust him.  It may look like the wheat is about to be ruined, the slaves want to fix the problem, but the mystery is that the best action in that time before the harvest is no action.  With patience, at the right time, the wheat’s full head of grain will appear and the field will yield a harvest of good food.
The surprise of the parable is that the workers are not prevented from doing evil or exhorted to do good, but restrained from doing what they understand to be good and helpful and that precisely in that forbearance is the preservation and preparation for the harvest they desire. In the world of the parable, what the slaves see is not all there is, what they fear happening is not going to happen, what looks like death is actually the only way to life.
The “let them” here is the same word sometimes translated in other places as “suffer”, “permit”, or “forgive”.  In the world of this field in its mixed state of wheat and weeds, as an image of our world, the only option available to us if we want to get any usable grain out of it is to refrain from acting on what seems good in the moment, trust a larger, longer perspective, and wait in belief that what feels like helplessness in endangering the wheat is actually faithfulness in saving it.  “Let them both grow together” is not passive resignation.  It does not mean that we ignore the weeds, pretend they are wheat, or that the wheat is to become weeds because it is next to weeds, or that the crop is ruined. What it does mean is that God alone intervenes and separates and enacts ultimate and righteous judgment.
When so much Christian language is about doing, going, success, growth, and effectiveness, this parable serves as a check and corrective on our over-inflated ideas about our roles and engages us to be cooperative participants in and witnesses to this larger and longer process of redemption that is totally designed by God, in God’s control, and unfolding in God’s time.  Most of us are not going to go out intending to harm.  But we are prone to the subtle ways we collude with evil in the voice that says, “maybe God is a little slow, maybe God needs a reminder, a push. Could we pull out a few of the weeds, please? We would feel so much better!”
The human vocation is not to eradicate evil from the world.  As good and important are our efforts to pray for, model, and declare reconciliation, healing, peace, justice, and equality, we will be doing that until the end of the age because there will be a need for it.  Domination in the name of justice, for right ends, is still domination.  Disdain and judgment toward those who we believe are wrong, who in fact may be perpetrating harm, is not justifiable because we have now added our harm to their harm.  The social frenzy of demonizing the other as if we can remain separate and untouched by the demonizing is the dynamic Jesus is naming here.  The wheat cannot untangle its roots from the weeds without killing itself.  Beware any rhetoric which assuredly points toward the guilty, the unclean, the dangerous, and promises to purify the field and guarantee a utopian world of safety and protection - the procedure is being restarted.  Robert Capon says about this parable, “The only result of a truly dedicated campaign to get rid of evil will be the abolition of literally everybody.”  
In the end, God does what only God can do in God’s way and time - is liberate creation from sin and evil and death.  In the end, the landowner gets everything and the enemy gets nothing but a lost night’s sleep.  This is a hard, but necessary look at ourselves, our power, and God’s justice.  Real power, then, is to refuse to go down with the weeds, to remember that hope is forbearance and justice is carrying on with growing in the face of that which seeks to destroy us.   It may not look like it today, we may not be able to imagine it yet, but the harvest is coming.  The wheat is going to be fine.

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 11 A - July 19, 2020

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Rober James Magliula, OHC

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 11 A - July 19,.2020

Isaiah 44:6-8
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30,36-43

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

Of all the gospel writers, Matthew is the one who warms to any parable that has to do with judgment. He wants clarity, where things are black or white, good or bad, blessed or cursed. It’s something he has in common with the early Christians to whom his Gospel is addressed.

 

There was a growing concern within the young Christian community after the destruction of Jerusalem. The focus was on the contradictory forces at work within the Church at the end of the first century. The church at Antioch began as a church of Diaspora Jewish Christians following the initial Jerusalem persecution. As an urban church it reflected the ethnic diversity common to large cities. 

They were concerned with how to deal with those who initially seem identical to them but over time were revealed as different in their expression of faith and their actions. The Church on earth has always been a mixed body. Matthew may have been clear that there are only two kinds of people in the world---the wheat and the weeds---but it’s a clarity that escapes most of us today. We have encountered both kinds---in ourselves, in our neighbors, and in the world.

 

Matthew’s version of the parable is told to the crowds, and another annotated version is told to the disciples. Some scholars have said that Jesus never explained his parables. Those who recorded them couldn’t stand their ambiguity. They felt that they had to interpret them clearly so that no one who heard them later would misunderstand. In this we see Matthew’s discrimination between insiders and outsiders, between those with ears to hear and those without. To the insiders the message is clear: never mind that there seems to be a lot of weeds in the world. When the last day comes, the wheat will be vindicated while the weeds will go up in smoke. 

Parables are mysterious and their mystery has everything to do with their longevity. Explanations are so much easier than mysteries. An explanation lets you know where you stand. Parables behave more like dreams or poems. They speak in images which talk more to our hearts than to our heads. They teach us something different every time we hear them. 

Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between good and bad. Appearances can be deceiving. The weeds referred to are bearded darnel. It’s a plant that’s related to wheat. It looks like wheat, but it’s poisonous. If enough of its small black seeds get into the bread dough it can cause hallucinations, blindness, or even death. Its roots surround the roots of good plants making it difficult to separate it out without damaging the crop. Palestinian farmers learn to deal with it early. They uproot it once or twice before harvest so that they don’t have to separate the seeds by hand. To let the wheat and darnel grow together posed an unnecessary risk that this farmer is willing to take. He’s eccentric, even by ancient standards, by refusing to allow his servants to uproot the weeds because it might uproot the wheat. “Leave the weeds and wheat alone. Let them grow together” he says. He does not share our appetite for a pure crop. He lets us know that growth interests him more than perfection.

I don’t know what makes us think that we are any smarter about ourselves or about the other people in our lives. We are so quick to judge, as if we were so sure that we knew the difference between wheat and weeds. Often our lives resemble the farmer’s infested field, with weeds and wheat intertwined in our souls, hearts, and minds. Each of us is some mixture of wheat and weed, of holy and unholy, of potentially fruitful and potentially destructive. In the concern to sort out evil from good, we have only to be reminded of our own fickleness and betrayal, to be aware of how easy it is to rush to judgement. He tells his servants to be patient and wait until the harvest when they can see the difference in the fruit. 

A lack of patience defines our day. In our polarized society, we too question who we can afford to let in and who must remain out, who is accepted by God and who is not.  In the very act of asking such questions, we assume that it is our job to draw up the specifications regarding the wideness of God’s or the Church’s welcome. God’s wisdom is to let all grow together. God makes room for a holy and purposeful ambiguity. The God who is glimpsed in this parable models for us an infinite patience that frees us to get on with the crucial business of loving, or at least living with each other. Often in the space created by such patience, it is not just others but we ourselves who are welcomed into a larger reality. It is toward this very God that we are forever moving, individually and collectively. On such a journey, it’s not our job to determine who is within and who is beyond this God’s attention. Our job to imagine everyone as belonging to this God and to endeavor to embrace God’s holy and purposeful ambiguity.

Patience is required in order to hope. Patience is not the same as acquiescence. It’s not satisfied with the present but lives toward a future promised by God. In the Epistle, Paul says hope is rooted in an ability to see what one does not yet see. It creates a contrast between what is hoped for and the present state of affairs. To hope is to have a restless heart and not to escape the suffering of the present time. In fact, the one who hopes may be the only one with the courage to endure the suffering of the present. Like a woman in labor, suffering and hope are not contradictory, but inseparably interwoven. Hope fuels the imagination for the way things ought to be and empowers the one who hopes to confront evil knowing that it’s not final. 

Most Americans are optimistic but not hopeful, clinging not to truth, but to the myth of progress, despite unceasing wars, violence, and injustice. This pandemic invites us to reevaluate our priorities and offers us an opportunity to become aware of the social and spiritual viruses of racism and white supremacy. Based on prejudice and fear, they have remained unnamed and unacknowledged by many, from generation to generation. No doubt, sin is evident in our world. It’s easy to become discouraged. Given our current circumstances, we can identify with the Israelites addressed by Isaiah in our first reading in their exile in Babylon. They endured the loss of everything but life itself. They were strangers in a strange land, seemingly abandoned by their God. They learned to harden themselves against hope. 

The prophet to that marginalized community sang them a new song designed to comfort, liberate, dispel fear, and instill hope. As he reminded them of who they are and whose they are, so he reminds us. The true witness of one’s faith comes alive in the dark moments when it’s difficult to see the blessings of God. Isaiah reminds us that the witnesses that God seeks are those who are faithful regardless of their situation. God’s word through the prophet, “You are my witnesses”, is a clear indication of divine dependency on the voices and actions of God’s people, as an alternative community to the destructive ways of life embraced by the larger culture. 

Under stress we are nostalgic for the old normal. There’s nothing wrong with many of those desires for the old, but if we have learned anything, we will not go back unthinkingly. Looking at it from today’s perspective, the old normal was not so great, not something to be nostalgic about, without also being deeply critical of it. Just as grace is a sheer gift of God, so also is the gift of being open to the possibilities of an unexpected future, trusting that all will be well even when events are out of our control. Isaiah reminds us that God’s mercy is as steady as a heartbeat. God’s faithfulness is as solid as rock. Even as we experience the discomfort of this time, let’s begin to dream of a new normal that addresses the weaknesses and problems that were unaddressed. If we’ve learned anything, we won’t go back; we’ll go forward.

+Amen.

 

Proper 11- Year A- June 23, 2017

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Randy Greve, OHC
Proper 11 -  Sunday, June 23, 2017

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

“Whoever says, ‘You fool’ shall be liable to the hell of fire.” “If your right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away.” “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” “Love you enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” “You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” “Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” “For many are called, but few are chosen.” “You brood of vipers, how are you to escape being sentenced to hell?”

You get the idea. These phrases, out of context though they be, hyperbole though a few certainly are, are nevertheless the words of our Lord.  F. F. Bruce wrote a book called The Hard Sayings of Jesus which collected and made comment on what Bruce called two categories of hard sayings; one group hard because they are an ancient culture’s idiomatic way of communicating, thus making their meaning to us unclear and their interpretation difficult. The other group he labelled hard sayings because their meaning was crystal clear - the doing it is hard.   

Parables could be their own third category of hard sayings in the Gospels. Some have a clear moral message, but some are of the more mystical variety, and oriented toward a way of being rather than a particular action.  Our Gospel today is of this second grouping. They describe the mystery of a process:  a small, insignificant seed grows into a large tree. A bit of fermentation permeates a whole loaf of bread. A hidden treasure inspires one last, ultimate purchase.  A merchant searches for the one, great, elusive find.

 A net gathers in whatever happens to be swimming within reach. The images in these parables find commonality in their service to something greater than themselves at the beginning – the seed is not the tree, only its potential. The yeast of itself is useless without the dough. The hidden treasure, unless found, remains unknown. The one searching is not fulfilled without the discovered pearl. The net, unless it is used and cast, cannot get fish on its own. Each parable is about hidden power or desire let loose to do its thing; potential actualized which sets in motion a process which leads to fulfillment. Each object or motive needs activation, purposefulness, and meaning in order to do what makes its existence or action transcendent.

As a group these mini-parables begin to form some insight into the mystery of the kingdom of heaven. God is the cosmic conspirator of abundance. Kingdom is a verb. Kingdom is happening in the crisis of the recognition of the divine. The kingdom is not some distant or static time or place, but already present and happening now. It is a crisis because if truly recognized, its happening cannot be ignored.The reality of the kingdom is in encountering which must become responding, a reorienting of our lives around and toward that central, ultimate reality. The focus in parables is always on the urgency of the moment, the power of choice, which is all that is ours.

The parables of judgment which mention the end of this age are still of the present moment in rousing us to notice the path we are on – and its eventual endpoint. To our passivity and lack of attention, the kingdom can come as the experience of failure, but the cooperation with a process larger and more mysterious than we can grasp in the moment transforms the upheaval into life that could not happen any other way. If the Christian call is to being that is present to the possibility of this encounter and receiving it willingly, then these parables help us to know the kind of life we are welcoming.

Kingdom life is always a critique of our desire for immediate gratification, recognition, or control. The merchant is a good example of this. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” This is a hard saying, although it is not mentioned in F. F. Bruce’s book.  Loving enemies and turning the other cheek have a certain concrete moral authority behind them – I can generally tell whether I’m even making an attempt or not.  “In search” is certainly a hard saying. I want the great experience, the miracle, the big success, the quick fix. “Search” is more open-ended, a way of being bigger than the neat, nailed-down answers that get me out of the tension. On a search I am not in control, do not know the where or when.

I want to achieve, get it done, do it right. On a search I cannot conform, there is no map. Searching evokes a commitment to presence and attention and expectancy, especially if something of great value is waiting to be found. And in finally finding I am defined by new relationships and commitments, “selling” my old identity for the value of the priceless pearl.

Parables resist easy moralizing because they bend time and space. Is the merchant encountering the kingdom in the search, in finding the treasure, in selling all, or in buying it?  Yes. It is not linear. They are happening simultaneously.  In the searching is the hope of finding and selling all and buying the pearl. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis says in his commentary that, “this is the joy uniquely inherent in the one act that is at once, paradoxically, an act of supreme freedom and of supreme self-giving, of most radical self-emptying and of unimaginable fullness.”

Hard sayings are hard because they are telling us something about ourselves.  It is not that Jesus is harsh, demanding, or rigid, but that these unflinching declarations about reality hit the equally unbending reality of my willfulness. But the parables will not bend.

It is I who must yield to their wisdom.  If the parables and other provocative sayings of Jesus did not challenge our status quo, we would not choose to cooperate with the process of change desiring to work in us. Hard is good. Hard means they have the force of grace to break up my resistance, to reach my heart and change me as nothing else can.

The mystery of the kingdom is that God has chosen to be present and active in a way that is usually contrary to our egos’ inclination. This is the gift and the madness of the way of Jesus.  While the miraculous can happen, most of the journey is day-to-day faithfulness in the realm of the hidden, small, and slow. The hiddenness, smallness and slowness of the kingdom calls forth attentiveness, patience, perseverance, and a trust that something is indeed happening and that it matters in the long run and in the big picture, even though I can only see partially and incompletely. Like the merchant searching for his perfect pearl, the distance between me and the pearl I desire is my conversion. And in this searching and hope my heart is formed into something more wonderful and loving than it could be by itself, because it encounters itself and rests within the reality of God’s conspiracy of abundance.

The conspiracy unfolds in God’s own way and God’s own time, but unfold it does.  Everything on the way to heaven is heaven, St. Catherine of Siena says.  Cultivate and honor the longing and waiting, it is doing its work. Let us plant our seeds and mix in our yeast and set out on our search and cast our nets – and trust in God’s name. Amen.

Proper 11 B - Jul 22, 2012

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC
Proper 11 B – Sunday, July 22, 2012


Jeremiah 23:1-6
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

O God, you rested on the seventh day and are still at work; in the course of this busy life
give us times of refreshment and peace, and grant that we may so use our leisure to
rebuild our bodies and renew our minds, that our spirits may be opened to the goodness
of your creation. Amen.

A Traveler's Prayer Book, p. 114

In the Customal of the Order of the Holy Cross we read: “Provision shall be made for an annual retreat of ten days and for monthly retreats, and these times must be carefully guarded against interruptions and distractions.” We also read: “Provision shall be made that each member of the Order may have an annual vacation of at least two weeks.”

I think we need to begin with the simple acknowledgment that St. Benedict, our great monastic legislator, would have been either deeply puzzled or frankly appalled at such suggestions. Benedictines have made much of the virtues of a balanced life, a life lived within the monastery in such a way that all needs—spiritual, psychological, social—are met. A life lived in such a way that there would be no need for special periods of
“retreat” or so-called vacations, that is, times away from the monastery or the monastic round, a concept that St. Benedict thought deeply dangerous to a monk’s spiritual life.

But in this, I think, we need also to acknowledge that Benedict, at least insofar as we can gather from his Rule, and Benedictines who are literalists when it comes to the Rule, simply have it wrong. At least for us. At least now. How often the monastic rhythm needs to be broken, and for how long, and where and how we spend our “free” time or time away are surely matters of debate and discernment, but that such breaks and such times are necessary seems beyond question.

Even Jesus seems to get this point. In today's Gospel the disciples return to Jesus after some very successful and exciting missionary journeys where they cast out demons and cured the sick. They excitedly report to Jesus what they had accomplished. And Jesus' response? “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Or as Eugene Peterson's The Message has it: “Let's take a break and get a little rest.” For as Scripture tells us: “...many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.”

The whole question of “leisure” is a very loaded one for us, and “time away” or “time off” or whatever is the equivalent for you, is very complicated and profoundly culturally layered. Consider all the different words we associate with leisure: holiday, holy day, vacation, feast, sabbath, sabbatical, day off, down time, weekend, long weekend, leisure industry, leisure travel, even leisure suit...which I considered wearing as I preached this
homily, but couldn't find one in lime green.

Surprisingly, Christian monasticism has a long tradition of speaking of “holy leisure.”  And even Benedict’s Rule, though it makes absolutely no provision for retreats or vacations or days off, shapes a way of life that is regularly punctuated by the differing rhythms of the calendar and of liturgical and agricultural seasons, of Sundays and Holy Days, feasts and fasts. In a “world lit only by fire,” life in a medieval monastery in
December was very different from life in that same monastery in March or August. That is something most, if not all, of us will never again know at first hand. And add to this the opportunity for regular local fairs or market days, guests, pilgrims and crusaders, wars (which God forbid!) and the growth of towns around the always permeable boundaries of monastic enclosures, and you have a pretty rich and diverse menu of activity and rest, and of varying human experiences and encounters.

But what about us? What does leisure look like for us? What do we expect of it? How do we go about it? What do we want, say, out of a vacation? A retreat? A pilgrimage? A sabbatical? Time away? Time out? Time off?

These are often difficult questions to address, both personally and communally, because we now live in a society that values, indeed over values, busyness. Consider this from a recent edition of the New York Times Opinionator column as summarized in the latest Christian Century:

When you ask people how they’re doing these days, a stock response is “crazy busy.”  That’s “a boast disguised as a complaint,” says blogger Tim Kreider. It is not the complaint of a person who has to work three jobs to make ends meet. Their response would likely be, “I’m tired.” Busyness for professional people is often self-imposed to inflate a sense of self-worth. Kreider wonders whether keeping busy is a cover-up for the fact that much of what we do doesn’t matter. “Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets,” Kreider says.

There is of course truth in what St. Benedict recognized in his Rule, that “idleness is the enemy of the soul.” But it is at best a partial truth. There is the enforced idleness that comes from illness or disability, from unemployment or imprisonment, which can indeed be soul destroying. And there is the idleness that comes from a kind of spiritual malaise or laziness—the famous acedia of the Desert Fathers—wherein one chooses to not see what needs to be done or, having seen it, decides to not act at all, a kind of laziness or torpor or selfishness or downright greed with regard to our time and energy and gifts.

But there is another kind of idleness that is, as Mr. Kreider says, “as indispensable to the brain [and the soul] as Vitamin D is to the body” And that is the kind of idleness to which I believe Jesus is inviting his disciples and us in today’s Gospel. It is the idleness that comes after a busy day, after work well done. The idleness that comes after responding to real human needs and claims made upon us or after waiting patiently upon
God, even if nothing obvious has been asked of us except to wait patiently in hope. This kind of resting, of taking a break, of going on neutral or catching our breath, is really miscategorized as idleness. Perhaps it might be better termed openness or availability or just being. And as Abraham Heschel reminds us, just to be is a blessing.

A contemporary monk writing about “monastic leisure” says of that strange term:

Taking each moment of the day as a gift from God I think is something that everyone can do. It's not exactly rest, but it's not rushing around trying to get too much done either. Monastic leisure is, perhaps, an attitude which is transformed into an action.  Monastic leisure is a “calm approach” toward the responsibilities and challenges of each day. We do what needs to be done at the time it needs to be done and try not to worry about what needs to be done next.

How wonderful! And if only we could all live that way every day, all the time, we would probably never need annual retreats or days off or vacations of at least two weeks.

But alas, few of us have mastered that fine art of living. So off we go in search of the right place, the right time, the right director, the right people (friends, strangers, family, ourselves), the right activity or inactivity in which and at which and with whom to spend our precious leisure time. Jesus understands. Maybe Jesus even approves. But let's remember that for us, the getting away is not an escape...at least not primarily. It is, rather, our project to come home to ourselves more fully and permanently so that wherever we are—at work, in church, in the office, at the beach, in the monastery, in the kitchen or the supermarket—we can live more comfortably in our own skin and thus be more fully God's and more fully present to our neighbors and our world. This is the happy and desired outcome of “holy leisure,” though few of us think about it or plan for it explicitly. Maybe we should.

Like the disciples in today's Gospel, we all need to come away from time to time and rest awhile. I know I do. My guess is that you do as well.

So... how was your weekend? What are you going to do (or not do) on your day off?  And where are you going on your summer vacation? However you answer these questions, remember that the Lord goes with you. That the Lord is with you.

Enjoy!