Keeping It Real

Sermon from Grace and St. Stephen's 5/8/16 Acts 16:16-34

Many of you know me as Father Jeremiah's wife and others may be wondering what that woman who sits in the back and is always trying to keep her kids quiet in church is doing in the pulpit. It is not easy making a good first impression when you have two little ones. Under normal circumstances one would like to appear: collected, calm, rational, energetic, able to complete a thought without suddenly leaving to make sure a two year old has not escaped. But kids have a way of keeping you real, showing your true colors for all to see and making you honest. So instead of seeing me devoutly praying in the pews or hitting every note of the hymns, many of you have seen me giving out bags of goldfish crackers, bending over grabbing toys from under the pew and doing a lot of shushing. One Sunday I may have even said “if you two can not behave and be quiet right now then you won't have Ipad time today or EVER!” I know, I know, idle threats and perhaps even threats in general are usually frowned upon by parenting books. But thanks to the two mini people I always have with me you have also seen me giggling, making silly faces, tickling and enjoying hugs and kisses. Good impressions out the window, I am a mom of little ones and those little ones don't let me pretend to have my act together.

Kids have a way of keeping us real. They bring out our short fuses, our insecurities about what others think, our silly faces, ill-timed giggles and even, for my husband, messy high fives at the end of the service while wearing beautiful vestments. They keep us real … and they ask for the same in return. When they have these big emotions that they don't know how to control, when their urges are taking over their little bodies, when they don't understand or are afraid or too slow or too loud in church they ask us to keep them real. Remember who they are, remember their big heart, their innocence, their generously poured out love, their need. Remember when they were that tiny body holding tightly to your warmth in a brand new world. They ask us to still keep our arms open for them even when they push away, to keep looking at them with love even when they scream back. And of course it isn't just when they are little. We have all been teenagers and probably pushed away, embarrassed or insulted our parents. We have all been teenagers or young adults or maybe even full grown adults trying to find ourselves, be our own person, push away and all the while hoping our parents or someone can still see us for the child that we are- our innocence, fears, love, hurts and hearts.

As I read the passage from Acts, I heard this same sort of realness, this craving for love, acceptance and a desire to be seen. It starts with a slave girl. A girl with a gift that was not actually much of a gift to her, but rather a reason for her to be exploited. Like a figure in a circus she was put on display for the profit of her owners. In Paul and Silas she sees something real. She knows who they really are and she is letting it be known, repeatedly and inconveniently. And then she is set free by Paul. No longer profitable, finally seen not as a way of making money but rather as a real person.

Because of this, because they have cost the girl's owners money, Paul and Silas are stripped and beaten and thrown in jail. And that's when they have their next person- to- person encounter. As they are praying and singing hymns in their jail cell, the earth shakes and their chains are loosened. Back then, if a prisoner escapes or is freed, the jailer is held responsible and may be killed. So the jailer prepares to kill himself until Paul stops him. It's crazy, after being stripped and beaten, they are sitting in their cell, chains and shackles around them, their open wounds uncleaned and suddenly they have a chance to get out. They could see it as a message from God saying, “go, run, teach more people about Jesus.” After all, they could do a lot more work for the Kingdom of God with their heads attached. But they stay. They consider the jailer, not as the man who locked them up to rot in a cell but as a person, a soul, a child of God. They share with him the Good News of Jesus Christ. He washes their wounds, he feeds them, he and his family are baptized. A missed opportunity for escape turned into a celebration, a dinner among friends.

And then after that, in the part of the story not read today, the next morning word is sent to the jailer that Paul and Silas can go free. But they won't go. They want to see the police face to face, they want to be seen as people, they declare that they are Roman citizens and the police come and apologize. What a wacky turn of events: exploitation and beating end with baptism and apologies. A story of anger and violence turned into a story of real people.

It is so hard to imagine not taking that break for freedom. Not running out of that jail and instead staying, seeing the jailer as a real person and reaching his heart. But Paul and Silas were followers of a real, in the flesh God who invites us to take his body and blood. God, not high above or far away, but intimately with us, seeing us, loving us, knowing us.

It makes me think of that story on the news about the Pope and the Syrian refugees. For many of us the refugee crisis is hard to wrap our minds around. Five million refugees trying to find a safe place in the world. We see glimpses of their faces but know them only as “they” “them” “those people” or a problem with no solution. A people with no place to go and countries trying to figure out how to be hospitable and sustainable at the same time. It is a massive, world-wide crisis with no end in sight. But when Pope Francis visited a refugee camp in Turkey, he took the time to see this massive crisis as actual faces, with real stories and real hopes. At the refugee camp he got to know twelve refugees and brought them back home with him to Rome. And then suddenly we get to learn more about these people. We hear their stories, learn of their journey and see their tired two year old asleep on his dad's shoulders. Of course 12 people among 5 million are just a drop in the bucket, but those drops in the bucket are real people with real stories and as they asked the Pope to pray for them it was a witness to the world of what it means to follow an incarnate God who sees and loves people. A story of war, fear and survival turned into a time of prayer, acceptance and love. A story of violence turned into a story of real people.

Perhaps in a world full of hurting people, in a political season or even with our own family, this is the best way to keep the greatest commandment to love God with all our heart and soul and love our neighbors as ourselves- Seeing others as real people, remembering that everyone has a story, everyone has hurts, fears and love. Perhaps when we are at our lowest, feeling hopeless, afraid, lost or alone, what we need to do is see another for who they really are, look them in the eye and experience the presence of our incarnate God in that human connection.

Mother's Day is a wonderful day for some, an opportunity to give thanks and love to someone who has been able to see us through our darkest times, love us when we are unlovable, and keep their arms open for us when we push away. But for others it is a difficult day. Not every mother is able to give that kind of love to her child. Sometimes illness or survival or learned behaviors can stand in the way of a loving relationship. And that is a hard thing to deal with. We want to know, at any age, that at the end of our temper tantrum there will be a calm and loving voice to welcome us back to reality. We want to know that when we are awful or overcome with emotions or lost or afraid there is always a place to call home.

But even if our mothers aren't able to be there in this way for us, we know that our God is real with us, body and blood. Our God sees us for who we are, knows our story, sees our wounds, our hurts, our hearts and still sees us as children.

When we first moved here I felt a bit like a National Geographic reporter on assignment. I had never been to Colorado before the interview. When we told people we were moving here they would ask “do you have family there?” I replied “we don't even know one single person in the entire state.” I have lived in Ohio and New Jersey so mountains, bears and altitude all sounded very strange and foreign. My friends and family from Ohio anxiously asked questions about what it was like out here. I remember saying things like “they are incredibly friendly and wear vests a lot.”

Now it has been three months and these strange creatures called “Coloradoans” have become real and beloved people to us. I have already been fortunate enough to make wonderful friends, Jeremiah got to spend weeks in rector's forum sharing our stories and hearing yours, and you have watched my face redden as my children greedily grab cookies at coffee hour, you may have even seen our whole family walking backwards down the hallway because the giggles it brings are irresistible. Things have gotten real.

And as we grow together over the years I am sure there will be many more giggles and red faces. It is wonderful to know that all of us, every single person here, can be who we are because we are children of God. Even when others may see us as a means to an end, a profitable venture, a criminal to let rot, an occupation to hold

accountable or just a number in a crisis, God sees us, really sees us, calls us child and embraces us with the love of an elated mother holding her newborn baby.