Christ the Prisoner- Sermon from St Paul's Episcopal Albany 11/24/24

 

John 18:33-37

          During the week, I get to spend time serving as a hospital chaplain. This means I go from room to room asking patients if they would like to have a conversation. Sometimes, they reply with “but I’m not religious” but I explain that the chaplains visit everyone and we provide space to talk about anything on their mind whether or not they are religious. When I knock on the door of a hospital room, I may have a name and a birthdate but beyond that I have no idea what to expect behind the door. It could be someone who just received a devastating diagnosis, it could be someone on the phone fighting with their spouse, someone happily dressed and ready to go home or someone prepared to scream at anyone who walks through the door. It really doesn’t matter because every time I enter into a patient’s room, I see them as a child of God, no matter what may be happening around them.

 

          But I had an experience the other day that distracted me a bit. I entered the room and the patient was restrained and next to the bed stood two armed police officers. Now, this is not a particularly unusual scene to find- I have visited with plenty of folks who have been incarcerated and plenty who have had someone in the room to monitor their safety- but for various reasons I found this room particularly distracting- maybe it was because my mind naturally kept wondering why the person was incarcerated? Maybe because during the visit the guards changed shifts which created a bit of a scene. For whatever reason, I left that room feeling uncomfortable. At first I thought maybe it was because of all of the distractions, but it wasn’t until I read today’s Gospel passage in preparation for today, that I realized, that visit wasn’t sitting right with me because I let all that was going on distract me from the child of God that was in front of me. I did not fully see and fully focus on the person and allowed myself to be swayed by all of the things in the room that took away from their humanity.

 

          As a pastor, I have visited parishioners in prison or jail before. It’s always a heart-breaking process. There is this person that you care about and in the situations I was in, they were behind a glass, talking through a telephone and surrounded by people watching them closely and even for me, on the other side of the glass, it felt confining- being led through various steel doors that required ids to open – it felt like a very constricted environment in many ways, and with many barriers to genuinely connected with the person behind the glass. So many people watching, so many things in place to separate.

 

          These are the memories that came to my mind when I read the Gospel passage for today … Christ the King. Because the Jesus we encounter in this passage from John is Christ the Prisoner. This part of the Gospel lesson comes right after Jesus is arrested and “bound,” right after his disciple Peter denies being his disciple, right after Jesus is smacked in the face and right after Pilate asks Caiaphas why the religious authorities don’t deal with Jesus themselves and he says “because they can’t put anyone to death.” And so here we meet Jesus today. A bound, beaten, chastised and denied prisoner. And right after this passage he will be flogged and beaten. Our Christ the King is Christ the Prisoner.

 

          And Christ the Prisoner is how they all want to see him. Pilate is trying to get him to say he thinks he is a king so he can get this over with. No one wants to hear his words or see his humanity, they especially don’t want to see his divinity, they want to see him as the prisoner, they want to despise him, to kick him and mock him and cheer when the criminal is freed and he is not. They want to label him, dismiss him and get it over with.

 

          When you think of a population that is most despised, most looked down on and most hated … it’s usually prisoners. And that’s what Jesus is in this passage. The one we worship and bow to is the one who is bound and beaten. The one who we call ruler, King, Savior … is ridiculed, mocked and despised. It’s all flipped over, topsy-turvy, messed up, askew, not right, nonsensical. Christ the Prisoner is Christ the King.

 

          The Gospel has a way of doing that, God has a way of doing that- flipping things around, the last shall be first, the humble lifted up, the mourning are blessed … the crucified is the savior.

 

          Surely then, those who worship Christ, those who follow the Gospels will be a people who value the lost, the lonely, the dehumanized, the poor, the suffering, those cast aside and not the powerful, wealthy and arrogant … right?

          Surely then, those who worship Christ, those who follow the Gospels will know that when they are downtrodden, rejected, despised, cast out, thrown away that Christ is with them … right?

          Surely then, those who worship Christ, those who follow the Gospels will know that they do not have to be perfect by the world’s standards, flawless, without sin and never wrong in order to know Christ’s deep and endless love … right?

 

          Surely we will know that in the darkest parts of ourselves, in our shame, in our despair in the parts of ourselves that are too dark, too difficult, too embarrassing, too imperfect … in those places the light of Christ dwells. The light of the one who was judged, despised, bound, accused and mocked. Surely we will know that Christ our King can see behind the masks that we wear- to the child of God underneath, despite all the distractions, all the chaos, all the societal standards, all the mistakes and all the flaws.  Jesus says “Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” He says this not when he is raised in Glory on the throne, but when he is bound and beaten and the world has turned against him. This is the voice that holds the truth. Can we listen?

 

          Can we see beyond the labels and the standards and the expectations and the distractions and see the light of Christ in one another, can we see the love of God in our very imperfect world, can we see the Holy Spirit that dwells within us in our flawed bodies?

 

          There are many different types of people that I encounter in the hospital and in the world. I see people of all different backgrounds and religions, people with a criminal background and those who have led a life of tremendous love and generosity. People who have been lifelong Christians and devoted themselves to the church and people who have never set foot in a church. One thing that I find over and over again in all types of people of all ages and from all backgrounds is that it can be really hard to convince people that they are loved- like truly loved. I think this is the most heartbreaking part for me of being a chaplain and it was definitely the most heartbreaking part of being a youth pastor at our last church and a pastor before that … people are carrying so much shame. It is not nearly as hard to convince others that someone else is deserving of God’s unconditional love- even if that person has done terrible things- but to convince someone that they do- that’s a challenge. A challenge God was so invested in that God sent God’s only son here to this world to see us face to face, to endure suffering, to be beaten and bound to tell us that God loves us … not just them, but us, you and me. The prison uniform does not distract God from seeing the beloved child within. Your mistakes and wounds do not distract God from seeing the beloved child you are.

 

          So this is how we end our church year. Next week we begin a new liturgical year with the first Sunday of Advent, we go back to the beginning of the Gospel story, but today we come to the end, the last Sunday in our yearly walk through the Gospels … and our beautiful conclusion is a prisoner proclaiming the truth before being flogged. This is the hope of the world, that our brokenness is not the final answer, that our mistakes are not who we are, that our labels do not define us before the one who created us, that our hatred and divisions and attempts at dehumanizing one another will fade and give way to a much greater love, that we are not hopeless, we are not thrown away, we are not forgotten …. We are made whole, we are forgiven, we are loved by Christ the Prisoner. This is Christ the King.

Stewardship Sunday Sermon from St. Stephen's Episcopal in Delmar

 11/17/24 Matthew 6:19-21

          I grew up in a small suburb of Youngstown, Ohio called Girard. It was a working class town that bordered the edge of Youngstown where the old steel mills sat and where the Italian immigrants settled and where you can still find great Italian food. My Orthodox mother and my Congregationalist dad needed to find a church to get their baby baptized when they moved into town and so they agreed on the United Methodist Church downtown. I was that baby. I grew up learning Bible stories from felt boards and leaflets taught by loving volunteers who told stories of how I screamed in the nursery as a baby. I was part of the pack of kids that ran around in sagging tights and stiff dresses while the adults all talked at coffee hour in the parish hall. I went to church picnics and Wednesday night Youth Club and nervously did the motions to the children’s musical. I passed notes on the backs of bulletins with my sister and got scolded when the giggles got too loud. My parents led the youth group for a while when my sister was a teenager and I was still in the single digits and while they led the meetings, the custodian showed my sister and I where to find the big wheels and let us ride them around the downstairs. I went to lock-ins and helped pick up all the rubber darts from the dart guns before the worship service started.

 And when I was 13 it was time for confirmation classes. Every Wednesday after school I sat in a room with other 13 year-olds and learned about the Christian faith. This was a step up from leaflets and felt boards, this was the deep stuff. We talked through various scenarios and how to make decisions based on our faith and it was taught by the actual pastor. The one who stood up front in the fancy robes was sitting around the table with us, a bunch of 13 year-olds and he let us … even encouraged us to ask questions. A pivotal moment in my life was the day he brought out the easel and markers and said “ok, ask any questions you have about church, God, religion … anything.” After he started writing down people’s questions, even the silly ones, I could see he was sincere, so I let loose. I asked all of the questions that were being stored up in my mind for all those years of listening to sermons and hearing Bible stories. I even asked the big ones like “why do bad things happen to good people.” Here’s the interesting thing about that. I can picture clearly that moment. I can picture the creepy clown picture on the wall, I can picture the pastor, the marker on the easel, the feel of the chair I was sitting in, but I can’t remember at all what the answers were or if he even gave answers. Something profound happened in that moment of being invited to share my questions and thoughts about faith and being taken seriously and that is the moment at which my call to ordained ministry began. It was when I realized that all that church stuff and all the hymns and all the Bible stories and all the faith lessons …. They were for me too, not just the adults, not just my parents. It was as if in the invitation to ask those faith questions, God was inviting me into a relationship- a dynamic, deep, living, vibrant relationship. And it changed my life.

 Soon after the confirmation service, I got mail. When you are thirteen you are not yet jaded by bills and advertisements and so mail with your name on it is exciting. It was addressed to me and it was a box and in that box were envelopes with different colors around the edges and a number in the corner and my name on each one. That’s right, I got offering envelopes and I was floored. I was a full-fledged part of the church with my own name on my own envelopes and I got to give my own money to God. And I did. I figured out ten percent of my allowance, birthday money and eventually pay checks from the dairy queen and gave my tithe and every time I put it in the offering plate it reinforced for me that this faith stuff, church, God, all of it was something I get to be a part of. I am seen, I am needed, I am important to the body of Christ.

 Years later after I was ordained and I was serving as an associate pastor of a large United Methodist Church, the Senior Pastor asked me to attend a “Stewardship Academy” that the conference was hosting. I thought it would be presentations on the various stewardship programs churches can use and looking at what works well and which aspects of various programs folks have found meaningful. There was some of that, but mostly it was about the theology of giving. We looked at Bible passages related to tithing and giving from the Old Testament to the New Testament and looked at thoughts about giving over the history of the Church. Through all of it, the main point that came up again and again was that giving is an opportunity, it is an invitation to participate in worship through our gifts. Or as Chris Cassidy said last Sunday in his testimony, it is “where we can worship God from what we have.”

 I have been to a lot of fund-raisers as I am sure you have as well. I have listened to speeches on why I should give to various causes, received endless asks for money through the mail and participated in many drives and benefits. Typically, those will focus on what your money pays for. Like if you give to this organization, your gift will provide this many meals to someone in need. Or if you give to this university, your gift will help a scholarship for this many students. These are all important causes and helping people understand where their money will go is important, especially in these days of constant scams and hacks, but stewardship is different than say … public radio’s annual pledge drive. It is participating in worship, an opportunity and a calling. We give in response to God’s abundant love, not because we expect to get something from it but because we are part of a relationship with God through the church.

 And of course we believe in responsible money management, transparency, and proper budgeting, but stewardship is also about trust. The Gospel reading in Matthew is a beautiful passage about where to invest our hearts. Jesus says “where your treasure is, your heart is.” But this passage does not stand alone, it is part of a series of teachings of Jesus and soon after this, Jesus says “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life …” and then the familiar passage about considering the lilies and how God clothes even the grass of the field. It makes sense that a passage about storing one’s treasures in heaven rather than on earth, would be followed soon after with instructions to not worry. Giving is about trust. It is about trusting in the work of building the Kingdom of God. It is about drowning out the voices of panic and urgency over worldly things and investing in something more lasting, more trustworthy, more connected to our souls. We trust that God is the source of creation and that placing our hearts and our faith and our gifts with God is how we do the work of building the Kingdom of God on earth as in heaven.

It’s also about God’s trust in us. Stewardship is about right use of resources. God entrusts creation to us, a bold move that at times may seem hard to believe, but nevertheless, here we are, entrusted with the care of what God has created. So our call to stewardship is a call to mutual trust, a call to a relationship, a call to be part of the body of Christ, part of the work of God, to claim our faith as our own and accept the invitation into a relationship with God.

Over the past 10 months since my husband was elected Bishop of the Diocese of Albany, I have had the privilege of getting to experience and worship with folks from all across the diocese. On most Sundays, the kids and I go with him as he visits churches around the Diocese. And each week it is a fresh experience of the work of the Holy Spirit through the Church. Each week we experience the familiar words of the Book of Common Prayer but in very different ways. And each week we get to meet people and hear stories of how they have experienced Christ in their lives. And the kids get to experience a lot of cake. In Schenevus I met Matt who is a young adult and plays the organ for the small group of dedicated parishioners in a small church on the top of a hill. His grandmother taught him to play the organ at a young age so the church would have music and he has not only stuck with it, but given his heart to the work of Christ through that church. He is also a high school teacher and he and Nancy, the priest, are working with a group of students at the high school to get a grant to establish a pantry with clothes and resources for students. The members of the church will wash, fold and sort clothes so that every family is provided for. In Coxsackie, I met Frank, the priest of the church who works full time, serves as a fireman and pastors two churches. He and his wife Misty are active in the motorcycle community and have created a genuine family feel at the church. People come in with their leather vests and bandannas and leave their motorcycles in the parking lot while they stand and say the Nicene Creed and kneel for the Eucharist. In Potsdam we walked into a church full of young families and crawling babies for a confirmation service. The mayor of the town and her children told us about what the church means to them. At Paul Smith’s Chapel we were ushered onto a boat after service that took us to coffee hour on an island where the hosts told us about how generations of their family devoted themselves to that church and the community. And here in this church my family has experienced your hospitality as teenagers served us delicious pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, I got to participate in the ecumenical Good Friday service here and was moved to tears at the heartfelt messages the clergy gave and just last week joined in recognizing and celebrating the work that Healing a Women’s Soul does for victims of domestic violence. Again and again I have been reminded that the Holy Spirit is at work here in this church, in this diocese and in this world, in unexpected ways and through all kinds of places and people and it has renewed my trust and my joy in offering my gifts.

 As I reflect back on my journey of giving, I feel a bit of longing for those days of innocent trust when I got those first offering envelopes. As we age it seems that the cares and worries of life become heavier. The world gets scarier and more uncertain and the call to trust and faith feels harder to follow. There’s always so much noise, so many voices wanting our attention, so many things to attend to, so much to worry about, so many people trying to convince us to spend more, do more, want more and care less about others. It can be hard to hear the voice of God, hard to discern the way forward, hard to hold on to faith, and so we gather together and we try to wrap our minds around the abundance and magnitude of God’s love for us and then we keep answering that invitation to a relationship, offering what we have and investing in hope … together.