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.
