Belief, Faith, & Risk

For the collect and readings for this Sunday, click here.

The Second Sunday of Lent

March 16, 2014

The Rev. Christopher L. Caddell

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone that believes in him may not parish but have eternal life.”

I can tell you exactly when and where I memorized that verse.

It was the summer after my fifth grade year and at Vacation Bible School at First Baptist Church in Odessa, TX. 

My best friend and his family were members of First Baptist, and he had invited me to go with him several times, and each time I had dodged the question.  Truth be told, as good a friend as he was, I had no interest in spending a week of my summer in a Sunday school classroom – particularly not one that was not at my own church.  The more he pressed, the more I dodged.

Until, just about the time I thought I had worn him down, he said, “You know, …. Melissa is going to be there.”

Lesson number one: Be careful what you tell your best friends, lest they use it as leverage against you.

So just a few days later I found myself sitting in a Sunday school classroom memorizing John 3:16.  

My friend had neglected to tell me that at First Baptist most of Vacation Bible School was segregated – boys in one class, girls in another.

Believe it or not, we are still friends to this day.

It’s doubtful that there is a piece of Christian scripture better known than John 3:16.  If you grew up in the Bible belt, it’s almost unavoidable.  Even Episcopalians have a particular fondness for it, as it is one of the choices of comfortable words after the confession in a Rite I Eucharist.  John 3:16 is ubiquitous in the Church, and rightly so, for it contains one of the most concise descriptions of what the gospel message is – God loved, so God gave, so that we might live.

Yet for all its notoriety, if you were to ask someone what comes just before or just after, and your likely to get a few blank stares.  Ask them what was the context and to whom was Jesus speaking, and you’re not likely to get an answer.

I’m not suggesting that you embarrass your friends with bible trivia, but rather I want to suggest that the context is important, and while John 3:16 is a good summary of the gospel message, it is just that – a summary.  It does not capture the entirety of the message, and without context it can be taken as a fairly simple formula for salvation. 

Believe in Jesus and all will be well.

Of course, when taken in its full context, that is not the picture that is painted.

Nicodemus – a Jewish leader, man of respect, one to whom everyone would look to – comes to Jesus under the cover of night.

He knows about Jesus, perhaps even witnessed some of Jesus miracles.  What he hoped to gain by meeting Jesus is not clear.  Perhaps he wanted to reason with him.  Perhaps he just wanted to be in his presence.  But whatever his reason, Nicodemus comes very close to what we might think of “believing” in Jesus.

“Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

Nicodemus is so very close, just on the verge of understanding, and at the same time, he doesn’t seem to get it at all.

Nicodemus wants it both ways.  He wants to believe in Jesus – he can see Jesus is clearly a holy man – but he does not want that to change things, especially if it means that he must change himself.  Nicodemus is comfortable with the way things are, comfortable with a life as a respected teacher of Israel, comfortable with the way he is.

Nicodemus does not want to risk anything so he comes under the cover of night, hoping he wont be seen, hoping no one will recognize him.

In the Church we speak often of belief and faith.  Often we use them interchangeably.  Faith has become the big umbrella word for someone who believes, and vice versa.  We speak of believing as if it were something we have fixed in our minds.  I believe in God … I believe in Jesus Christ… I believe in the Holy Spirit…

And yet, our readings today challenge what we mean by those words.  Faith and belief are not static things, unchanging, something we have or don’t have, and certainly not a box that we check off like it is an item on the to-do list.

Rather, faith and belief imply listening and discerning, movement and change, uncertainty and risk.

Abram was fairly old when God told him to leave his home, his family, his livelihood to journey to a place that was still unspecified.  I try to imagine what that like, and yet I cannot.

Pack up.  Start walking.  Leave behind everything you know to go literally into the unknown.

Yet, seemingly without hesitation, Abram goes.

The story of Abraham and Sarah is a long one – full of drama and hardships.

The journey is long.  There are unmet expectations.  There are famines, battles, losses, more travels, domestic disputes, rescues, more losses, unthinkable demands, and all of this will last much, much longer than Abram ever expected.

Following God will be what defines the next 100 years of Abram’s life.

For Abram, believing and having faith is something that will cause him to risk, to move, to change, and that will be the very nature of how he lives the rest of his life.

The challenge that Abram and Nicodemus’ encounter places before us today is one of faith and belief.  Not the static faith and belief that merely identifies us as Christian, but the faith and belief that causes us to act, makes us move and change, allows us to risk everything even when we cannot see exactly what lies ahead.

In our personal lives, that may mean reaching out to a broken relationship, being the first to ask for forgiveness and seeking reconciliation.  It might mean giving up a bad habit or something to which we cling to for a sense of security, even though that may make us extremely uncomfortable.   It may mean we need to look at how we use our time, and make changes that allow us to reclaim those things that are important – family, friends, self, and God.

But it is not just our own individual growth that challenges us. There is a challenge here for us as a community as well.  To have faith and belief in a church community means that we are willing to listen to and be directed by God’s Spirit and where it moves – and it is something that moves.

That means that we should be looking for and expecting God to act in all parts of our common life together – in the way we worship, the way we pray, the way we reach out to others in the community, the way we fellowship together …. The list can go on and on.

Our church and school must take risks if we are to be who it is God has called us to be.  That takes all of us listening, discerning, moving and changing.  And while it is what we do as a community, it will take each of us responding to the different movements of the Spirit to make it happen.

Think about this – How are you different from this time last year?  How about 10 years ago?  How have you changed?  What has God moved you to do?

Try something different.

Join the choir.

Become a reader or acolyte.

Go on a mission trip.

Invite someone you don’t know to go to lunch.

I don’t know what the Spirit is moving you to do, but I do know it is not the same old thing that you’ve always done.

Uncomfortable yet?  You should be.  There’s risk involved.  The possibility of failure is there.  And that is what it is to have faith and belief.

I don’t know what brought you to church this morning.  I doubt you were chasing a girl – or maybe you were.  But with that risk in mind, I want you to hear and learn not just John 3:16, but John 3:17 as well.

“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Our task is not “to get it right.”  It’s not about being careful and cautious.  Our task is to risk everything in order that we might follow Jesus more closely.  We will get it wrong from time to time, but it is Jesus’ mission not to condemn us for those failures, but rather to redeem them. 

That is our faith; that is our belief.  That all things are being perfected through God in Christ.  And when we truly believe that, no risk is too great, no change too scary, that we cannot follow where the Spirit blows.  Amen.

God's Small Gray Boxes

The following is a talk given to high school youth on the sacraments. 

I brought something to show you.  For me, it is one of the most precious things I own.  

 

But I am guessing that for most of you, this looks like nothing more than a little tin box.  There is nothing special about it.  It is dull, gray, a few rust spots here and there.  If you saw it laying somewhere, you might think it is just a piece of junk or something that needs to find its way to the trash.

 

But when I look at this I see more than just a tin box.  I don’t see a dull, gray, worthless piece of junk.  Instead, I see my grandmother.

 

There hasn’t been a day in my life that I can remember when I didn’t know about this little box.  I can tell you exactly where it was for the first 21 years of my life, and I can tell you where it has been every day since.

From the time that I was a very young boy, every time that I would go visit my grandmother, she would take me over to the cabinet where she kept this little box, take it down, and tell me about it.

 

“Christopher,” she would say, “this little box may not look like much, but belonged to my mother, your great-grandmother.  She kept it in the front pocket of her apron, and I never remember seeing her without it. When shedied, I kept this little box because it reminded me of her.  

 

“One day I’ll be gone, and when that day comes, I want you to have this box.  You’ll know where to find it, because it will always be here.”

 

I would smile and agree, and then she would take this little box, place it gently back upon the shelf, and close the cupboard door.

 

What you see may be a dull, gray box, but I see my grandmother.

 

When I look at it, I see her smile and loving eyes.  

 

When I touch it, I feel my grandmother’s hands.

 

When I open it, I can smell her house.

 

When I read the note inside, I can hear her voice.

 

 

“On the night before he died for us, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples saying, ‘Take, eat.  This is my body, which is given for you.  Do this in remembrance of me.’

 

“After supper, he took the cup of wine, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them saying, ‘Drink this all of you.  This is my blood of the New Covenant which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.  Whenever you drink it, do this in remembrance of me.’”

 

Most of you have probably heard those words prayed hundreds of times.  They are known as the institution narrative, and are the words we pray over the bread and wine at every Eucharist, every time it is celebrated.

 

They are and have been prayed across hundreds of countries spanning thousands of years, prayed by millions upon millions of Christians.  

 

They were prayed by my parents, my grandparents, my great-grandparents, my great-great- grandparents… you get the picture.

 

They were also prayed by the disciples.  By Peter, Andrew, James, John.  They were prayed by Paul.

 

They are the words that, for Christians, make those ordinary elements of bread and wine something extraordinary.  Through the prayers of the Eucharist, the bread and wine – ordinary things that anyone could buy at any grocery store – are transformed for us into Christ’s body and blood.  

 

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not a magical formula that or some kind of trick that takes place that makes the Eucharist special.

 

Rather it is the constant and frequent recalling of the story that brings us into the very real presence of Christ.

 

By following Jesus’ commandment to “Do this in remembrance of me” the trappings of time and space shed away and in our hearts we are right there in the upper room with Jesus and his disciples, and it is:

 

Jesus’ voice that we hear.

 

Jesus’ face that we see.

 

Jesus’ touch that we feel.

 

And it is Jesus’ very own self that we take into ourselves to nourish us on our spiritual journey.

 

 

This is the Eucharist and it is the primary example of what the church calls a Sacrament.

 

Technically, a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.”

 

A Sacrament is something we can touch, taste, smell, see…

 

A sacrament has a material form – bread and wine, water, oil, the laying on of hands…

 

But it is also something that reaches us on a much deeper level than our five senses.

 

 

A Sacrament brings us into a closeness with God.  It reminds us of who we are and whose we are.  It helps us experience God’s presence in our lives here, and now.  And it touches us in a place that nothing else can.

 

 

The Eucharist and Baptism are the two primary sacraments.

 

While we are nourished by Christ’s body and blood through the Eucharist, it is through our baptism that we are joined to that body.

 

Through the symbol of water, we are washed clean, buried with Christ in his death, and raised to new life in him.  The apostle Paul puts it this way, “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.”

 

In our baptism we receive the Holy Spirit and are marked as Christ’s own forever. Nothing we can do will ever change that.  We are grafted into God’s family and become sons and daughters of God.  And as sons and daughters of God, we promise (or our parents and Godparents promise for us) to live our lives in the way that God intended – as human beings created in God’s image, the very image of love.

 

For many, the next step is confirmation where we take on for ourselves the promises that were made for us at our baptisms and the bishop lays his hands on the candidates heads, asking the Spirit to be strengthened for Christ’s service – to live fully into the image of Christ.

 

There will be failures, and when we do not live up to those promises we have the sacrament of Reconciliation through which we receive forgiveness of sins and are reunited with a loving Father with outstretched arms.

 

Unction reminds us of God’s desire for us to be whole and recalls one of Jesus’ main ministries – the healing of the sick.  Through oil, the laying on of hands, and prayer, we seek that wholeness in body, mind, and spirit.

 

And for those who are called to it, there is ordination and marriage.

 

In ordination, men and women make special promises to serve Christ’s church in a special way– to be living symbols of Jesus’ ministry.

 

And in marriage, when it is at its best, the husband and wife symbolize for us Christ’s love for his Church through good times, and through bad.

 

These are the sacraments.  They are Jesus’ gifts to the church.  They are the way that we remain connected, even when it seems impossible to do so, and believe me, there will be times when it feels impossible to be connected to God.

 

I opened this little box for the first time 15 years ago on the day that my grandmother died.  Inside was a tiny slip of paper on which my grandmother had written these words,

 

Dear Christopher,

 

May you never forget how much you are loved.

 

 

What an amazing gift my grandmother left me.  I can think of nothing that I might have wanted more from her.

 

 

The sacraments are God’s small, gray, rusty boxes.  

 

And inside there is a note for you too. It is a note from God, and it addressed to you.  

 

It says,

 

Dear ______,

 

May you never forget how much I love you.

 

 

Whatever you remember from this talk,

 

Whatever you remember from this weekend,

 

I pray that you will remember that.

 

The sacraments may be dull, gray boxes, they may appear to be nothing more than bread, wine, water, oil,....

but inside they contain the most important message you could ever hear.

 

Never forget how much God loves you.

Changing the Rules

To Read the Collect and Texts from this Sunday, please click here.

The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

February 16, 2014

The Rev. Christopher L. Caddell

If there was one rule in Ms. Robinson’s third grade classroom it was “Thou shalt not shoot baskets at the trashcan.”

I’m not sure what else I remember about third grade, but I do remember that.  Consequently I also remember quite clearly my feelings one spring afternoon as I sat out of recess as a punishment for something I clearly did not do. 

I sat in that room with one of my classmates, each of us writing furiously on a piece of paper, “I will not shoot baskets at Ms. Robinson’s trashcan.”

We each had to fill two pages, front and back, with that sentence.  I learned quite quickly that writing in large letters was not going to cut it.  As I crumpled up those two pieces of paper, she peered over her glasses to see if I had the gall to pitch it at the trashcan.

I did not, and I sat down in a huff to begin again.  As I wrote, the list of injustices mounted in my mind.

Ms. Robinson, had not actually seen me do anything wrong.  When asked who threw it, I had done the brave and valiant thing of keeping my mouth shut.  I was not going to be a snitch. 

It was my classmate, after all, whose shot went wide and landed at her feet.  I had not thrown a single piece of paper…yet.  Perhaps there was some intent for the future, but truth be told, in my mind, I had done nothing wrong.  The rules had changed – or so I thought – and here I sat, being punished for a crime I had not committed.  It was an injustice, and in the third grade few penalties were harsher than loosing your free time on the playground.

In some ways, it is that same line of logic that I hear Jesus taking into today’s readings.  He’s changing the rules, and in some cases I’m not quite sure I like it.

From last week’s gospel, we heard Jesus proclaim,

Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished… unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Today’s reading follows directly on the heels of that proclamation and goes on to provide concrete examples of just what Jesus is talking about.

Murder, adultery, swearing of oaths – all of these are cornerstones of the Jewish Law, and all would have been recognized as having not only moral implications, but religious ones as well.  The Law had been handed down by God through Moses, and to follow the Law is what made you a good Jew.

By the time of Jesus, the Pharisees had made a name for themselves in being strict interpreters of the Law.  Their knowledge and adherence to it was unsurpassed by anyone.  They knew what was permissible and what was impermissible, and their interpretations were looked to in order to determine what was acceptable under the Law.  It was, after all, adherence to the Law that made you righteous, acceptable and worthy in the sight of God.

And it is in this context that Jesus instructs his disciples on this very sacred piece of Jewish tradition.  Jesus casts the net so far and wide that it is hard to imagine someone not being touched in some way by his words. He takes the cornerstones of the Jewish faith and expands them.  Far from negating the Law, he pushes the boundaries out, redefines the terms of the Law, and makes them more stringent. 

Anger is the equivalent to murder. A stray glance is as grievous as a physical act.  Even a harsh word brings about judgment and punishment.

When it’s defined in these terms, even the Pharisees don’ t have a chance.

If I am being honest, I want Jesus to say the exact opposite of what he says.  The overarching Christian narrative is one of love, and grace, and forgiveness.  Christians speak of a God who loves us unconditionally, whose very nature is, in fact, love.  I want to hear Jesus say, ‘All those laws are foolish.  They get you nowhere in the sight of God.’

On one hand it seems as if Jesus does no more than the Pharisees themselves – offering an interpretation of the Law.  But as is so often the case with Jesus, the words hold a deeper challenge.

In the expansion of these basic principles of the Jewish faith, Jesus challenges everyone within earshot to probe deeper into the heart of what it means to live as God intended. 

For Jesus and his followers, the question is not, ‘What must I do (or not do) in order to follow the Law, in order to be righteous?’, but rather, ‘How is God calling me to be – both inside and out – in order that I might reflect the love of God in all my relationships?”

That is what Jesus is after.  And that is what Jesus will model for his disciples (and for us) all that he does.

Our salvation is not only connected to a right relationship with God, but also deeply connected to having right relationships with our families, our friends, our neighbors, and as we will hear next week, even with our enemies.

Far from the legalism of the Pharisees, Jesus points his disciples to look to the spirit of the law that was always intended to foster just and right relationships between humankind and God, and humankind to each other.

The temptation in hearing this text today is to add these more stringent interpretations to the list of do’s and don’t do’s, and to use them as a measuring stick on how we are doing in following Jesus. 

To do so would, in my opinion, be a mistake – not only because we would be doomed to failure, but also because it would miss the deeper question Jesus is asking – How is God calling me to live my life so that I might reflect his love in all of my relationships more fully, more completely, and more abundantly?

For those who remember older versions of the Prayer Book, or are accustomed to a Rite I service, you will recall that each Eucharist begins with the words that come much later in Matthew’s gospel.  Not surprisingly it comes from another confrontation with the Pharisees. 

When asked which commandment was the greatest, Jesus replies,

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: You shall love your neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.

This is at the heart of Christian discipleship.  It is the basis of what Jesus teaches his disciples on that mountain by the sea, and what will define both the life and death of Jesus.

May it also be what defines our life as we seek to follow him.  Amen.

High Value Commodities

The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

February 9, 2014

The Rev. Christopher L. Caddell

 

What is the most valuable thing in your possession?

 

Is it your house?

 

Your bank account?

 

Maybe it is a family heirloom, or a set of photographs that remind you of a special occasion or trip.

 

There is a house that I pass each day on my way home from church.  More often than not, I see a the man who lives there in his driveway polishing and waxing his jet-black Mustang GT.  Obviously it is one of his most valued possessions.

 

This morning’s gospel is a fairly familiar one.  In fact the whole scene is familiar.  It comes from the Sermon on the Mount, which in Matthew’s gospel is a long, extended teaching that Jesus directs to this new group of disciples that have answered the call to follow Jesus.  

 

The images that Jesus uses are memorable and ones that almost everyone would have heard at some time or another.  “You are the salt of the earth ….”  You are the light of the world….”

 

We talk of people being “the salt of the earth” meaning they are good, honest, hard-working people that would do just about anything for anyone. While people like that are certainly the kind of friends I like to have, it’s not what Jesus was saying to his disciples.

 

Likewise, Sunday School children all around the world learn the song, “This Little Light of Mine,” and cute as it may be having children wave their finger in the air and hiding it under a bushel, again such an idea falls short of the powerful metaphor Jesus is trying to convey.

 

Salt and light are two things that we today hardly notice at all.  Salt packets are in every fast-food meal, on every dining table, and found in abundance in almost every pantry.

 

Light is available on demand.  If it’s not bright enough for you, turn on another switch.  Even if the power does go out, we have back up generators and battery powered flashlights to keep us totally out of the dark.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I wanted or needed light and was without the possibility of obtaining it.

 

But for those disciples sitting around listening to Jesus salt and light were very expensive commodities.  Salt was packed in and traded like any other rare good of the time.  In some times and places salt was traded ounce for ounce for gold.  Roman soldiers were often paid in salt, which is where we get our term, “salary.”

 

Light was also very valuable.  Of course the sun cast abundant light in the day, but when night fell it was very expensive to create light.  You had to burn something – either firewood, which was in short supply, or oil, something else that cost a substantial sum of money.

 

The metaphor that Jesus is painting is one that places the disciples side by side with these highly valued commodities.  Not only are these things of surpassing value, but also are highly sought after and useful. These twelve people sitting around listening to Jesus will be the means through which others will be blessed.

 

It is the beginning of a movement that will go far beyond what those twelve men could have ever thought possible.  

 

Just 25 or 30 years later, Paul makes a bold claim as he reminisces about how the Church was established in Corinth.  Paul says that as he arrived in this Roman city, the message he shared was simple – Jesus and his extraordinary example of love.  Yet now, now that that community has matured, he assures this community that they have the mind of Christ.  That is a very bold claim!  No longer are they simply passive hearers of the gospel, but active participants, doing the things that Jesus himself would do.  By the power of the Spirit, the members of this community are searching, discerning, and seeking the knowledge and will of God.

 

A small community of people is now living into being salt and light in their own ways, in their own community.

Earlier last month at the Annual Parish Meeting, we were reminded that in 2014 we are celebrating 30 years of being an Episcopal congregation in Dripping Springs.  

 

In April of 1984, a group of twelve people gathered in the snack bar of the High School to celebrate the Eucharist.  Six weeks later the congregation held an organizational meeting at the United Methodist Church and were formally named The Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit.

 

By November, the church was meeting in a dance studio and reported an average attendance of 20 and a budget of $9,376.  A few months later the Diocese will formally recognize this new congregation, and by August the first piece of property off 290 & RR 12 will be purchased.

 

Fifteen years later the church will move to where we sit today. 

 

Looking back it is hard to believe the strides that have been made in such a relatively short period of time.  Temporary meeting places gave way to more permanent locations.  Some of you sitting here today have seen many of those changes come about.  Yet it is not just about buildings and meeting spaces.

 

Since that day in 1984, this congregation has grown from 12 members to 110 families representing 225 active members. Our average attendance that began at 20 is now 120.  And none of this accounts for the hundreds of people who have been touched by this congregation – those who were once active but have died or have moved away, those who have been blessed by attending a wedding or a funeral here, the children and families who have passed through this place as their first experience of school, finding a loving and nurturing environment that helps children begin their lives with the knowledge that everyday is one in which they live in the sight and love of God.

 

This congregation has a history of being salt and light – an extremely valuable resource to the community of Dripping Springs.

 

Jesus does not, however, give his disciples much time to bask in the glow of this high praise he gives his disciples.  

 

Salt is useful, but only as long as it continues to be salt.

 

Light is not something hidden away, but placed high so that all can see it.

As we prepare to celebrate 30 years of being Holy Spirit in Dripping Springs, we can and should look back in wonder and awe at the things that God has done through his faithful people in this community.

 

Yet Jesus’ words to his disciples are in the present and active tense.

 

You are the salt of the earth.

 

You are the light of the world.

 

God’s mission is never one to rest on that fact alone.  God calls us through the power of the Spirit to search, to seek, to discern, and to act on what is next for this community he has planted in Dripping Springs, Texas.  

 

You and I are the most valuable possession God has.  In Christ, we are God’s salt of the earth and God’s lights to the world.  The challenge comesby living into and being that valuable resource that we are – everyday, every week, every month, every year.

 

God has wonderful plans for this community.  I believe with all my heart that we have just begun to break the surface.  Yet I also believe that if we live into our calling to be salt and light in this community in which we have been placed, in another thirty years, the people who come after us will look back in awe and wonder at what God has accomplished through us.

 

May Jesus’ words to his disciples (and to us) ring loudly in our ears, and may we go forward with the resolve to be God’s salt and light in this community of Dripping Springs.  Amen.