Jesus and the Mundane

For this Sunday's readings, click here.

Lent 3A

March 23, 2014

The Rev. Christopher L. Caddell

I spent spring break of my sophomore year in college just outside the entrance to Big Bend National Park.  I had planned to stay with my best-friend inside the park, but little did we know, if you want to stay at Big Bend National park during spring break, you reservations are a must..

My friend was at Tech and I was at A&M and it seemed like a perfect place to spend a week together, so we had been planning it for months. We thought we had everything covered – a tent, sleeping bags, food.  What else could we need?

Looking back on it, we were probably as ignorant as the Park Ranger who we met at the gate thought we were.

That park ranger, perhaps seeing the disappointment on our faces, told us about a place just down the road that might have some room for us to pitch our tent. 

Relieved that he did have room, we got our tent up with the help of our truck’s headlights and fell asleep, exhausted.

The next morning brought with it the revelation that we had not actually found a park, but rather a large ranch and a rancher who was willing to take our money in exchange for a place to be. 

There were no toilets, no campsites, no water.  Just a vast open plain.  Instead of being able to stay inside the park where there were campsites with bathrooms and a few basic necessities, we were twenty miles outside of the main gate. 

And as the day got hotter, one more thing became clear – we did not bring enough water.

This trip that we thought we had planned so well became an exercise in hauling drinking water.  The closest source that we could find was inside the park, and we soon found that we were making multiple trips per day just to keep the far-too-small igloo jug that we brought with us full.

We got some hiking in, but every time we went to another section of the park, our first question was, “Where’s the water?”

Driving back home from that trip we realized that we had spent far more time finding and collecting water than we ever spent enjoying the beauty of the park.

Water, when you do not have it readily available or in abundance, is something that can consume you.

I can imagine the path between the Samaritan woman’s house and that well is well worn.  It’s a daily trip; probably more than one trip per day. 

Day after day, week after week, month after month.  A never ending cycle of trips to the well for this most precious and needed resource.

I would bet she could make that trip with her eyes closed.  Perhaps she even knew how many steps lie between here and there.  108 paces out the front door, then left, then a sharp right ….

And then there was the hard task of drawing that water and lugging the full jugs back to the house.

Drawing a daily supply of water was a never-ending, yet always necessary, mundane task.

And yet, on this day, that mundane task is going to be interrupted by what appears to be nothing more than a man wanting a drink of water.

On the one hand, our world and the world of this Samaritan woman are so very far apart.  There are so many things going on in this story that to our eyes and ears make little sense, but would have resonated loudly with first-century Palestinians. 

A man speaking to a woman in public.

A Jew asking a Samaritan for a drink of water.

And a conversation about marriage.

This is the point where we have been told that this conversation between Jesus and this Samaritan woman is about morality.  When Jesus tells her to go and bring her husband back, the woman admits that she has no husband, and Jesus says, “Right, you’ve had five.”

What happens next is a shift in the conversation. Where we might expect the woman to fall to her knees and ask for forgiveness, we find the woman, instead engaging in a conversation with Jesus about worship.

We have worshiped here for generations, but you say God must be worshiped in Jerusalem.

Therein lies the debate between Samaritans and Jews.  Since the time of King David’s grandson, these two peoples have been at odds over the proper place to meet God. 

They were once one family, one kingdom – the twelve tribes of Israel united under one God.

But a united family would only last for two generations.  Unwilling to accept David’s grandson as king, ten tribes form the northern kingdom of Israel, while the remaining two form the southern kingdom of Judah. 

By the time Jesus is talking to this woman at the well, this split is nearly 1000 years old. 

But northern kingdom of Israel did not fare as well or last as long as the southern.  Just two hundred years in, Assyria conquers the northern kingdom and disperses the native population throughout its empire.  In turn Assyria settles the northern kingdom with five other peoples –

The king of Assyria brought people from Babylon, Kuthah, Avva, Hamath and Sepharvaim and settled them in the towns of Samaria to replace the Israelites. They took over Samaria and lived in its towns.[1]

What happens next is exactly what the Assyrians want – mixing of the population. 

This is what the Samaritan woman and Jesus know that we do not, and this is what moves their conversation from water to worship, and from worship to hope.

The messianic hope for this woman, indeed for all of the Israelites of the time, is that the Messiah would come, restore the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, and rule a great kingdom, once again united as it was with King David.

He cannot be the Messiah, can he?

Of course, Jesus does not turn out to be the messiah that this woman or anyone else expected.  God does not act in predictable ways.

To use a phrase from Rowan Williams that has come up in our class – God appears as something unfolding and unpredictable in the passage of time.

We may be worlds apart from this Samaritan woman, but we have much more in common than we might think.

Days and weeks that can be driven by routine and mundane tasks.

A life in which we are not necessarily expecting to find God in those tasks.

A worldview that says God (if he can be found at all) can only be found here or there, on this day, but not on that.

The world of the Samaritan woman is our own. 

We come with her to our daily and mundane tasks of drawing water from the well never expecting to find the messiah sitting there waiting for us. 

Where do you find God in the daily routine of your life? 

What does the messiah have to say to you when you come to the well?

Do you take the time to allow that conversation to develop or do you just move on with the task at hand? 

What does it look like in your life for God to interrupt what you are doing and to transform your understanding, to move you from a place of monotony or despair to a place of hope?

---

[1] 2 Kings 17:24

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.