Limited Resources

Year B

Proper 12

John 6:1-21

         

There is so much need in this world—spiritual, emotional, and physical.  People all around us, perhaps even people here today are crying out for these needs to be met—it is overwhelming.  It becomes more overwhelming when we consider our resources—our limited resources of things such as money and even time and energy.  When we look out and see all the need, it is easy to feel discouraged, overwhelmed, and hopeless—perhaps we want to throw up our hands and say, “What’s the point?”  Today’s Gospel answers that question—

We enter the story as Jesus crosses over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee—let me tell you why—he had just been in Cana where he had preached and healed; he went to Jerusalem for a festival where he healed (on the Sabbath no less, so now he has to defend himself against the Jews who were outraged he had “worked” on the Sabbath—and we know how much energy defending ourselves can take), and then he preached.  So Jesus—Jesus the man—was tired and he needed to rest, to rejuvenate, and he crosses over and goes up a mountain with his disciples to be alone. 

But the crowds follow—the crowds are starving for Jesus—they are spiritually and emotionally starving—they saw the signs—and they followed.  Jesus looks up and sees them coming—maybe he even thought, “Not now; please just give me a moment”; that’s not what he said though—instead he looks past just their spiritual hunger and recognizes that they will also be physically hungry.  Jesus looks at the whole person; at all the needs and he asks his disciples—tests we’re told where they are to buy bread for these people to eat.  Philip possibly not realizing the question is somewhat rhetorical responds it would take 6 months wages and Andrew pipes up that there is a boy with five loaves and two fish.  Perhaps Andrew is highlighting the fact there is nothing—pointing out the obvious, punctuating the fact that the needs are many and the resources are few.  We know what happens; the people are fed.

What are we to take from this?  How can this Gospel speak to us today-we, like the disciples, are confronted with many, many needs, but we don’t have Jesus walking with us to bless, break, and multiply—we don’t have Jesus walking with us physically, but I argue God is with us as we face the needs of our congregation, the needs of this community, the needs of the world.

          A good friend and I (ya’ll’s good friend too—the Rev. Emily Schwartz Crouch) walk often together—as we walk, we talk about theology, we talk about life, and lately we’ve been talking a great deal about what it means to be a Christian, what it means to be a mission based church.  What makes us different from a Rotary club, from the Junior League, or from any other number of organizations—good organizations, which also strive to meet the needs of the world?  In other words, why do we as Christians do what we do and does it matter that we do it as Christians?

          I believe that today’s Gospel is living proof that yes it does matter and it answers, or begins to answer, the very questions with which Emily and I have been struggling.  We first and foremost do what we do because as Christians we are called to follow Jesus—to do what he did.  Jesus fed the poor, ministered to the needy, loved everyone, and so we are to do the same.  Now, look very closely at verse 11—Jesus gave thanks—Jesus highlighted in these very words that he was doing what he did in order to reveal God’s glory—to express God’s love and grace--and he was giving thanks for God and to God.  His focus was not particularly on the act of meeting the needs but rather on the revelation of God, about the transformation that can come through the act.  Karen Yust, a theologian says, “This story suggests that the focus of ministry is not simply what good people decide is reasonable to undertake in order to meet basic needs.  Instead, ministry is about multiplying resources so that what might have been a social handout becomes a revelation of amazing grace.”[1] 

          Oh how easy it is to forget this—to look at the people lining up outside our food and clothing ministry and wonder if we will have enough.  You know the past two weeks we have been particularly requesting men’s clothing—we’re always short on men’s clothing—guess there is something to be said about women and shopping—obviously we need to clean out the closet to make room—but anyway we have been particularly low—just this past week, out of the blue, Margaret received a call, and this man practically begged her to take all these brand new casual men’s clothes that had been donated to his organization.  He could only use the business attire; so over the next 2 or 3 days mounds of clothes poured in—already even on hangars!  Resources multiplying.

          I believe that we must stay focused on why we do what we do and that begins with always remembering that we are not only meeting needs, but we are pointing to—giving signs—to the glory and grace of God.  Fr. Jon moved our morning prayer time to 9:10—20 minutes before we open the food and clothing doors—this was deliberate—we pray and offer ourselves as a sacrifice, offer our work as a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving—knowing we cannot do this alone.  We intentionally bring God into the day—into the ministry.  That is what makes us different; we are not just meeting needs, we are agents of transformation, as people witnessing to the abundance of God’s love and grace.

          Do we get tired?  Absolutely.  Do we get overwhelmed?  Absolutely.  Do we sometimes feel like we just can’t do anymore?  Absolutely.  But we continue; we press on.  One of my favorite verses is in Ephesians 3:20-21 and it says, “Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine:  Glory to him from generation to generation in the Church and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever.”  Let me not leave you here with the idea that you are to work yourselves to the bone, that you are to collapse in exhaustion.  Definitely not—we are to take time for rejuvenation and for quiet and strength—to refresh and refocus.  After Jesus fed the people, he withdrew; we see that often in the Gospels.   But with God, in God, and through God, we have far more than we have alone and when we offer ourselves and our ministry to Him, we can offer far more than we can alone—our own resources are full; there is abundance.

          Stay with me for one more moment while I share with you a true, modern day version of this story.  (She would kill me)  Beth Bojarski has been the director of All Saints for four years—if you’ve never met her, you’ve missed out, but I would venture to bet by degrees of separation you have been touched by her ministry.  I am the Diocesan Director of Christian Formation, and as such I am supposed to oversee budgets (my husband finds this particularly amusing).  Well, sadly, Beth is leaving for a new job, and so two weeks ago we sat down and she was walking me through her job and through her budget and how she allocated funds—how she ran the youth programs and particularly summer camp.  The budgets for the last four years varied drastically from year to year.  I was struggling to get my head around all this, to understand what the needs were, and Beth said to me, “Here’s the truth Katherine.  I take what I get, and I make it work, and somehow it always does.”  And it does, she is not in the red and yet, many, many lives including mine and those of my four children, have been transformed by Beth’s ministry—she takes what she is given, offers it and herself to God, and it works, and lives are changed.

          God is a God of abundance, of power, and of love.  As we pray together today let us remember that—as we pray together the prayers of the people verbalizing all the needs of the world let us remember that the answer is not that we don’t have enough but that “when placed in the hands of Jesus, human weakness and finitude become more than enough.”[2]  Thanks be to God.

---

[1] Karen Yust, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3 ed. By David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox, 2009) 286.

[2] Cheryl Bridges Johns, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3 ed. by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox, 2009) 289.

Going to Movies Must Continue

The Feast of Mary Magdalene

John 20:11-18

          Today’s Gospel opens in the midst of an 48 hour emotional rollercoaster for Mary Magdalene  whose feast day we celebrate today—let me give you a quick synopsis.  We know that Mary was at the crucifixion—she witnessed the soldiers mocking him; she witnessed his physical pain; she witnessed his final words; and she witnessed his death.  Just in that there are probably many emotions—anger, fear, feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, and profound grief. 

          I don’t want to skip around too much, but I think to understand the depth of Mary’s emotions it is necessary to understand her relationship with Jesus.  In the Gospel of Luke we are told that he healed Mary of seven demons—after her healing, she began to follow him and became one of his closest friends.  At a time when women were seen as property, as nothing more than something to be owned Jesus healed, befriended and elevated Mary.  Knowing this, I believe, helps to put into perspective how deep her grief must be.  She is witnessing the cruel, degrading crucifixion of the man who set her free physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

          Mary has returned to the tomb most seemingly full of grief.  We don’t know exactly why she has come, but we can guess that in her grief she just wants to be physically near the body of Jesus much in the same way we visit the graves of our loved ones.  She gets there and sees the stone has been rolled away and assumes Jesus’ body has been taken by someone; possibly grave robbers—possibly the soldiers, but now her intention to be close to Jesus has been thwarted, and this is where we pick up the story. 

          Four times during these seven verses we are told that Mary is weeping—profound and inconsolable grief is all I can imagine.  She is asked by the angels why she is weeping—her grief is highlighted, but they don’t tell her that he is risen.  Mary turns around and is again asked why she is weeping, and it isn’t until Jesus says her name that Mary recognizes who he is.  Now the pendulum of emotion abruptly shifts and there is pure joy—happiness, bewilderment and a whole host of other emotions that we can only imagine.  And Mary wants to cling to him and Jesus says “Do not hold onto me.”  Can you imagine how much self-control, how much will power that must have taken to let go of the person you love so dearly?  How much strength that must have taken to turn around and leave as she was commanded—to walk away not knowing whether she would ever see Jesus again, not knowing what was to come?

          I can’t—I hate to even attempt to compare this, but the only personal way I can is this; when Caroline, our youngest was five, she went missing on the beach.  I had been sitting on the side and counting four little blonde heads continuously.  As they emerged from the water, there was a sudden realization that one of the heads that I had been counting did not belong to Caroline—I can barely describe the panic that swelled and the longest 20 minutes of my life.  I can tell you that when a man came riding down the beach with Caroline on the back of his bike, I grabbed her off before he had even stopped and I am fairly certain I didn’t let go of her for hours.  Our need for human contact is powerful; our need to physically feel the presence of those we love always, but particularly during times of grief, times of fear, times of pain becomes a physical ache, a physical need.

 I can’t help but think of the families of those who were in the theater in Colorado—as they received phone calls or heard about the shootings on the news.  They must have rushed to the theater, desperately searching for their loved ones, desperately praying that  they had been spared—pushing and clawing to get through the crowds and get their loved ones into their arms.  And the emotions that pulsated through their bodies must have also been intense beyond measure—fear, panic and then for some profound relief and for others the deepest grief imaginable. 

If someone had told me to let go of Caroline, I’m not sure I would have been physically capable of doing that.  Jesus was a man; fully human so he too must have understood this need, and yet he tells Mary not only to not hold onto him, but to go.  Jesus’ work was not finished—and Mary becomes a part of that work.  She must go and witness; she cannot hold onto Jesus out of her own needs—she must bear witness—she must do that which seems impossible because she must help to bring hope—to the world.  Mary must be a witness, a testimony, that evil—that suffering and death will not prevail.

In our fears we want to close down.  I was at All Saints camp last week when I heard about the shootings in Colorado.  We were having a wonderful time—a mountain top experience and this tragedy sharply punctuated—the outside world invaded the sacred space of All Saints, and I was angry.  Angry at the intrusion of the world, and also deeply pained for and terrified of being in the world.    One of the first thoughts I had was, “I’m never letting my children go to a movie again.”  I’ll bet I’m not the only person to have thought that.  I was so relieved that three of my four were with me, that I could see them, hear them, and touch them, and I immediately called the fourth—texting wasn’t enough; I needed to hear his voice.  I know that I have wanted to close ranks around my family—around my community.  I feel so incredibly blessed to be here with you all today; to worship in this magnificent beautiful church, and frankly, I would like nothing more than to stay here—to wrap myself into the cocoon of our community.  We can continue to worship together, eat together, play together and love one another and ignore the outside world.  We share the same faith, and we are safe here.

Jesus told Mary and he tells us, “Don’t hold on to me.”  The good news is not for us alone; we cannot hide, cocoon and hoard our faith just because it is safe. We have been called to be the light and the hope to the world; and the world needs us.  We must stand up as Christians and say that we will not let the powers of evil win—we must live--bring our faith, our hope, and the love of God to the world despite our fear.

I imagine that across the country today in many, many churches there are people praying for and mourning for and with those in Aurora Colorado.  We do retreat to our churches and to our communities of faith in times of grief and tragedy.  That’s okay—that’s part of why we are here—to be community, to support and love one another, but we are also here to be refreshed, renewed, and restored so that we may go forth into the world bringing Christ with us.  God calls us to bring a light to the darkness, to bring hope to the hopeless, to weep with those who are weeping, and to bear witness in the face of evil, to stand and together say, “We will not let evil win—we will continue to work to bring the Kingdom into completion.”

We cannot hoard Jesus; we cannot keep him just for ourselves.  We must take the love of God to this broken world.  We must continue to live; we must continue to go out despite our fears, as hard as it may be, we must continue to go to movies, to congregate in public places because by doing so we prove that evil can and will be overcome.  We are the living glimpses of the Kingdom of God here on earth-- right here and right now; we are the light in this world of darkness; we are the hope to those who are hopeless—we must go forth and announce, “I have seen the Lord” and he lives.  Thanks be to God. 

          

A Letter to Gangan after Cousins' Weekend

Dear Gangan,
     We had our second Cousins' Weekend since you've been gone last week--we actually extended it from Tuesday-Saturday.  Over that period 24 of us gathered at various times.  Lots has happened over the past year, and just below the surface you could feel the tension of deep seeded hurts, strained relationships, and unrelenting regrets.  For the first three days I felt those feelings, but I also, fortunately, felt a love that covered  us, the love that we have for one another; a love that was on the surface for all to see.
     Friday afternoon, Beth, Taylor, Meredith and I went out to tube.  (Our children and spouses of course found this hilarious.)  But as we were out on the water, I felt us all return to the people we have been to each other our whole lives.  Taylor again became my Tay-tay--partner in crime, competitor in activity, and protector, Beth and Meredith were a fierce twosome who sometimes let me tag along, two people I have always looked up to, loved and admired, and I became the person in between--the bratty tagalong who always knew she was loved.  As we glided over the water, as first Taylor and then Beth drove the boat, jerking us back and forth, fearlessly attacking the wakes all in an attempt to see who could still hold on, I felt the memories of the many years bouncing back and forth over the waves from the boat to the tube; I felt the judgments and the differences sink far below the surface of the water and the love and acceptance spray over us like the spray from the waves sent by God and the spray from the wake we created.  It reminded me that we have a love for one another just because we're family, and we also have a love for one another that we have created throughout the years.  As we cackled and howled with laughter, that love punctuated the air.  Chris said he could hear it all the way back at the grill.  For those 45 minutes, we returned to the carefree world of our childhood and youth, and I knew without a doubt that these people would always love me and always support me no matter what our differences are.  I knew without a doubt that these people would always challenge me to be a better person and to live into the person God created me to be.  And these people would never give up on me.
     As I sit here this morning, it is very clear that while there are definite hurts, strains, and regrets, they are not the root of or the foundation of our relationships.  No, they are sandwiched between a deep, deep love and a love that is ever growing--the love others see on the surface; a love that is renewed and rejuvenated every time we gather.
     We missed you Gangan, but the pain was a little less this year.  There was more laughter as we shared stories about you and fewer tears.  Thank you for demanding that we remain a family no matter what.  Thank you for allowing us the freedom to be who we are and to love us anyway; thank you for passing that love onto us.

Love,
Katherine (still the youngest grand-daughter ;))

PS  We had blueberry muffins this year!

Family Reunions and the Gospel

Proper 9

Year B

          Today’s sermon was interesting to write particularly in light of where I was when I was writing it.  Last night I returned from what our family calls “Cousin’s Weekend” which is our form of a family reunion.  All week we joked about the line in the Gospel, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own country and among his own kin and in his own house.”

          Tuesday we all began to gather on the Northern neck of Virginia—a place we have gathered every summer for the last 17 years.  As we—the now adult cousins--drove onto the property, we shed our “outside identities.”  No longer were we counselors, marketing executives, clergy (except at meal times when the blessing always fell to me), financial analysts, business managers—no we quickly returned to our roles that we have played for all the years of our lives while we were being raised almost like siblings—you could even say a litter of puppies.  These roles were particularly played out while tubing and beating the tar out of one another, the competitive spirit fully alive—no longer were we adults working and rearing our own children, but rather adults who had returned to the womb—the safety of our childhood.

          As we drove onto the property, we re-entered this comfortable world of our childhood, a world we recognize; a place, physical and emotional, to return that is familiar—a place of security.  A place where we know who we are, where we come from, and where we belong; where we know what is expected and we effortlessly exist—a place where the “rules” and the “roles” are so ingrained within us that we slip into them and allow them to envelope us like a warm blanket or a perfectly worn in old pair of jeans.  For me it is close to heaven on earth. 

          In today’s Gospel, Jesus also returned to his hometown, but he did not shed who he was as an adult (actually who he had always been but only recently was acknowledged) as he entered his own country.  And he certainly did not follow the rules.  The world where Jesus lived was a fixed society—you didn’t pull yourselves up by the bootstraps and leave the world of the middle class to become a member of high society.  You were born into a class and there you remained for all your days.  Further, this society was built and controlled by its strict honor/shame code.  If someone got “too big for their britches” the honor/shame code quickly kicked in to put them back into their place.

          Into his home country Jesus goes, and on the Sabbath he begins to teach in the synagogue.  Possibly initially they were pleased at the product that “they” had produced—almost like a hero’s welcome home.  They certainly do not deny that he has been given “wisdom” and has done “might works wrought by his own hand.”  No, they do not deny--, they cannot deny these things—quickly, they get very uncomfortable—their surprise and a little bit of pride takes a 180—they get nervous; possibly they get scared; and they get angry.  This man, Jesus, is not conforming to the “rules”; he is shaking things up, and they don’t like it.  And so they attempt to control him; to shame him; to return their world to the stable, safe, comfortable world they know.  They remind each other, and possibly him, that he’s only a carpenter’s son—a very low status—a manual laborer.  That’s not enough for them, however.  We don’t know what exactly Jesus taught in the synagogue that day, but it must have really terrified them because they pull out all the stops.  Not only do they remind themselves that he is a nobody, on the lowest rung of society’s ladder, but they also try to control him, to return him to that place through shame.  Remember this is a very patriarchal society, and yet they call him the “son of Mary.”  That would be extremely uncommon, but would be done as a way of questioning his legitimacy—“we think he’s the son of a carpenter, but really we don’t know—he could be even lower than that.”  Their world is so shaken by what they hear and by who they hear it from that they use any ploys they have to shut it down.  Jesus in word and deed and in being himself has challenged the status quo, has exposed them to another way of thinking, of seeing, of being.  Instead of embracing it, exploring it, considering it, in their fear, they clamp down hard. 

          The people of Jesus’ hometown don’t want to see something new because it challenges their constructed world—their world where they know who they are and what is expected of them—the world where they know how to be—the world where they feel safe and secure even if that world doesn’t bring joy; even if that world isn’t life giving—it is at least familiar. Jesus introduces a world that is different and we all know that difference, change, can be very uncomfortable—can even be terrifying.

          Into his hometown Jesus comes and he shakes things up---he is quite good at this shaking things up isn’t he?  Jesus shakes up the people of his hometown and if we’re honest with ourselves, he shakes us up.  Jesus forces the people of his time and forces us today to look at the world differently (remember last week loving our enemies)?  Not only does he challenge us to look at the world differently, but he challenges us to respond to the world differently; to live in the world differently.  But it doesn’t stop there—Jesus calls us to see the world differently, live in the world differently AND to point to it—to proclaim that the world can and should be different.  Jesus calls us to begin now—today-- to identify and proclaim the Kingdom of God present here and now—not just  the Kingdom of God to come.

          We, as Christians—as followers of Christ, are called not only to see injustice, but to act.  To not only not participate in racist, sexist, inappropriate jokes and conversations, but to declare them loudly and boldly wrong.  We are called to not only be inclusive of all, but to speak up for to defend those who are ostracized—those who are on the fringes.  We are called not only to serve the poor but to also proclaim the injustices of the systems that maintain the status quo—to proclaim the injustices and to work to change them.  To do this, we have to notice; we have to pay attention; we have to think outside of the box—to shake up our way of thinking and to have our way of thinking shaken up by others.  We have to begin to see things; to see people in a different way.  We have to think not in terms of “this is the way it is, this is the way it has always been or this is how the world is today” and instead think about how the world can be; how the world should be.  We are not to just come to church on Sunday but we are to take church to the world—to be church to the world.

          It’s not easy to be shaken up; it’s not easy to feel like you’re standing alone, and sometimes it flat out feels like it’s an impossible call.  It feels like running upstream.  We don’t see things changing—there is so much need still in the world, so much meanness in the world, in our schools, in our workplaces, in our lives.  During those times, it is easy to want to give up; to throw up our hands and say, “oh well I tried” or to retreat and to only associate with others like us—to not leave the security of our Christian friends, of our church family.  Perhaps we even want to say, “Well that’s not really my job—I’m not a professional—I’m not a priest.”   In our Old Testament lesson today, we are clearly told that none of that lets us off the hook.  God speaks to Ezekiel saying “Son of Man”—sometimes that is translated “mortal”.  God says to Ezekiel and to us—“mortal, ordinary human being—get up and do something, get up and say something.  Whether they hear or not is not the point.  Whether they respond or not, is not the point”— you are called: I am called—it is our duty to proclaim the Kingdom of God here and now in both our words and actions.” 

We promise this in our baptismal covenant, we say that we will proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ; that we will seek and serve Christ in ALL others, loving our neighbors as ourselves; that we will strive for justice and peace among ALL people and respect the dignity of EVERY human being—and we don’t say but only when we see it working, only when we know we’ll be successful, recognized and thanked.

          It’s not easy—I don’t want to be too harsh on the people in Jesus’ hometown,—it’s extremely difficult when our way of thinking, our way of acting, our way of being is challenged.  They were scared; they were threatened and so they used the means of their days to try to put their world back into their box.  It was too late—the coming of Jesus makes it too late.  I don’t know whether any of the people changed, whether any of the people began to live in the world differently, but I do know that we cannot.  Christ’s coming, Christ’s death and resurrection changed everything—it changed the people then and it continues to change us now.  It’s already out of the box—

          Sometimes we do need to return to the known; to the security of the womb.  It’s okay to acknowledge that; to need that.  It’s okay to sometimes need to be where it doesn’t seem so hard—to be where you’re accepted unconditionally; loved unconditionally; known fully.  I return to Cousins’ weekend every year for that, and every year I do leave refreshed and renewed (and a little homesick), but I leave to return to my life in the world.  We, as Christians, as members of Calvary; come to church—to our security where we are accepted, loved and known—where we have a common bond; we come to be refreshed and renewed; and we come to encounter the living Christ in the Eucharist—to encounter, to be changed and to take that change—that new way of being into the world.  We come to be reminded of who we are, whose we are—let us go forth and be that to the world.  Amen.

Loving Our Enemies

Independence Day Sermon 2012

8 am

Matthew 5:43-48

          Today’s Gospel reading makes me want to run—I think I’ve started many sermons with some version of that statement.  But that’s what the Gospel often does to me; I’m being honest—when I first read or hear it each week, I want to throw up my hands and say, “What’s the point?  I can never do all the things we are being asked to do.”  But I don’t run, and you don’t run.  We return week after week seeking, stretching, striving to be—to grow into being the people of God.  That is, in fact, what we are being asked to do.  Today’s Gospel is indeed telling us just that.

          On this Sunday when we recognize Independence Day and we give thanks for our great country and the privilege of living in it, it would seem appropriate to preach about loving our enemies—to talk about different countries and our relationships with them; appropriate—and yet I’m not going to begin there.  Jesus is pretty clear we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute you—.  I would like us to start with the part which says be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect.  On the surface, that sounds like a command that is absolutely impossible to follow.  Seems like here would be a good time to talk about, to preach about grace and forgiveness because we know we can’t be perfect—again I’m not going to do that.  Instead, I would like to explore what the original meaning of perfect was.

          In Greek, the word perfect comes from the stem telos which means “goal”, “end” or “intended.”  It is not an end onto itself, but rather more of a verb—a verb of movement.  Jesus is asking us to grow into; to strive to be that which we were intended to be.  And what is that?  We were each and every one of created in the image of God—not created to be God, but rather created to be in His image—to be His children.  As beings created in God’s image, loved completely by God, we are to emit that love, that care, to every person, every nation.  Jesus is telling his disciples and telling us to strive to be, strive to live as he lived.  Perfect is not an end, it is not a completion; to be perfect means that we are actively purposefully striving to live into our image as people of God—God’s holy people.

          Now that we’ve cleared that up—it’s easy right?  If only that were so.  One of the hardest parts of this for me is recognizing that God isn’t just saying this to me.  God isn’t just saying this to you or to the other people who show up each week at Calvary, or to the people who show up in churches in our Diocese, in the Episcopal Church, in the Anglican communion, in any Christian church.  No, God created each and every human being; Jesus came for all—not just the ones I deem worthy or you deem worthy or anyone else deems worthy.   I was created in the image of God, you were created in the image of God, every person was created in the image of God.

          I’m going to tell you a really not nice part of me.  When I lived in England and was in discernment, I was given many essays and tasks to do.  One of these tasks was choose someone who—for lack of a better explanation bothered me; annoyed me; and to pray for that person; to learn to love that person—it wasn’t necessarily to become best friends with that person (thank goodness), but to recognize that he or she was a child of God just like I was.  So I chose this woman in our village who I could not stand—still today thinking about her, I get a little miffed.  I found her arrogant, snobby, condescending—you name it.  She was always telling me how Americans were and she was usually wrong.  Well we had children the same age, lived rather near each other, and had mutual friends.  So my task was each time I saw her whether she saw me or not I was to say to myself, “God loves her just as much as God loves me.”   Let me tell you when you are charged with a task like this, that person begins to show up everywhere!  But I did it, most of the time.  In the beginning I did it with a clenched jaw, and honestly, I didn’t necessarily believe it.  Or if I did believe it I would think, “God may love her as much as me, but I’m still a better person.”  Over time, however, it got easier.  Over time, I began to see parts of her that I had either ignored or been too closed off to see.  I would love to be able to stand here and tell you that we became the best of friends, but that’s not true.  She still said rude, arrogant, wrong things about life in America, but it didn’t annoy me quite so much.

          I’m sure that we all have people in our lives like my villager.  They could be in our lives or pass through our lives—perhaps the rude person in the checkout lane, or the driver that cuts you off, what if instead of seething you quietly said to yourself, “God loves that person has much as God loves me.  That person was also created in the image of God and is God’s beloved child.”  And if we could do that with people we actually encounter in our daily lives, wouldn’t we also then have to consider that God loves people of different political ideologies, different races, different genders, different cultures, different faiths as much as God loves us?  Would considering this be a start to loving our enemies?

          Please don’t misunderstand that I am saying this is easy—remember I still get rankled thinking about the villager—but I am challenging us to just consider beginning interactions with others consciously remembering that that person, those people are also beloved children of God created in His image.  I recently saw a t-shirt that said on the front, “God loves everyone.” And on the back it said, “but I’m his favorite.” 

          Jesus loved; Jesus—God-- loves all—Jew and Gentile, saints and sinners, democrats and republicans, Americans, Europeans, Africans, Muslims, Christians—all.  God doesn’t always love all our actions, but who we are, who all people are at our very cores is children of God created in His image.  St. Augustine said while presiding at the Eucharist, “Receive who you are; become what you’ve received.”  This morning as we come forward to the altar, let us remember that we are God’s beloved children, created in His image; let us receive that, and then let us leave the rail forgiven, transformed, and empowered by the Eucharist.  Let us  leave having been filled; with God dwelling in us and we in Him, and move into the world to live into that identity we claim—to live into the image of God, and yes living in to that includes loving and praying for our enemies.  Amen.