Storytelling

a Homily for Thanksgiving

Texts: Deuteronomy 8:7-18 & 2 Corinthians 9:6-15

Imagine what it must have been like for the Israelite people to be on the precipice of entering their home: the land for which they have longed. The land that they never knew except through stories and tales of their ancestors. A land that they are only now getting to glimpse after a long, arduous, and dangerous journey from relative comfort in Egypt. Imagine what it is like—to stand there with anticipation, excitement, and outright joy for finally realizing your dreams. One of your closest friends falls to the ground in joy, tears streaming down his face—what can he do but worship G-d? A woman slides down into her partner’s arms, overcome—she had been faithful to G-d, but she never thought she’d see this day. Children tugging at their parents’ clothes in awe and wonder at what this new land will look like.

Our Thanksgiving story shares some of those elements, doesn’t it? Pilgrims, seeking freedom in a new land; a dangerous journey that imperiled their very existence; anticipation of what would come.

For the Israelites, this was the end of a long journey. A journey in which many who were responsible for getting them there, would not get to finish. Moses and Aaron, for their betrayal of G-d, would die. In fact, those that left Egypt would be prevented from completing the journey: only their offspring could enter the new land. G-d’s punishment is severe and undeniable in light of this incredible gift. A gift so perfectly described in our Old Testament lesson from Deuteronomy which says:

Do not say to yourself, ‘My power and the might of my own hand have gained me this wealth.’ But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, so that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your ancestors, as he is doing today.

It is hard when we are feeling an economic crunch to be thankful for what we have and to think about it as wealth. It is hard to give up ownership of it. It is hard to give God any credit, let alone total credit. It is hard to give God ownership of what we have, because what is left? It is hard not to conserve, store, horde, or otherwise “play it safe”. This is what we do. This is no different than what the Israelite people, wandering in the desert were doing when they questioned G-d.

We’re addicted to ownership and possession. Its part of what it means to be an American. We own our responsibility, our independence. We might give God credit for accidents: the things that weren’t supposed to work in our favor like winning a raffle or finding a ridiculously good parking spot on Black Friday. But the rest is our own ingenuity and natural talent, isn’t it?

In the gospel of the talents from two weeks ago, Jesus tells a parable about these slaves that are each given talents: the first receives five, the second receives two, and the third gets one. Later, the master comes back and through the courage and mindfulness of the first two slaves, God doubles their investments (100% is an incredible interest rate, isn’t it?). The third slave, on the other hand, sits on and squanders what is given him for which the master severely punishes the slave. With unemployment heading into double digits, increased poverty and need for resources, and churches and non-profits strapped for cash, in a moment of scary, economic uncertainty, how can we not be that third slave?

In other words, today, as we gather here, how can we be thankful? How can we be thankful for such misery and fear? How are we to be a people of light and hope when we can’t see it— when we don’t know it? When the winter is bleak and the prospects are few?

Moses shows what giving real thanks is about: relinquishing ownership. Giving it up. It’s about what G-d has given the people, how G-d has provided for the people, how God today provides for us. It’s about giving thanks. Giving thanks for the incredible gifts that none of us deserves, let alone earned.

This is God’s undergirding economic philosophy: faith can achieve miracles that far surpass compound interest and dividends. We just have to give up ownership. As Paul wrote in tonight’s Epistle: “And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.” Paul clarifies ownership rules. He helps us understand God’s contract. The contract made with a people long passed. A people we know only through story; through the tradition of sharing the lives of our ancestors with the next generation. A story tradition that saw a people in the midst of extreme adversity set foot on a foreign shore and try to do the unthinkable: simply survive the winter.

Like the Israelites, there is no happy ending, really. Centuries of abuse, exploitation, and death follow. The treatment of the Native Peoples is perhaps the biggest scar on American history—and the most embarrassing part of our story.

And yet it is our story. As is the struggle and arrival of the Israelites. As are the trials of Jesus and His apostles. As is the formation and fulfilling of St. David’s Episcopal Church. This is the story—our story. This is what we talk about as we gather around tables tomorrow. Our story. As we share a communal meal, giving thanks for those that came before, in the tradition of our foremothers and fathers. Our story. As we gather tonight around this table to share in this tradition from ancestors. Our story.

What G-d revealed to the Israelites and reveals to us tonight is a different ownership model. We own our relationship to God. We own our story. We own how we relate to people. All of the wealth—the houses, the property, the cars, the TVs, comfy beds, dining room tables, couches, skyscrapers, bridges, freeways, railstations, airports, seaports, vessels, temples, pyramids, ruins, and Wonders are God’s. All of this is God’s.

Tomorrow, I’m going to my sister’s house with Rose and Sophia. We’ll gather at a table with three generations, two family branches, to share in our history—our story. We’ll visit with my Uncle Hal and Aunt Barbara as they celebrate their wedding. We will gather to talk about the next chapter in our story. All of this will serve as the impetus of thanksgiving—the time to reflect on thankfulness, to set aside as Sabbath thankfulness.

Because we don’t run around with 364 days of thanklessness—but we also don’t need to put all of our thankfulness pressure on one day—one dinner—one shot at praising God for what God has given us. We don’t need to run around perfecting a feast to be thankful—in fact that usually distracts us. But we do need to sit with other people, telling our story, walking through the lives of ancestors and the old you—yesterday’s you—the you that is captured in a sister’s memory. That is our story.

May the God of hope and wonder guide you safely on your journeys, bring compassionate action from your thankfulness, and grant you grace through your storytelling.

Humility and the New Equality

a Sermon for Proper 26A
Text: Matthew 23:1-12

“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses' seat,”

Jesus says. They are important. They are our leaders.

“[T]herefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach.”

They are, in other words, hypocrites.

The Jesus of this morning’s gospel is…difficult. He has gone on the offensive and verbally attacks the Pharisees and scribes. He concedes that they’re actually very good teachers, that they know what they’re talking about, but just don’t act like them. They’ve got that all wrong.

The gospel continues through the rest of this chapter as Jesus’s condemnation continues, and increases.

In verse 13, Jesus says:

“But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven.”

In 17 he says:

“You blind fools! For which is greater, the gold or the sanctuary that has made the gold sacred?”

In all, He says “Woe to you” 7 times, he calls the Pharisees and scribes “hypocrites” 6 times, and “blind” 5 times: all in this one chapter.

But let’s put this in perspective. Though we are approaching Advent, the beginning of our church calendar, we are in the midst of the final days of Jesus’s life here in Matthew. Jesus has entered Jerusalem, foretold his impending death to his disciples, explained their place in all of it, and here, he has come to the Temple for his sacrifice and final teachings. As we have heard in the last few gospel lessons, as the Pharisees and scribes attempted to trap Jesus in theological exercises, Jesus trapped them. Remember especially last week’s gospel about the Greatest Commandment as Jesus argues that:

‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’

So Jesus, after thoroughly trouncing the authorities, turns his attention to the people, to make his own statement, and directs his ire toward the Pharisees and scribes.

When Jesus talks about phylacteries and fringes [a phylactery is a long box containing scripture—think of a fancy Bible cover], you can imagine he is talking about one of our candidates for public office, can’t you? One of those people who is always smiling and kissing babies and speaking about the “strength of the American workforce” going on about the virtues of American Exceptionalism. He or she wears a tailored suit, making sure to have a flag pin prominently displayed on the lapel.

In fact, we ask for substantive debate from them, and then bemoan when we actually get it. We are really listening for the zingers: those memorable lines.

As much as Jesus is nailing these leaders for their hypocrisy, he is revealing something about himself that troubles us here: he is passing judgment on them. We want to be open people. We fight against that voice of judgment because of what it means. We have watched the negative campaigning that has held our TVs hostage for months. We have witnessed the judgment passed by us and about us as Episcopalians, as members of the Diocese of Western Michigan, and as the people of St. David’s. Who is Jesus, then, to pass judgment? How can we learn to love all of our neighbors if we are allowed to judge some of them? Who am I, standing in the pulpit, to pass judgment? What kind of example is Jesus giving us and what kind of example are our candidates for elected office giving us?

Jesus reveals to us in the gospel that judgment is a part of love. Recognizing difference and relationship is central to our ability to love those around us. Recognizing when someone you love is doing something wrong gives you the chance to help them. This is why the previous verses about the Great Commandment are so essential to this gospel: loving one’s neighbor is a part of loving God. These two are essentially connected. Loving your neighbor, the hypocrite, involves pointing out his/her hypocrisy. Jesus uses judgment to not only reveal the problem with the Jewish authorities (their hypocrisy) but also to reveal the true teaching (humility). See, it isn’t really about who the Pharisees and scribes are, but about who they are not. They are not humble. They see themselves as special and demand that others see them that way too.

For Jesus, the teaching is really directed at the crowd. A visual example of the way not to act. He tells the people not to use titles like rabbi and father. The instruction, that these are God’s titles highlights what they are not: our titles. You may be a mother or father because you gave birth to a baby, and yes, you are her mother or father. Jesus isn’t calling for the stripping of such a title from you. But He is talking about position, power over or dominance of another. We, as children of God, are equals; it is only God that has a position of power over us. We are all saints. This is a radical concept here: true equality.

When Jesus says “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted” he is telling his disciples to do more than simply “be nice” to people: to be humble before them. The disciples, as leaders, must serve their followers.

For most of us, that seems pretty messed up. Some of us like our “phylacteries broad and [our] fringes long”. Some of us exercise the only authority we have in life when we come to church. Some of us only know how to lead through dominating others. But Jesus calls us to something different.

We are currently living in a moment in which we have no choice but to re-examine our understanding of leadership. All leadership: in the church; in our city, state, and country; in our global communion. We have the chance to look at how we lead and at our motivations. We can look at our priorities and our vision for the future. Jesus reveals the style of leadership (humility) in our lesson today, but he also reveals the why: preparing the Kingdom of God. That’s why we are listed among the saints. It is our right relationship with each other that brings closer that right relationship with God (and vice versa).

As you go into this week, take time to reflect about the Kingdom as you prepare to vote. Reflect also on what God is calling you to do in the life and ministry of St. David’s. Through planned giving and outreach to the powerless: here and abroad. Through food baskets and mosquito nets.

Jesus reveals the Kingdom as a great reversal of fortunes. For virtually every one of us in North America, that means that we are all called to serve others. May God reveal to you your place in this radical equality.

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NOTE: I chose not to move All Saints' readings to Sunday, as this text was so good! That, and it made much more sense in the context of our lectionary!