Life Itself Is Grace

“Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.” (Frederick Buechner)

I have informed the Church Pension Group of my intent to retire on December 31, 2025. It’s been quite the journey!

I first began to discern a call to ordained ministry during my junior year abroad, in St. Andrew’s, Scotland. I am grateful that the young woman I met on the first day of international students orientation that fall of 1983, Hathy MacMahon, was there throughout that process and for these past forty years. I know many clergy who had “first careers” and the partner who married a lawyer or teacher or accountant has to “adjust” to being married to a priest. Hathy has been there the whole time, as my ordained life has unfolded in Connecticut, Massachusetts, and now Rhode Island.

My dad died suddenly and unexpected on April 30, 1982 – as I was just at the end of my freshman year at Georgetown. I had gone there with the plan to become a lawyer, and I was drawn to Washington, DC because I was interested in politics. But at the time of my dad’s death I was in a required theology class called “Problem of God.” The following year I took another required class, “Introduction to the Bible.” Katharine Bates was an excellent Sunday School teacher at the Hawley United Methodist Church and she gave me a solid foundation – but Jouette Bassler made the Bible come to life for me, and raised questions that did not have simple answers. By the time I headed off to St. Andrew’s I was wondering if I might be called to become what at the time I called “a Protestant Jesuit.”

When I came back the Board of Ordained Ministry of the Wyoming Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church seemed amused at this seemingly oxymoronic call. But they let me slide, and a few months after graduating from Georgetown I found myself at Drew Theological School, on the path toward ordination in the United Methodist Church. Hathy and I got married (at St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in Lincoln, Massachusetts) at the end of my first year at Drew, and she left a job at Dana Farber to join me in Madison, New Jersey for my middler and senior years.

It was mostly because of her that we ended up at a Thursday morning Eucharist at Grace Church in Madison, where the new rector (a guy named Bob Ihloff, who would later be elected Bishop of Maryland) asked if I’d be his seminarian during my senior year. When I told him “you know I’m a Methodist, right?” he basically said, “who cares? Grace is next to a Methodist Seminary!”

I was far enough along in the process with the Methodists and not yet ready to make a denominational change. So on a hot summer night in June 1988, I was ordained at Elm Park United Methodist Church in Scranton, PA. Hathy had a good job in New Jersey and we were house sitting for a professor who had gone for a stint out to the west coast, so I enrolled at Princeton Seminary in a ThM program in Church History. I also accepted a call to serve part-time as the pastor of the Hampton United Methodist Church in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. One year later I received a call to become the Protestant Campus Minister at Central Connecticut State University in New Britain, Connecticut. We packed up and moved and I felt on my way to becoming a “Protestant Jesuit.”

Over the years I’ve preached at maybe a dozen or more ordinations. I usually make the bishop who is officiating squirm when I say that I believe that the notion that priests are “essentially changed” when a bishop puts her hands on a priest’s head is a stretch for me. Rather, I believe ordination is existential – or to say it another way, we become the priest/pastor we are meant to become over time, shaped by (for better or worse) the people among whom we serve. At CCSU, I worked closely with a Roman Catholic colleague and also a Reconstuctionist rabbi; I learned that ministry is not done in silos but is always at it’s best ecumenical and even interfaith. I learned from faculty that you can be “wicked smart” in Economics and still have a Sunday School education in theology – and that part of the work of a Campus Minister is to help people grow in their faith, which is sometimes hard to do in a parochial setting. I learned that “kids” may not attend much “church” but that doesn’t mean they aren’t asking big life questions about purpose and meaning. I am proud that four of my students ended up ordained and my four years there changed me for good. (Who can say if I was changed for the better?”)

Hathy, the lay Episcopalian, and I, the United Methodist campus minister, went looking for a church home. We went “church shopping” in New Britain and landed at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, where the rector was a guy named Malcolm (“Father Mac”) McDowell. He also happened to be president of my campus ministry board. Over the course of the next couple of years the seeds that had been planted at Grace Church in Madison began to take root and grow, and I spoke with Mac and then Bishop Arthur Walmsley about what it would take for me to become an Episcopal priest. A new way to imagine being a “Protestant Jesuit” in a denomination that saw itself as a “middle way” between Catholic and Protestant. Honestly, Bishop Walmsley made it pretty easy for me – easier than it often is for folks to make denominational changes. He just had one request/demand: that when ordained, I accept a call in a parish so that I could live more fully into this new chapter.

I never felt I was “renouncing” my first orders. In fact, I felt I was being true to the Wesley boys, John and Charles, by returning to their spiritual home. I still feel that way. I was feeling called to a more liturgical and sacramental denomination but John Westley’s commitment to the poor and social justice and even his “strangely warmed heart” continue to resonate with me, and I remain grateful for all that the United Methodist Church did to set me on my path. Even so, when I arrived at Christ and Holy Trinity Church in Westport, Connecticut as transitional deacon and then soon after a “baby priest” I felt I’d come home.

I was loved into becoming an Episcopal priest at Christ and Holy Trinity and mentored by the rector, John Branson, and a colleague who would become a lifelong friend, Pete Powell. Pete was never subtle. I told him one morning I needed to get “robed” and he responded, “Methodists robe. Episcopalians vest.” When I preached a great sermon he cheered me on, but just as often he would say, “why did you stop short of where that was headed? What if you had done this?” I was thinner skinned then than I am today but even at the time I was grateful for something few clergy ever get: honest, critical feedback.

But more than Arthur or John or Pete, it was the laity at Christ and Holy Trinity that helped me to discover my vocation. I fell in love with being a parish priest because of them. So when John went on sabbatical about four years in, and I got to move from the second chair to the first chair for a few months, I knew that I was called to parish ministry. I began to look for my next call and landed at St. Francis Church in Holden, Massachusetts on February 1, 1998. I stayed for just over fifteen years.

Again, God’s people there changed me for good. (Who can say if I was changed for the better?) In addition to my work as their rector, I got to chair the Commission on Ministry for my diocese. I got to do a DMin degree at Columbia Theological Seminary which led to a part-time adjunct gig teaching the Bible at Assumption College. (Protestant Jesuit?) Fifteen years, in my view, is just about the right tenure to serve a congregation. I don’t think the real stuff starts to happen until at least eight or nine years in. Those last six years or so were transformative. Baptisms, funerals, weddings – but mostly the day in and day out of walking the journey with people trying to follow Jesus was grace upon grace for me. I was happy there.

When the Standing Committee asked if I’d chair the Bishop Search Committee for our diocese in 2012, I immediately said yes. I had never felt called to that ministry myself, but I knew it mattered. I wanted to be helpful to my diocese. At the end of it all, Doug Fisher was elected to serve as bishop and soon after he asked me to serve as his Canon to the Ordinary.

We were not looking to leave Holden. But it felt like a call, and I said yes. We moved out of the rectory and shed some tears. I would stay on with Doug for the next eleven and a half years.

Diocesan work is very different from parochial ministry or campus ministry. I believe I did my job well and there was a lot of it that was rewarding. I was once more leading from the second chair, which only works when you like and respect the first chair! I felt like an imposter the first year or two and honestly was grieving the loss of a gig that I had felt fulfilled in. But in time I came to see that this work, while hard, was meaningful and stretching me in good ways. Again I felt changed for good. I got to connect with the breadth and depth of my denomination in ways that never would have happened from Holden. I came to love the work.

And, more than a decade of diocesan work can take a toll as well. I sometimes wonder if the Lutherans have the right idea by electing bishops to terms – which presumably might mean their “canons” also serve for nine or ten years. My boss (who is still my bishop) likes to say that in a parish you get to “pop the champagne” when things go well; but in a diocese that rarely happens. There is always the next thing. It’s harder to measure systemic change; I’m sure it happens but a diocese is far more complex than a parish. The pandemic began to awaken in me a call to return to parish ministry.

During my tenure as Canon to the Ordinary, a lot of my time was spent on clergy transitions. In our denomination (unlike my previous one, where the Bishop and Cabinet appoint clergy to their congregations) it is a call system. I worked closely with vestries and search committees and clergy looking to find a new call. I loved that part of the work. I also spent time with interims and I had developed some very strong opinions about what that work ought to be about and how often the opportunities were missed. I had an argument once with an interim at one of our larger congregations who was literally “breaking things”  that had been working. She told me, “if they don’t hate me when I leave, I haven’t done my job.”

I thought that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. I saw interim ministry as more intense with it’s “time certainty” than an open-ended call, and I saw it as very specific about getting some things done to prepare for the future. But I also saw continuity with all parish work which is always (always) about loving God’s people. And so I began to wonder (and my heart felt strangely warmed when I did) about finishing my ordained life as an interim priest in a congregation that needed to do some work and was ready to do that work.

In October 2024 I accepted a call to serve as the Interim Rector at St. Michael’s Church in Bristol, Rhode Island. When I retire I will have served there for fifteen months – a good amount of time for an interim. Whatever I will have accomplished, I don’t think they will hate me for it.

It strikes me that my first ministry at Hampton United Methodist Church and now this one at St. Michael’s were the shortest tenures I’ve had in a “career” that had four, five, fifteen and almost twelve year tenures in between. I believe in longer-term ministries, full stop. Ministry takes time. But I’m grateful for the intensity of these two book-end calls at the beginning and end of this nearly forty years of my active ministry. Although in two different denominations, each of them remind me that lots can still happen in a short span of time, especially when you are "all in." Ministry always happens just one day at a time, whether it last for fifteen years or fifteen months. I'm grateful for it all, and I look forward to having fun this fall at St. Michael’s all the way to Christmas.

People keep asking me what I will do next. I think it’s the wrong question. I will still be Rich Simpson. I will be a son (my mother will soon turn 80) and a brother and a husband and a father and a father-in-law and a grandfather and a friend and neighbor. I’ll keep cooking. I will BE myself. As a CREDO faculty member, before I was a conference leader I did the vocational work and I always told people that they were more than priests – they were beloved of God, baptized followers of Jesus – and that whatever work they might be doing at any time that was true.

Even so, I get what people are asking. In terms of what I’ll do, I will (God willing) continue to serve as CREDO faculty. I've begun to do some coaching and a little bit of spiritual direction and that feels right. I’ll take January-March as a kind of sabbatical time although I hope (God willing) that I’ll get back to the Holy Land in February to co-lead a pilgrimage, having recently made the very difficult decision to postpone a pilgrimage we’d planned for this October. I’ve agreed to cover a sabbatical from April – June at St. John’s in Northampton. After that, who knows? Only God. But what I will do is say “yes” to those things that bring me joy, things that are life-giving. Most of my ministry has been but there has also been a fair amount of emotional labor that I’ve not unpacked above!

Walter Brueggemann published over 100 books over his long career. (May he rest in peace, and rise in glory.) I own many of them and have read all of the ones I own. I was a bit of a fanboy of his when he used to show up at the Trinity Institute, or the Festival of Homiletics. But when I did my DMin at Columbia Theological Seminary I got to sit in his office and discuss ministry and I got to sit in his class to deepen my appreciation for the psalms and the prophets, especially Jeremiah. He was an extraordinary teacher and human being.

Through all of that, I think I could summarize Walter's life’s work (and I hope by extension in some small way, mine) as being committed to cultivating imagination, by which he meant that the Church is called to offer an alternative reality to the consumer-militaristic culture of modern America. We (ordained and lay) help people to imagine that it could be otherwise by critiquing the dominant culture and also energizing people toward God’s will for justice and compassion. I hope that my life work has been about doing just this, and that this work will continue even when I am receiving a check from the Church Pension Group each month. I am grateful for it all – beyond measure. And ready to embrace the next chapter, always with God’s help.

The Fifth Mark of Mission: TEND

I’ve been preaching a series of sermons this summer on The Five Marks of Mission. Today we get to number five, the last in this series. But let me review and back up and offer a rationale for this series and then we will talk about creation care.

I see a difference between being a called rector and an interim. Much of the work is the same, of course. Over the past eleven months we’ve had baptisms and weddings and funerals. We’ve had tartans kirked and we’ve celebrate both of the two great Christian festivals together, Easter and Christmas.

But the primary work of an intentional interim, which I am trying to be for you, is to focus on healing past wounds so that the parish can begin to move together again as one body. Toward that end, we need to remember who we are and return to purpose, so that when a more settled rector arrives she or he can focus on some longer-term goals.

Back in January when we remembered Dr. King, I shared his sermon on “Guidelines for a Constructive Church.” The reason for this summer series was to build on that, but in truth all of my preaching here at St. Michael’s has been towards this end: to return to the basics, to remember who we are and to reflect on where God is calling St. Michael’s next. You are not a blank slate upon which a new rector will make his or her mark. You are already moving forward and the next rector will join you in work we’ve begun, and with God’s help you will be changed for good over time.

You’re far more likely to find the right priest for you in this time if you have some clarity about the work that lies ahead.

So the Five Marks of Mission are not a sacred text. But they represent some core values and that’s why I’ve taken the time to unpack these this summer. I hope it’s been helpful. To review, those marks are as follows:

1.    To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom.

2.    To teach, baptize and nurture new believers.

3.    To respond to human need by loving service.

4.    To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation.

5.    To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

So today I have a very simple task, maybe the easiest of these five to preach on: to convince you that as Christians we care about this “fragile earth, our island home” and we know that we are called to be faithful stewards of it.

There is a strain in the Christian tradition that misses this point and we need to name that. Decades ago, some of you may remember a Secretary of the Interior named Jim Watt. He was an evangelical Christian who was quoted as saying that God gave us the earth to use and after the last tree is felled, Christ would return.

I think he was wrong in the same way that people try to force Christ’s return by manipulating foreign policy in the Middle East are wrong. I prefer the theology of dear old St. Francis, who was reportedly asked one day while hoeing a row of peas in his garden, “Francis, if you learned that Christ would return this afternoon, what would you be doing?” Francis didn’t miss a beat: I’d like to finish hoeing this row of peas!

So it is true that in the Revelation of John, God makes a new heaven and a new earth. But God gets to be God and it’s the worst kind of arrogance to think we can force God’s hand. Let’s all be like Francis and do the work God has given us to do until our last breath. That includes being faithful stewards of all that God has entrusted to us in the meantime.

From the beginning, literally, in the Book of Genesis, in the Garden of Eden, humans are given the responsibility to tend the garden. I know some of you are gardeners yourselves as my spouse and my mother are. I see how labor intensive it is. God gives us this good earth and sun and rain and seasons but God also invites human laborers throughout the Bible to share in the work of tending the garden.

We see an important image from the prophets that Jesus uses in his parables as well: the image of the vineyard.

Let me sing for my beloved
my love-song concerning his vineyard:
My beloved had a vineyard
on a very fertile hill.
He dug it and cleared it of stones,
and planted it with choice vines;
he built a watchtower in the midst of it,
and hewed out a wine vat in it;
he expected it to yield grapes,
but it yielded wild grapes.

Now the reading goes beyond this and in truth I could have done a part two of the fourth mark of mission on this reading, because what Isaiah is saying is that human beings have missed the mark on doing justice and there are consequences for that. But I want to just focus on the vineyard itself.

Have you ever stood in a vineyard? I have. A close friend got married in Tuscany years ago and we all stayed at a vineyard there which was exquisite. Years later I did wedding at the vineyard in Truro, Mass. Hathy and I have also done a few trips to Napa and Sonoma Valleys.

I love vineyards because, well, honestly I love good wine. I love the end product. But you don’t get there without a lot of things happening and the key difference is between good grapes and not-so-good grapes. You can’t get a stellar wine from bad grapes! So it takes work, and skill, and practice, and love. It takes human and divine cooperation.

The word stewardship tends to get used mostly when we are talking about what we do with our money but it’s also about what we do with our time and our talents. Followers of Jesus are called to be faithful stewards of the gifts entrusted to us. This includes this good earth that God has given us.

It is counter to everything our faith teaches to trash it and then think that will bring about the second coming so that Jesus can fix it. It simply doesn’t work that way. As members of the Episcopal branch of the Jesus’ Movement we care about clean air and water and the earth. More than care – we are responsible for these gifts.

As with so many things, people of good will will continue to debate about the details on how best to do that. We can let science take the lead on that. But to dismiss the care of creation totally is not an option. We need to be very clear as people of faith that this is part of the work of being the church, one of the five marks of mission.

So there you have it friends.

• TELL the story of Jesus.
  
• Invite, welcome and connect new believers to this faith community.
• Respond to human need by loving your neighbor.
• Do justice, and seek peace and reconciliation.
• Care for this fragile earth, our island home. 

When we are doing these things, we are living more and more into our calling to be the Church, always with God’s help.

The Fourth Mark of Mission: TRANSFORM

“When I feed the hungry, they call me a saint. When I ask why they are poor, they call me a communist.”

This quote has been attributed to all kinds of folks but as best I can tell, it in fact originally came from Dom Helder Camara, a Brazilian Archbishop known for his advocacy for social justice. His experience is what can get preachers into good trouble as they make the move from “preaching to meddling.”

When I worked for a bishop, I never got a call from a vestry that was concerned that their priest was telling the congregation to respond to human need in our midst. I have never (not once) served a congregation that doesn’t do good works. Laundry Love. Veterans Lunches. Collecting food at Thanksgiving. Giving out backpacks to kids at the start of school. All of these are worthy things and all are related to the third mark of mission, to see our neighbor and to respond to their needs.

The trouble comes when we ask why. But today is a day for us to ask why as we continue a preaching series on the five marks of mission. To briefly review, they are: 

1. To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom.
2. To teach, baptize and nurture new believers. 
3. To respond to human need by loving service.
4. To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation.
5. To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

Our new Presiding Bishop, Sean Rowe, began a letter to the faithful earlier this summer with these words:

I am writing to you from Geneva, where I am meeting with global partners at the World Council of Churches and the United Nations Refugee Agency. As we have discussed how our institutions might act faithfully and boldly in these turbulent times, I have been reflecting on how we Episcopalians can respond to what is unfolding around us as followers of the Risen Christ whose first allegiance is to the kingdom of God, not to any nation or political party.

For a long time in the history of our denomination we had a close proximity to power and we took full advantage of that. At our worst we were chaplains to the empire. We lost our ability to speak prophetically. The fourth mark of mission calls on us to reclaim that prophetic voice.

So today I’m going to preach on the first chapter of Isaiah. But what I really want to say to you, St. Michael’s, would require a much deeper dive into the prophets. For today, what I want you to notice is that ALL of the prophets (and not only Isaiah) are NOT looking down the road to predict the coming of Jesus. This approach got Christians off track and it’s been a real challenge for us to get back on track. But notice where we begin. It’s where all the prophets begin: situated in a particular socio-political context. It’s not pie-in-the-sky thinking. In this case, the vision comes to Isaiah in the days of some kings whose names almost certainly don’t roll of of your tongues. But you can Google them if you like. (AFTER this sermon!)

The vision of Isaiah son of Amoz, which he saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah.

So what is the vision? It’s beautiful really. It goes like this:

Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;

cease to do evil,
learn to do good;

seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,

defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.

I submit to you that this is exactly the right text for the fourth mark of mission. Notice our verbs: to transform unjust structures in our society. To challenge violence. To pursue peace and reconciliation. This, in a nutshell, is what the prophets are about. This, in a nutshell is what this fourth mark of mission is about. But it’s hard work. It’s easier to offer acts of mercy than to do justice.

This is not an Old Testament thing, but it does point to where we overlap with our Jewish cousins. When John the Baptist comes to prepare the way for Jesus, he looks and sounds a lot like an Old Testament prophet. And when Jesus says, “who do people say that I am?” the answers include “you sound like one of the prophets.” In fact when Jesus begins his public ministry he unrolls the scroll of Isaiah and it sounds very much like the reading we heard today. Jesus lived and breathed the Torah and the prophets, even if the Church has too often forgotten this. It’s why this fourth mark of mission is so crucial to us as we seek to follow Jesus in this time and place.

In one sense it has always been hard. But I think it’s gotten more difficult as our American political scene has become so incredibly polarized. Yet especially for this reason, now is the time for us to reclaim our voice and remind ourselves and the world around us that even though not partisan, we are also clear that the gospel isn’t just spiritual. It’s not about what happens when we die. It’s about this world we live in. It’s about caring for the least of these in our very midst. It’s about advocating for the rights of those who have little power. “Widows and orphans” is code language that gets repeated over and over again by the prophets to make this point. It’s about believing what we pray: thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.

I went to college in Washington, DC because I felt called at that point in my life to find my way in the world through government. I worked in Congress one summer during those four years. I thought I’d head to law school after graduation. But my father’s untimely death at the end of my freshman year and those Jesuits got to me and from those experiences I heard a call to ordained ministry. But I’ve never become uninterested in politics.

Even so, and maybe especially for this reason, I try to make my preaching about Jesus, about what it means to be the church, not about my own political point of view. I’m a priest and a preacher to Democrats, Republicans, Independents and those who couldn’t care less. But this is not about me. I’m only confessing what makes it both hard and interesting for me. It’s about Jesus. And Jesus came to the edges of the Roman Empire to speak truth to power. He was executed on a cross, the preferred Roman practice of instituting the death penalty. That suggests that the Romans thought he was “too political.”

Why did they think that? Because in the midst of seeing human need and healing people and sharing table fellowship with people of all kinds. Jesus proclaimed a kingdom. In saying that God was king he was saying that Caesar was a poser. In the Revelation of St. John, which we’ll be studying this fall, we will see Christ as the lamb on the throne, the one to whom every knee shall bend. This is language about power and authority. Political power and authority – not just spiritual power and authority.

You are in the process of calling a new rector and this process has inspired me because you all inspire me. I hope you get someone here who is not afraid to engage with this fourth mark of mission. But let me offer a piece of advice. Clergy tend to take one of two extremes in their preaching and teaching. On the one hand are those for whom this fourth mark of mission is all they want to talk about and they speak as if they have the whole unvarnished truth. They are sometimes in danger of forgetting the other four marks but also of thinking they possess the whole truth on complex issues. On the opposite end are those preachers and teachers who avoid conflict of all kinds including speaking hard truths. So they water the gospel of Jesus Christ down and make it cute and funny and entertaining.

But this world is too dangerous for anything but truth, and too small for anything but love. I’ve been doing this work now for nearly forty years, since 1988 – first as a United Methodist pastor and for the past 33 years as an Episcopal priest. I wish I could tell you that I have the secret formula to finding the sweet spot, but I don’t. What I do know is this: we will not go wrong if we keep following Jesus, if we continue to trust the prophets, and if we are not afraid. I also think a pastor builds community and consensus and does not dictate from on high. As I prepare for retirement I can honestly say it’s the toughest job you will ever love, if called to it. And also that it’s harder today than when I began.

We have to go deeper. As a parish, and as a denomination, we are at a crossroads. If we stay close to the prophets we will all be ok. You will be ok as a parish – Democrats and Republicans and Independents and those who are not so political. That will happen when we are able to remember together, with God’s help, to seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow. When we are engaged in these things we are on the right path to transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and to pursue peace and reconciliation.

The Third Mark of Mission: Responding to a World in Need with Love

The mission of the Church is the mission of Christ. Full stop. We, the Church, are entrusted with continuing the work that Jesus began. We don’t just worship Jesus – we are called to follow him and to share in the work he began in Galilee two thousand years ago, to bring peace on earth and good will to all. Lord, make us instruments of thy peace…

Ultimately that work is about loving God and loving neighbor. The five marks of that mission are as follows:

1.    To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom.

2.    To teach, baptize and nurture new believers.

3.    To respond to human need by loving service.

4.    To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation

5.    To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

Today we reflect on the third mark and our shared vocation to respond to human need by loving service. There is a LOT happening in today’s Gospel reading. Among other things, Jesus is teaching us to pray, a prayer familiar to all of us. But that sermon will have to wait for another day. I want to focus in on that “knock at midnight.”

Jesus said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, `Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' And he answers from within, `Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

On September 14, 1958, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. preached a sermon on this text. He told the gathered community:

It is also midnight in our world today. And we are experiencing a darkness so deep that we can hardly see which way to turn. It’s midnight. 

As he unpacked that, he noted that it was midnight in the social order, with the war in Vietnam. And midnight in so many people’s personal lives, experiencing despair and the dark night of the soul. And midnight in the moral life.

Did I mention, he preached that in 1958. But it seems like it could be ripped from the day’s headlines. It feels like midnight in our world as well. In Gaza and in Ukraine and so many other places. In the hard work it is to manage our own psyches and in a world where it feels like we’ve lost our way morally and ethically. It’s still midnight. Bob Dylan has a song with this refrain: “it’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there.” Well, it’s there.

But the knock comes at midnight from a world in need is looking for bread. The Church cannot roll over and go back to sleep, pulling the covers over our collective head. We have been called to continue with the work of Jesus. We are called to respond to a world in need by loving service.

I think the hardest part of this work is that the world’s needs seem so great and we seem so small. There is a saying that comes from the Talmud that is worth remembering in this context. It goes like this:

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

If that is what you take away from this sermon today on the third mark of mission, it will be enough. We can argue whether or not it’s harder to be the Church today than it was when Jesus called those first-century Palestinian Jews to follow him, or whether it was harder to be the Church in 1958 when it felt like midnight in America, or today. But I think the fact of the matter is that it’s never been easy to be a follower of Jesus. And the darker it feels, the more clear it is what we must do – which is not to curse the darkness but to get out of bed at midnight, open the door, and light a candle to do the work we can do. To do justly, now. To love mercy, now. To walk humbly, now. To respond to the needs of this world.

As a nation we have been much better at sending young people to war than we have in welcoming them home and taking care of our Veterans. So the knock at midnight might be to serve a meal to Veterans, which is always about more than the food and about the table, the conversations, the kindness offered. We will always have folks in our midst who cannot afford to clean their clothes, which is what Laundry Love is about. We are collecting backpacks for kids because we respect the dignity of every human being and because Jesus loved the little children of the world – all of them. No exceptions.

We do what we can, and this congregation gets that. I truly am proud of all that you do in the neighborhood for the least among us, which reminds us all that life is precarious. I am grateful to be an interim in a place that is focused on ministry beyond these walls and I pray that will continue, with God’s help. I trust that it will because even when your priest left here fifteen months ago, you didn’t miss a beat in continuing this work. Always with God’s help, of course.

But probably the most important thing I learned in the dozen years I worked for a bishop is that there are things we can do better collectively – which calls us beyond our parochial silos. There are things we can do better as a diocese and as a global church, where we can leverage our influence and our resources.

We need both, in my experience, to live out this third mark of mission. We can’t do nothing locally and say we paid our apportionment to the diocese and they’re on it. But neither can we simply say we will take care of Bristol and Warren and that will be enough. It’s a both/and. Same with us. Not everyone is able to do everything nor should we. The Mission Committee can set priorities and recruit volunteers and we, as a congregation, cannot do it all. But we can do something.

It's tempting when it feels like midnight to curse the darkness. But the faithful let our little lights shine and illumine a path. We get up out of bed to show love to our neighbor. To do justice now, to love mercy now, to walk humbly with God now.

Those small acts ripple out and God can do infinitely more with them than we can ask or imagine. Not only do we do this because we see our neighbor in need but we do it because we honestly believe that when we care for the least of these we are caring for Jesus himself. It’s where we find God in the world, in the faces of all who suffer.

We have got to find a way, I think, through the political polarization of our day that also makes it feel like midnight to remember these five marks of mission and especially this third mark. That is not easy. But we cannot let our fear of the darkness keep us from doing what God calls on us to do. It seems to me that one of the key issues right now is about immigrants and refugees. Most of us can agree on the broad contours, I think, regardless of our political differences. There should be a fair process, a process not tainted by racism, toward legal ways that we invite people to become part of this land of hope and dreams. Because that lady holding that torch in New York Harbor declares to the world that this is a core value for us.

We need to claim that, not only as an American value but as the core of Jewish and Christian theology. Really, it may be hard to do but it’s simple to know what we are to do: Love God. Love neighbor. All of them. No exceptions.

The Second Mark of Mission: TEACH

My apologies: I promised the faithful at St. Michael's that I'd publish the five sermons for the series on the marks of mission and then promptly forgot after posting the first one. Here is number two. (RMS) 

Luke 10:38-42

As Jesus and his disciples went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."

Martha gets a bad rap in this gospel reading today, and I want to offer a defense of her at the start.

All of life includes some amount of “being” and some amount of “doing.” Forget the word “ministry” for a moment: just living and being a good neighbor and friend and family member requires some doing and some being. The key, I think, is learning to know which needs to happen in a particular moment.

In my own life, sometimes I can get so focused on “doing” and on accomplishing the tasks on my to-do list, on meeting deadlines and all of that (all stuff that gets rewarded big time in American culture) that I forget to stop and smell the roses. Maybe some of you have this experience also.

Decades ago, I found that parenting Graham and James was an antidote to getting too focused on doing. If I didn’t take time, I would have missed key moments in my kids’ lives. And I don’t only mean the big ones like sports events or concerts, but the day-to-day stuff like seeing a flower or a butterfly or feeling cool water or making sand castles at the beach on a warm day.

Being a grandparent is an invitation to remember those lessons and re-engage with a toddler and to be fully present in those moments at  a stage in my own life where I’m more fully aware and engaged than I probably was when I was thirty-something.

I believe that we are all a mix of doing and being. But having said that, there are people in this room who are better at one than the other. There are people who actually love running around in the kitchen and dicing and chopping and stirring and simmering and all the rest. I’m one of them. It’s a language of love for many of us. I get Martha.  Although one thing to notice in today’s gospel reading: Martha is “distracted by her many tasks.” She’s not having fun chopping those onions and mincing that garlic. She’s overwhelmed.

And I also do get Mary, who wants to be at Jesus’ feet and learn and savor that moment. It’s just, to be very honest, something I need to be more intentional about.

But I don’t think the problem is with Mary and Martha’s personalities. I think the problem is when we get caught up in sibling rivalries and patterns and all the rest and we sometimes just get wiped out. Martha likes the kitchen. I have to believe that because I am a person who also does and I know people who do. When someone says to me, “oh, don’t worry about cooking, we’ll order take-out pizza,” I know they are trying to be helpful but to the Marthas among us, it sounds like an insult. We enjoy the work. It’s meditative and holy. But I also know we Marthas can get stressed out and also wonder why someone doesn’t offer to help us dice onions or stir the sauce or even set the table. And at least to help with clean up! Right?

And before I move on, I want to be clear that this is not meant as a diss to Mary. Hey, Jesus is there and he won’t be around forever and maybe takeout pizza or felafel-to-go would be just fine. She’s doing what she likes, making time for a friend. That’s holy too and in this story she seems to be the one who has chosen the better portion. She is in fact the point of this sermon – that we have so much to learn in our walk with Jesus.

In the story we heard, the point is not simply that Martha is running around in the kitchen like a chicken with her head cut off, but that she’s resentful about it. She wants Jesus to make her sister help. Maybe both could have worked on their communication skills, and maybe both could have cooked a simple meal together and then sat and relaxed together if they had communicated better. But the main point is that she tries to draw Jesus into a triangle. She doesn’t speak directly to her sister. She asks Jesus to tell her sister to help. Not cool! And Jesus says, “I’m not biting!”

I’m preaching a series this summer on the Five Marks of Mission. The Five Marks of Mission have won wide acceptance among Anglicans (and other Christian traditions) and have given congregations and dioceses around the world a practical and memorable “checklist” for mission activities. They are not a final and complete statement on the Church’s Mission, but they offer a practical guide to work God has given us to do. They were first developed as four marks by the Anglican Consultative Council in 1984, more than forty years ago. A fifth was added in 1990 to address creation care and the climate crisis.

The mission of the Church is the mission of Christ. Full stop. We, the Church, are entrusted with continuing the work that Jesus began. The five marks of that mission are as follows:

1.    To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom.

2.    To teach, baptize and nurture new believers.

3.    To respond to human need by loving service.

4.    To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation

5.    To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

Today is number two: to teach, baptize and nurture new believers. If we were translating this into a newcomer program we might call it Invite, Welcome, and Connect. The third of those is the hardest: helping people who come through our doors (whether invited or because they were curious) and then welcoming them in, to become part of what we are about. To connect. To share the work. To do that we need to be clear on what we are about, our core values, our mission and purpose.

What does it mean to follow Jesus? What does it mean to make time, in prayer, to sit with him and learn and grow? I think the second mark of mission invites us to find our inner Mary; we need to make time to be with Jesus. That includes worship and Christian formation and service in the world, all of which help us to deepen our faith. In that spirit of Mary, I invite you to be still and take in a deep breath. And then let it go.

Let’s do that again. Breath in, deeply, and then let it out.

The word “conspiracy” comes to us in English from two Latin words: con means with and spiritus means breath. We, the Church, are part of a conspiracy together – as we breathe in that Holy Spirit. We are part of a conspiracy of love.

We are baptized not just with water, but with the Holy Spirit. That begins a life-long practice. We need, I think, to let go of some old tapes. We don’t learn the Christian faith by memorizing creeds. We learn it, over time, by practicing. Like a kid learning piano and practicing scales. Like a kid learning to play basketball and practicing drills.

We don’t come here to get our individual needs met; that may happen but being the church is about becoming part of a community. When we breathe in God we become part of this holy work. But it takes practice. And a lifetime.

God is never done with us. We are all works-in-progress, Marys and Marthas alike. Some of us grow into the full stature of Christ more by doing and others of us more by catching our breath but all of us are called to share the work as we grow more and more fully into relationship with Jesus.

We had over thirty people in Episcopal 101 this year. Some have never been confirmed or received but others have been actively participating here for years. Yet still there is this hunger here, at St. Michael’s, that I take as a sign of the Spirit’s presence among us. I give thanks for all of you, and the work that God gives us to share in this time and place.

I think summertime has always been more of a “being” time for me – a chance to recharge the batteries, to rest, to read, to ponder. I hope and pray it is that for all of you and that this Sabbath rest is part of our ongoing formation, and helps us to stay focused on the work God has given us to do in this time and place.

The First Mark of Mission: TELL

This summer I am offering a five-part preaching series on The Five Marks of Mission. I began that series today. The Gospel for the day comes from the tenth chapter of Luke's Gospel, verses 1-11 and 16-20. 

The Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, `Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, `The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, `Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.'

"Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me."

The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!" He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."

+    +    +

The Five Marks of Mission have won wide acceptance among Anglicans (and other Christian traditions) and have given congregations and dioceses around the world a practical and memorable “checklist” for mission activities. They are not a final and complete statement on the Church’s Mission, but they offer a practical guide to work God has given us to do.

They were first developed as four marks by the Anglican Consultative Council in 1984, more than forty years ago. A fifth was added in 1990 to address creation care and the climate crisis.

The mission of the Church is the mission of Christ. The five marks of that mission are as follows:

1.    To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom.

2.    To teach, baptize and nurture new believers.

3.    To respond to human need by loving service.

4.    To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation

5.    To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

It occurred to me when I was sitting and thinking one day in June that it might be interesting for a congregation in the midst of a clergy transition to reflect on these marks of mission as we continue to do the discernment work of asking where God is leading St. Michael’s Church. I’m taking some vacation time this summer, but it really struck me how well the readings fit for the days that I happen to be in town, and that it might be fun to move through these marks of mission one at a time over the course of the next two months.

And so we begin. The theme today, in a word, is TELL. We are called to proclaim the good news in a world that feels like it could use some. It is the hope of this preacher in this sermon to unpack that first mark of mission by exploring today’s gospel reading about Jesus sending the seventy out, two by two.

Once upon a time, I remember a neighboring parish to the one I served in Holden sending out their parishioners in pairs to the neighborhood in Worcester. As it happened they were also a St. Michael’s parish – St. Michael’s on the Heights. They did something Episcopalians are reluctant to do: they went out and knocked on doors in their neighborhood. They were not trying to proselytize people; they wanted to hear their stories and get to know the neighborhood better. They asked their neighbors if they had any prayer requests.

This is a pretty bold move and I’m not necessarily suggesting it for this St. Michael’s. But I share it so that you know it’s not just Jehovah’s Witnesses or the Mormons who can go and tell in this way. When St. Michael’s did it they learned something about their neighbors and themselves.

As most of you know, I worked for a bishop for almost a dozen years. He encouraged, especially at the beginning of his tenure, that parishioners go out and walk a mile in each direction from their buildings and just pay attention and notice where God was already at work out there in their neighborhoods. Maybe we could do this here, a little less threatening perhaps than going door-to-door two by two. What would we see if we took four Sundays to head north, south, east and west of Church and Hope to assess the needs in our neighborhood. What might we learn? Who might we find as potential partners to share the work of proclaiming the good news?

Let’s be clear: “forced worship stinks in God’s nostrils.” You know who said that? Roger Williams! Too often when people hear the word “evangelism” they get a sour taste in their mouth because they’ve been at the receiving end of what feels like a hard sell. And worse, manipulation. You need to come and worship with us or you won’t be saved. But that’s not what the gospel today is about, nor the first mark of mission. We invite people, we share with them what shapes our lives, we don’t force ourselves on anyone or manipulate anyone. Jesus didn’t do that. He invited and welcomed and connected people and we are called to do likewise.

The truth is that this congregation is already ministry focused and doing a lot of work in the community, especially with our neighbors who are in need. That seems to be a core value here and I am grateful to be with a congregation that gets that. Even without the choir here this summer, I know I’m preaching to the choir.

But let me also say that I know more about the neighbors today than I did last Sunday, having marched in my very first Bristol Fourth of July parade this past week. I know there were a lot of tourists, but let me tell you there is a pretty large fan club of Father Zino out there as well. By the way I appreciated all the shout outs I did hear from those of you along the route. But having literally walked this town, or at least the parade route, there was lots to see.

I find myself wondering about those folks that have found us from Roger Williams – they are small in number but definitely mighty. I began my work in campus ministry and one of the things I learned in that time was that campus ministry is not just ministry to students, but to staff and faculty as well. I know that over the years there have been greater connections to faculty and staff at Roger Williams and I find myself wondering how we might strengthen those ties again and of course with students. I wonder about trying some of those things out this fall.

In the college towns of my old diocese, in Amherst and Williamstown and Northampton and South Hadley they serve late night pancakes right before finals week so that students can come and eat and get a break.

We are called to “go and tell.” This is a hard one for Episcopalians, but we can do hard things. I am not suggesting that we go and tell people who are perfectly happy at St. Elizabeth’s or First Baptist to come here because we are better. Rather, I’m profoundly aware that we live in a world that is spiritual but not religious, and that brunch is a bigger attraction on Sunday mornings than church is. Yet I also see so many seekers of all ages, including people who poke their heads in every time our doors are open. I talk with people who belong to the Church Alumni Association – they maybe came here or another parish as children but they’ve drifted away, maybe not because they were hurt or angry (although that can happen) but just as often because they got out of the habit.

As we heard today, the harvest is plentiful. I do believe that. I think that the Episcopal Church is, sadly, a well-kept secret from too many of our neighbors. They are looking for what we have to offer, theology for thinking people, and openness to all and not some, to seeking and serving Christ in all people and respecting the dignity of everybody. No exceptions. We cannot and should not hide that message under a bushel basket. Go, and tell.

This is the first mark of mission: tell. Not in an overbearing way. Not only is that not our style as Episcopalians, but also, that doesn’t work. But over a cup of coffee or a shared meal, can we lean in even more on the Invite part of Invite, Welcome and Connect? Can we encourage our friends, our family members, our neighbors to “come and see?”

The Episcopal Church isn’t for everyone and we can’t be all things to all people. But notice that the seventy came back experiencing joy. The encounters with others impacted on their faith as much as it got others to join in the work.

Maybe a response to this sermon and seeking to live more faithfully that first mark of mission would be to intentionally think about just starting small and inviting one person whom you already know is looking for more in their life to come and see. Offer to bring them with you to this church because especially if you’ve been burned by the Church it’s hard to walk in on your own. Some of you already do this and do it well, perhaps you can encourage others among us.

We don’t do this because we need to fill the pews, or need more people to fill out annual pledge cards – although Church is always nicer when it feels like there is energy in the room and the work of serving as treasurer or bookkeeper or vestry member is much easier when the budget is balanced. But the whole point of today’s sermon before I head off on a week’s vacation is to remember that sharing the good news is an integral part of the mission of Christ.

There is overlap with these five marks of mission and the Baptismal Covenant. As you may remember, the first question after the theology questions about God the Father, Son, and Spirit is about whether or not we will proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ. We Episcopalians are pretty good at respecting the dignity of every person and of striving for justice and peace among all people, and I’m so glad that we are. In a world where some churches offer judgment we offer hospitality and welcome.

But maybe on this first one, the telling, the sharing of our faith, we have some room for improvement. A reminder that we do not do it alone. And that we get better with practice.

We will. With God’s help.

Independence Day

Although today is, throughout the Church, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, in Bristol today we used the propers for Independence Day. In those readings, the Old Testament reading comes from the tenth chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy. 

I love the Book of Deuteronomy. Have I told you this before? In fact, it’s one of my favorite books in the Bible. The narrative premise in Deuteronomy is fairly straightforward: we are meant to imagine Moses and the Israelites on the brink of the Promised Land. They have just spent forty years wandering around the Sinai Peninsula (actually, to be more precise, thirty-nine years and eleven months and three weeks!) Their journey began way back in the fourteenth chapter of Exodus, with Pharaoh’s army in hot pursuit as they miraculously crossed the Sea of Reeds. That journey from slavery toward freedom has continued to unfold through the remaining chapters of Exodus and then into Leviticus and Numbers, and then ultimately into Deuteronomy. Now they find themselves at the end of that long journey, dreaming about owning their own little plot of land flowing with milk and honey, and tending to their own vineyards and fig trees and owning their own little homes and having their own retirement accounts.  

Before they leave Sinai behind them, however, Moses gathers the people one last time to preach one last (and very long) sermon. He reminds them that people who have nothing but the shirts on their backs know they are utterly reliant on God and on each other. In the desert, they learned to trust God for daily bread and water. The past four decades have not been easy, but they learned that faith can only be lived one day at a time. In the desert the most basic things (like bread and water) are received as gifts. The most primal faith response to receiving such gifts is gratitude.

There isn’t really any narrative action in Deuteronomy; they don’t go anywhere. Unlike Exodus and Leviticus and Numbers, they now finally stand on the brink of this Promised Land. It's in sight! And the whole premise of Moses’ sermon (which is basically what the Book of Deuteronomy is) hinges on this concern that Moses has about what affluence will do to this people: if they are not careful, affluence will lead to amnesia. They will forget to worship the Lord their God.

Moses is worried that faithfulness to God’s covenant will actually be harder in a land flowing with milk and honey than it was in the desert. He is worried that an attitude of gratitude will give way to greed and fear, as people become more focused on protecting what they perceive to be their own rather than on sharing with those in need. They will start to think more about “me” and less about “us” and when that happens the neighborhood will be in serious jeopardy.

You can pick up the Book of Deuteronomy and pretty much pick any random chapter and that is basically the message you will find there: love of God and love of neighbor are at home in the wilderness. Difficult times make community not only possible, but necessary. And conversely, living on easy street can make you cold hearted.

So there is a paradox here: they stand on the verge of an answered prayer, about to enter a land of hopes and dreams. They will never have to eat manna again, because there will be bakeries on every corner with warm crusty breads and soft pitas. That is a very appealing thought to people sick and tired of manna. But Moses sees that there is a shadow side to prosperity. His understanding of human nature is that it won’t take very long before the bread will be in the hands of a few and the strong will have more than their fair share of the good bread—more than they can even eat before it goes stale and goes to the birds. Meanwhile the more vulnerable members of the community ("the widows and the orphans") will be hungry. Moses is worried that words like self-reliant, self-made, self-centered will start to dominate the conversation and when that happens, the neighborhood will be in trouble.

Moses is not saying that faith is impossible in the Promised Land. He’s simply saying that one shouldn’t be deceived into thinking it will be easy or automatic. I see Moses as a pragmatist, not a pessimist, who simply wants to be as clear and honest as possible about the challenges that lie ahead. The temptation is to think that the hard days are behind them because survival in the wilderness was so difficult. But what Moses is saying is that all of our stuff can actually get in the way of loving God and neighbor. It can make one forgetful about the fact that we need God and we need our neighbors.  The key to being faithful in the Promised Land will be memory. It is a word that comes up again and again throughout Moses’ sermon: remember that you are only ever one generation removed from being slaves in a foreign land.

Freedom, as it is understood in the Book of Deuteronomy, is therefore about something much greater than gaining one’s own liberty or independence. If you flee Egypt and “make it” in the Promised Land, but then promptly turn around and enslave the weakest members of this new society, then all you’ve done is swapped roles from oppressed to oppressor. So that is what Deuteronomy is all about, wrestling with these rather large questions about faith and the economy and politics and the human psyche.  And that is what today’s reading from the tenth chapter of Deuteronomy is about as well. Theologically, the God of Deuteronomy is mighty and awesome. But because God is also good, God isn’t the least bit interested in accumulating more power. God isn’t interested in bribes. God isn’t interested in helping the rich get richer. Rather, God considers it a good day when slaves are liberated and the hungry are fed and the poor are treated with dignity and respect. God “executes justice for the widow and orphan.”

And God loves the stranger. God loves the stranger because God isn’t afraid of what is other—of what is different—of hearing different languages or trying different foods. Since you were yourselves strangers in Egypt not that long ago, Moses argues (on God’s behalf), it would make a mockery of the Exodus if you now turn around and treat the strangers in your midst the way you were treated in Pharaoh’s Egypt. That may be the way the world works. But it’s not the way God’s plan works. It's not how God's people are to behave.  

I realize this is all pretty serious stuff for the lead in to the Fourth of July here in a town where the Fourth of July is a pretty big deal.  But the readings the lectionary gives us for Independence Day invite us to reflect on this ancient Torah text in the context of our own Fourth of July celebrations. So let me ask you this: what kind of nation are we becoming? I’ll leave that as a rhetorical question right now. But I don’t think it’s a partisan question, nor is it out of bounds for a preacher. I think it’s fair to say that we are in trouble and right now we are a long way from great. God is not a Democrat or a Republican nor even an Independent. But can we Democrats and Republicans and Independents all agree that we are living in precarious times, difficult days that test the premise of e pluribus unum – out of the many, one. And if that’s the case then what is the message we, St. Michael’s, have for this community of Bristol and the surrounding towns about what faith looks like in such dangerous times?

We have work to do. As Christians, do we dare to ask whether it is possible for such times to shape and form a more compassionate people by reminding us who our neighbors are? We might step back and reflect on what an immigration policy might look like in a nation that loves the stranger as God does, rather than fearing them. We might step back and wonder what our tax code would look like if it reflected a genuine concern for widows and orphans? We can argue about the details, to be sure. We will have political differences. But the core values come to us from Jesus, not our political parties and not even from the founding fathers.

There is grace in simply asking such questions and maybe it is what we as Christians are intended to contribute to the marketplace of ideas right now. We do well to remember together that true freedom does not come easily and is never finished. Perhaps we can even help to re-frame economic precariousness and see it not as something that instills more fear and selfishness, but as a gift that opens us up to one another in new ways. If we are a people who are at least asking such questions, we stand a far better chance of discovering a healthier form of patriotism rather than falling into the trap of xenophobic nationalism. After all, there is no place in the Bible that says “God bless America!” What it does say is that God so loved the world.

I am fully aware of my own privilege and the knowledge that most days I live in the Promised Land rather than in the Sinai Desert. I am far more familiar with feeling secure and self-reliant and independent. Although I have had my own share of precariousness over the years, I’m deeply aware that it’s not nearly as much as many experience. And let me be clear: I don’t wake up in the morning asking God for more precariousness in my life. I enjoy stability and predictability and living in a nice home.

Yet it does seem to me that those times of precariousness (which even the most privileged among us do face from time to time) are a gift when it comes to our faith. Those times when we find ourselves in the wilderness are also the times when we stand the best chance of experiencing God’s healing presence and the Spirit’s transformative power. Amazing grace that saved a wretch like me…

It is in the wilderness times that we discover (and re-discover) that God is present. It is there that we learn to live life one day at a time and to see all of life as sheer gift. It is in our need that we are able both to give and to receive, and that changes our worldview. It opens us up to become a people with more grateful and generous hearts. When that happens to us, our spirituality can no longer be disconnected from the decisions and choices we make with our lives. How can we learn and re-learn to share this wisdom in the neighborhood not so much by what we say but as to how we live? How do we remember, daily, that it’s all gift and gift and gift and to those to whom much is given, much is expected?

Summertime gives us a chance to slow down and step back. Whether we are out sailing or camping or walking along the beach or hiking up a mountain, it can put us in a place somewhere between the wilderness and the Promised Land, in a place where we can remember that a well-lived life is one that is lived simply, so that others may simply live. We remember what matters (and what doesn’t) and by God's grace we give thanks to the One who is with us through it all. The One who keeps calling on us to remember the whole of Torah in four words: Love God. Love Neighbor.

May we find ourselves, this weekend and always, ready to help this nation to “mend every flaw” until there is justice for all.