@EUCC Sermons

Wisdom has built her school house. She has prepared her banquet. She has gone into the highways and hedges to invite you and everyone else to her table, and she is serving up more than a middle eastern wedding banquet. Wisdom was, and is, serving up a banquet for the brain, and a smorgasbord for the soul.

She was, and is, striving to entice students of all ages to come to her banquet. Wisdom wants everyone to feast on her words--not just words in a grade school primer, but more importantly, she offers us wisdom for life.

The Divine Femine, Sophia, the Holy Spirit--she has many names here in the Wisdom Literature of the Hebrew Bible--teaches us that God wants us to not only be book smart, but world wise. She’s encouraging us to learn our lessons well, and to remember that we can get all A’s in school and still flunk life. Because life requires the application of theory to practice, and life circumstances extract moral decisions from us whether we like it or not. So it’s good to hit the books, it’s helpful to earn good grades, but it’s even more important to develop a strong moral compass and to use it wisely.

Remember too, how Jesus routinely broke bread with the disciples, how he celebrated the Last Supper with his followers and gave them a New Commandment--that they love one another, and how all of these stories are integral to our holy history.

It’s hard to overstate the significance of bread (and other starches) as an essential element of the human diet, or the centrality of bread to the holy histories of Jews and Christians. But that is not all there is to say about bread and the Christian faith--at least not for John.

John takes one step further in the fourth gospel in that John invites us into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. John invites us to encounter and embrace--not simply the historical Jesus--but the spiritual essence of Jesus that transcends time and place--and that can nourish and satisfy our hunger in this life--in a way that no earthly mixture of water and wheat, and leven and lard can ever provide.

No wonder Jesus’ disciples said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” (John 6: 34) Amen.

Jesus compelled his followers to trust that there would be enough for them and everyone else, by daylighting the child’s generosity, and inspiring the grownups to share what they had with others, rather than squirreling away the food that they had brought for themselves.

Notice how when the disciples ask Jesus to work a miracle, he did not pull out a wand and say, abra cadabra. Instead, he said: “You give them something to eat.”

The disciples replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and a couple of fish.”

The child might have said, “Liars, liars, pants on fire!” But he didn’t. Instead, the child offered all the food he had brought to share with others.

That child’s act of generosity, reminded everyone in the crowd that they had something to bring to the table, and they were moved to share what they had with others. And they did, everyone in attendance ate their fill and there were 12 baskets of food leftover.

So then, the miracle that occurred that day at the shores of the Sea of Galilee, wasn’t the result of some first-century side show, but rather the miracle of generosity that Jesus inspired in the boy with five loaves and two fishes, and the cast of thousands who had come to taste and see what God was doing in the world…

As we celebrate the 245th anniversary of our nation’s independence today, and reflect on our gospel lesson, the thought occurs to me that all but 1% of Americans either come from humble beginnings and somewhere else, or they are the descendants of people who were of humble beginnings and from somewhere else. This fact is part of the narrative that we tell ourselves as a nation, and that we depict in our artifacts.

Consider the Statue of Liberty as an example. . .

One was a man named Jairus, whose twelve-year old daughter, Tabitha, was near death. The other was an unnamed woman, who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years.

On the face of it, these two people were polar opposites. Jairus was a man of wealth and privilege whose family carried Platinum-level health care coverage. The unnamed woman, meanwhile, was penniless and had no healthcare coverage and no advocate but herself.

As Americans, I suspect that we either have or know someone who has Platinum-level health care coverage, so we can imagine what such health care coverage affords. The experience of the unnamed woman may be less familiar to some of us, so let’s try to imagine what it was like to be her. Let’s start by trying to imagine why we don't know her name.

I venture that the reason we don’t know her name is because she had been living in quarantine for 12 years on account of her health and her lack of access to quality care.

In the ancient world, quarantine was one of the few medical interventions available to treat disease and infirmity.

Most ailments were deemed contagious until proven otherwise. So even if the woman’s malady wasn’t contagious, she would have been subject to quarantine for medical reasons. But that is not all.

This woman was a Jew, and was subject to the Levite purity codes, which required sick persons to quarantine, wear masks, remove their head covering, and when approached shout “Unclean!” so that everyone around her knew to physically distance themselves from her.

The way that Mark tells the story, Jesus and his twelve disciples had been hunkered down, working their tails off for months in and around his hometown, and finally, he declared the need for a day off. So he declared a holiday and directed his team to jump in their boat and go to the other side of the sea for a rest.

The disciples were all for a vacation. They jumped in the boat, dropped the rudder, hoisted the sail, and headed for the opposite side of the Sea of Galilee.

Even though it was night, the crew was undaunted. They knew the way. They were lifelong fishermen who were familiar with their rig, the water, and the weather conditions. They could cross the sea in their sleep.

Jesus knew that he was in good hands and he was tired, so he lay down in the stern of the boat to rest, and quickly fell asleep.

As it turned out, there would be no rest for the weary. Soon after the crew embarked on their trip, a storm came up. Waves crashed against the hull of the boat and water rushed over the bow. The boat was swamped. But Jesus didn’t notice. He was sound asleep.

In a panic, the disciples roused him saying, “Jesus, don’t you care that we are about to drown?”

Jesus awoke with a start, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" And all was calm.

Then Jesus asked the disciples, "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?"

Crickets. The disciples did not reply. Instead, they asked each other, “Who is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

Good morning, Rainbow People! If you’re like me, you may find the gospel passage today just a little confusing. Amen? So I’m going to start with a summary of the pericope.

The way that Mark tells the story, Jesus had just appointed twelve disciples and commissioned them to cast out demons. Then he headed home for supper; but his evening meal was delayed by a crowd of paparazzi, fair-weather friends, and some detractors who had gathered around his house.

Some of his detractors accused Jesus of being out of his mind, which was a nice way of saying “crazy.” Others, like the Jewish scribes, who had come down from Jerusalem, said that he was possessed by Beelzebul, the Philistines’ god, who was the prince of devils.

Neither charge was complimentary, but Jesus was not deterred. He countered these allegations with logical arguments, explaining that he could not be both the devil and the one who casts out the devil. He was either one or the other.

And, he called the people who said that he was possessed “blasphemers,” which meant that they were guilty of an unforgivable sin. This, he explained, was so, because they were equating the work that God was doing through him with the work of the devil.

The first is personal humility, and it is the turn key for all other forms of humility.

To exhibit personal humility one must realize and demonstrate that I am not the center of the universe. The world does not revolve around me. I do not know all that there is to know, and I do not have all the answers or all the tools needed to solve every problem. I am willing to approach group problems inductively, mindful that I likely have as much to learn as I do to impart to others. I’m willing to examine my own assumptions, receive constructive feedback, learn, adapt, change, evolve. I am willing to share power, to receive as well as give.

Personal humility is something that we strive to teach children at an early age, but it is a lifelong process--a spiritual practice--that requires time and intention and persistence.

A second form of humility that is much in need today is cultural humility, which is the ability to maintain an interpersonal stance that is other-oriented (or open to the other) in relation to aspects of cultural identity that are most important to the person.

Cultural humility is different from other culturally-based training ideals because it focuses on self-humility, rather than on simply acquiring knowledge or awareness of other cultures. This practice was identified and first cultivated in the physical healthcare field and adapted into other helping professionals and helps caregivers learn more about the experiences and cultural identities of others, in order to increase the quality of their interactions with clients and community members.

When we express cultural humility, we acknowledge that our culture is not the only way, or the better way--ours is simply a way.

A third form of humility that I’ll mention today, since this is the culmination of our stewardship campaign is philanthropic humility. One must exhibit both a personal posture of humility and cultural humility to effectively exhibit philanthropic humility. Donors who exhibit their generosity in this way ask persons and organizations in need of resources what they need and how they would go about resolving whatever issue they are addressing with their project. Donors don’t assume that they understand the problem being addressed or the best way to tackle it. Instead, they listen, they learn, they collaborate, and everyone is blessed as a result.

According to Luke, the eleven were together in Jerusalem, with the one hundred twenty, including Peter, and despite his tainted credentials, the other apostles affirmed Peter’s recommendation that all nominees be people who had been continuous followers of Jesus since his baptism. (This idea eventually was overturned by Paul, but it prevailed in the early days of the Christian community.)

Given this criteria, only two names surfaced: Joseph called Barsabbas and Matthias. According to the minutes of the meeting in Acts, chapter 1, the nominating committee prayed for the spirit’s guidance, and then they drew lots. That’s right, they said a prayer and played the lottery.

How crazy is that? No strategic planning, no succession planning, and no training for his successor, they just pulled Matthias name out of a hat and he got the nod to fill the vacancy.

Jesus was a master of metaphor and one of the great practical theologians of all time. He used metaphors and images to get his messages across to primarily illiterate audiences in a manner that was clear and memorable.

His reference to himself as the vine and his followers as the branches, in today’s gospel story, are a case in point. Jesus lived and served in wine country, so the image of vines and grapes and the way he applied the metaphor to himself and his people was instantly clear to all who had ears to hear.

The metaphor expresses the intimate and integral relationship between himself and his followers, who embodied a spiritual extension of their relationship with God.

“I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me, and I in them bear much fruit…” (John 15:5a)

Jesus uses the term “abide'' multiple times in today’s gospel lesson. Abide is a term that is rarely used outside of church circles. What does it mean?

Long ago and far away, I was a freshman in college and enrolled in my first college-level religion class--Hebrew Bible. Back home, we would have called the subject matter by a name more familiar to us--Old Testament.

I don’t remember a lot about that class or even my college experience. I can barely remember life before COVID-19. But I remember that my grandparents sometimes called me on Sunday evenings to see how I was doing. During one of those calls--the call that I remember most clearly--Grandpa asked me, “Are they teaching you anything?”

That last question was a showstopper for me, because of course I was learning a lot. But I was stymied by the challenge of how to sum up a month of college for two people whose economic circumstances had prohibited them from graduating high school.

Then this idea popped into my head, and I said, “I’m learning that city kids don’t have a clue about the Bible, because they weren’t taught the things that you were able to teach us, and because they don’t know the first thing about nomadic or rural life.”

The Bible isn’t just old. It’s filled with images and metaphors from nomadic and rural life that are opaque to people who grew up in cities and suburbs. So I learned in my first OT class that before the preacher exegete the Bible, she needs to exegete the nomadic and rural metaphors.

As an example, it’s tough to appreciate the full meaning of John’s description of Jesus as “The Good Shepherd” if you have never met a shepherd and you do not know much about sheep. Comprende?