When We Fall

Proper 9A; Psalm 145:8-15; Matt. 11:16-19; 25-30

St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC 7/9/2017

Jim Melnyk: “When We Fall”

 Close your eyes for just a moment – no, really, close your eyes, and try to picture God.  What’s the first image that comes to mind?  An old man with white hair and a long, flowing beard?  The gregarious and joyous woman from The Shack?  Light?  Wind?  Fire?  All are meaningful images.  How many of you pictured a parent – either mother or father – supporting a soon-to-be-toddler just learning to walk?  You’ve seen that particular teaching carried out, haven’t you?  Mom or Dad bending over their little one, whose arms are stretched above the head, each tiny hand grasping the parent’s fingers or hand for balance.  It’s a viable image for God!

The prophet Hosea relays the word of God to Israel, saying, “Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I took them up in my arms…. I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love.  I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks.  I bent down to them and fed them” (Hosea 11:3-4).  And from the prophet Isaiah, “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem” (66:13). We can almost hear those words behind the promise from today’s psalm, “The Lord upholds all those who fall; the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down” (145:15).

St. Julian of Norwich picked up on this caring image of God in her fourteenth century work, A Revelation of Divine Love, most likely the first book written in English by a woman.  As a result of one of her divine visions Julian wrote, “When we fall [God] holds us lovingly, and graciously and swiftly raises us.  In all this work [God] takes the part of a kind nurse who has no other care but the welfare of her child…. It is [God’s] responsibility to save us, it is [God’s] glory to do it, and it is [God’s] will that we should know it…. Utterly at home, [God] lives in us for ever” (Enfolded in Love: Daily Readings with Julian of Norwich).

For all God’s glory and splendor – for all God’s transcendent wonder and awe – today our lessons point to a God who surrounds us and upholds us in love – that we might reflect the glory of that love in return.  They are stories that rightly point to our struggles to be a faithful people, but they also point to God’s willingness to rescue us from our brokenness and restore us to new life in the fullness of caring relationships.

The prophet Zechariah wrote to the people of Israel who were returning from exile, celebrating their restoration and anticipating the rebuilding of the temple, but also struggling with their faith.  We recognize part of this passage as it’s quoted by the gospel writers in our Palm Sunday readings.  But the prophet goes on to call the people of Israel “prisoners of hope.”  Imagine what that might look like, being a people “held so tightly by hope that we are its very prisoners.  We can believe that God will never abandon us and [therefore, we don’t need to fear.  That’s] what it means to be prisoners of hope – truly and joyfully bound by the virtue that assures us of [a] love that is stronger than death” ((Suzanna Metz, Synthesis, 7/9/2017)).  The Lord surely upholds us when we fall.

 The Apostle Paul also understands what it means to struggle with his faith.  His letter to the church in Rome – written late in Paul’s ministry and addressed primarily to Christ-following Gentiles – is meant to encourage those who have turned away from their worship of idols to embrace Jesus – always faced with the temptation to return to their old ways.  The letter is also meant to help them build community with Christ-following Jews in Rome – something both groups are failing at doing well.  Contrary to a lot of Christian teaching, today’s passage from Romans actually has nothing to do with Torah versus Gospel – or as some would say, the Law versus grace.  Paul, who deeply honors his commitment to being a Torah-observant Jew, is wrestling with his all-too-human propensity to fail at following Jesus – his all-too-human propensity to fall, and to do so by choice. “I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want [to do], but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15).  Sound familiar?

In our tradition we have been known to pray almost the exact same thing: “We have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done” (BCP, 41-42).  It is not law versus grace – no, it’s more our human frailty challenged by the grace and love of God – our falling versus our standing firm in our faith.

Speaking of Paul’s struggle, Kari Jo Verhulst writes, “It hurts to watch someone we love feeling stuck. Witnessing the kind of frustration and self-recrimination [Paul is facing] challenges our hope that our love will somehow make things better. We want to be able to save each other, and it is terribly painful to realize that we cannot” (Synthesis, 7/9/2017). 

And once again the psalmist reminds us, “The Lord upholds all those who fall; the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down,” and we are reminded of the image of a loving parent whose hands are firmly grasped by the child just learning to walk.  As the child becomes more sure of herself, mom and dad let go, allowing their child to teeter, and even to fall – and then “holds her lovingly, and graciously and swiftly raises her” (Julian, paraphrased) – knowing that it may be the only way that child finally learns to walk on her own.

Just as a loving parent picks up his or her child who falls, it is God who saves Paul from his deepest struggles of faith.  And we find in God’s love revealed to Paul that God “isn't interested in increasing our guilt or shame but in a relationship of love in freedom” (Synthesis) – the freedom to fall, and the will and the strength to stand.

And so finally we come to the gospel – to the place where despite all of its challenges, we continue to find the love of God staring back at us even when we fail – even when we fall.  It begins with Jesus voicing his frustration at his current generation – and when Matthew uses the word “generation” we’re meant to be reminded about those who failed to trust God in the wilderness of the exodus – which sounds anything like a promising passage at first. 

Many of his listeners don’t like John because he’s too austere, and they don’t like Jesus because he eats and drinks with tax collectors and sinners. They act like little children in the marketplace refusing to play each other’s games.

Jesus says to them – and Jesus says to us across the ages, “Let go of your need to judge everyone in your lives – let go of your need to judge yourselves so harshly.  Bring your weariness with the world – bring your weariness with yourselves – bring the burden of always having to be right, and the guilt from the times you fail – and find your rest in me.  Take my yoke upon you – learn from me – and I will give you rest for your souls – I will be there for you, and with you, whenever you fall, and I will be there to lift you up.”

The truth is we’re all still toddlers when it comes to the life of faith.  We’re all still trying to find our sure footing – and sometimes, perhaps all too often, we simply mess up.  Most of the time we know when we’ve fallen short of God’s hope for us, and like Paul we may feel helpless to be any different. But, the psalmist reminds us that like a loving parent, God upholds us when we fall, and lifts us up when we are bowed down.  We know ourselves to be forgiven and loved – and we step out once again in hope.

In the end, taking upon ourselves the yoke of Christ means joining ourselves to his most gracious love and compassion.  In doing so we see and learn from Christ’s nature and character.  We open ourselves to be shaped – we open ourselves to be formed – more and more into his likeness.  We become a community that seeks to support one another as fellow disciples of our Lord, sharing Christ’s love and compassion with each other – loving and forgiving one another, so that even when we fall – and perhaps especially when we fall – we are each lifted up, and we know ourselves to be beloved by God.

In My Name

Proper 8a; Matthew 10:40-42; St. Paul’s, Smithfield July 2, 2017

Jim Melnyk: “In My Name”

The little boy’s name was Danny, and he liked to watch his mother run.  She liked to participate in the many road races that took place throughout the year near their home.  Danny liked to watch his mother run – but he loved getting to stand with his father alongside the route his mother would take, holding out cups of cold water for any of the runners whose eyes might catch his.  Someone would come along on a dead run and snatch the cup from his outstretched hand and Danny would jump up and down with glee – until his dad placed a new cup in his hand for the next runner.  And as much as he wanted to keep jumping up and down Danny would settle down, holding the cup steady; realizing how important the water was for the next person who would come by.

Jesus also knows how important a cup of cold water can be.  He lives in a land where water isn’t plentiful in many places.  Rain in Jesus’ tradition, and therefore water, is seen as divine gift, and therefore one’s willingness to share the gift of water is to share a divine blessing.  The simple act of sharing water becomes a powerful act of hospitality and welcome.  And, in essence, Jesus tells us the act of sharing a cup of cold water with “one of these little ones” – with one of the newest and most vulnerable of his followers – becomes an act of compassion and mercy – it becomes an act of love. 

“The statement about giving a cup of cold water to one of these little ones points ahead to the parable of the judgment in Matthew 25 – where the Son of Man says to the righteous, ‘I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’ (25:35), and when the righteous don’t understand, Jesus then says, ‘truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me’ (25:40)” (Elizabeth Johnson, Synthesis, 7/2/2017).

Jesus also knows that the ability to give a cup of cold water in his name, or in the name of one of his followers, can be a challenging task for some to understand.  He’s been preparing his disciples for their first mission trip with an expectation that they proclaim the Good News of the kingdom of heaven.  And if we were to read just a few verses before this morning’s lesson from Matthew we would find Jesus explaining to them that not everyone will welcome his message.  They’ll be going out like “sheep into the midst of wolves” (10:16).  That certainly doesn’t sound very promising. 

On top of that, the message of Good News they have been given to share, will just as likely bring a sword, as much as it will bring peace – causing strife even between family members who struggle with the message of Good News for the poor, for the sick, and for the thirsty – causing conflict between those who take notice of the world’s hardships, and those who prefer to look away (10:34-36). 

But, says Jesus, there are those who will welcome you – and when they do that, they welcome me as well – and they also welcome the One who sent me – they welcome God.  So we don’t lose hope – we take the risk – we welcome others – and we proclaim the coming kingdom of heaven – even if some will turn away from us, or some will turn on us – because the Good News cannot, and will not, be shut down by this world. 

However, there’s more to welcoming someone than simply smiling and saying hello.  Welcoming someone “is an attitude…it’s the constant openness of [our hearts]” (Jean Vanier, Synthesis, 7/2/2017).  Dare we say it’s as simple as offering a cup of cold water, and as complex as changing whole systems that place fellow human beings at risk.

And one truth about the Good News is that it will shake up the lives of anyone who follows Jesus.  We remember how Jesus calls all who follow him to love God with every fiber of our being, while at the same time calling us to love our neighbors as ones like ourselves.  And since the disciples who follow Jesus throughout his earthly pilgrimage are fellow Jews, they recognize his commands from Torah – and they remember what follows “love your neighbor” almost immediately in Leviticus: “and love the sojourner – love the stranger – love the alien – in your midst, welcome them as a citizen, for you, yourselves, were once sojourners in Egypt” (Leviticus 19:33-34, paraphrased).  We know this is a challenging commandment for many people today.

Now, our little friend Danny is too young to fully understand all the Biblical imperatives about loving our neighbor, or about loving and welcoming the stranger as a fellow citizen.  But Danny knows how thirsty his mom gets when she’s running, and he figures everyone else running – including the strangers – well, they are probably just as thirsty.  Danny simply knows with clear, child-like logic that it is a good thing to give water to someone who is thirsty; and possibly he knows somewhere deeply within his gut that his giving a cup of cold water is an act of compassion and love as well.  It’s that knowledge – along with that gut feeling – that makes Danny dance like crazy every time someone receives a cup from his outstretched hand.

What Danny knows inherently to be true – the importance of giving a cup of cold water to another – the powerful witness of welcoming the stranger – is something all too many of us in this world struggle to know and to embrace. 

For most of us there is nothing particularly special about a cup of cold water. What’s the big deal? We just turn on the tap or crack open a bottle of Deer Park, and voilà, our thirst is quenched.  When we get a “boil-water” advisory – if we ever get one – it’s always temporary, like after Hurricane Matthew, and perhaps we moan and groan a bit.  But most of us have no trouble turning on the stove and making do. 

But what if we lived with a boil-water advisory day after day after day, like the people of Flint, Michigan?  What if we lived some place where we had to boil water every day, and on top of that, had to scrounge for the fuel to even light a fire to be able to boil our water?  A cup of cold water takes on new meaning when clean water and economic resources become scarce. 

And if we’re willing to take a stand on behalf of the people of Flint, Michigan, where children like Danny go home and turn on the tap every day – or speak out for clean water regulations anywhere, well then, we may find that even a cup of cold water can be a sword that divides.  We may even find ourselves receiving a prophet’s welcome – which wasn’t always a good thing, my friends.

Closer to home, St. Paul’s Outreach and Social Justice Committee recently sent five hundred dollars to the Episcopal Farmworkers Ministry to help with their “Water in the Fields” campaign.The Farmworker’s ministry designed and produced water carriers for use in the fields this summer by migrant farmworkers.  Every seventy-five dollars the program receives provides ten water carriers, which help our sisters and brothers who work in the fields every day making sure food gets from the farm to the markets and then to our tables.  

And while that first $500 isn’t huge, the sixty-six water carriers the money from us provides are making a difference in workers’ lives, and it’s good start on our part.  Do date the ministry has put nearly 500 water carriers into the hands of farmworkers!  And we’re thinking about other ways we can help insure water security for people in our wider community.  If you want to help, talk with Diane Every or Megan Shaner.

But that cup of water in Matthew’s gospel means so much more than extending a literal cup if we’re willing to see this as parable or metaphor. When we climb on the roof of our upcoming Habitat for Humanity Faith Build house, to nail down shingles, or to frame a window, to paint a room, to bring lunch to the workers, or just schlep supplies from one place to another, we will be welcoming folks who may never set foot in our Church – though it would be great if do.  We will be welcoming folks who may begin as strangers to us at the start of the build, and hopefully will be neighbors before the end – and we will be welcoming Christ. 

There are so many people thirsty for what that cold cup of water symbolizes, people who have been told they are not worthy to be seen, let alone receive anything from anyone.  When we reach out to someone in need – especially someone whom the world deems unworthy of our help – we indeed welcome Christ into our midst. 

And when we know that we have acted in a way conversant with the Good News of Jesus Christ I hope it brings a smile to our faces and joy to our hearts.  I’m not saying we have to dance with joy like little Danny every time we offer someone the equivalent of a cup of cold water – whenever we carry out the gospel imperative of welcome and hospitality – but on the other hand, wouldn’t that kind of joy be grand?