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Sunday, February 3, 2019


Epiphany 4C; Jeremiah 1:4-10; Luke 4:21-32; St. Paul’s, 2/3/2019
Jim Melnyk “Dare to Make a Difference”

Most of us are familiar with at least a few of the characters and storylines by A. A. Milne about a young boy named Christopher Robin and his golden-colored honey bear named Winnie the Pooh. Pooh Bear lives in a place called the Hundred Acre Wood along with a number of friends.  One such friend is Eeyore, a rather forlorn-looking donkey with melancholy eyes, drooping ears, and a loosely-tacked-on-tail, who goes about life asking questions like, “Why me?” or making pronouncements like, “It’s all for naught,” or “Pathetic. That’s what it is. Pathetic.”[1]

Once one gets to know Eeyore it’s rather obvious that he always seems to expect disaster to befall him in one form or another. And whenever one of the other animals ask Eeyore to take on anything new, the donkey, who expects the worst to happen, invariably has some excuse as to why he cannot possibly do what is asked of him, or at best, predicts that surely gloom and doom will befall them if they risk doing a new thing.  Eeyore’s fears seem at times to be as big as the Hundred Acre Wood.

Truth be told, each of us has a little bit of Eeyore in us. We resist new things. We do our best to avoid taking risks. We can always come up with a hundred different reasons why we cannot take on a particular task. We hold on as tightly as possible to the past and things as they have always been. We all too often find ourselves reluctant to confront our own fears, and when confronted with the unexpected we ask, “Why me?” I even have a small Eeyore stuffed animal that sits to the side on my computer desk at the church reminding me of the times I chant that age-old mantra, “Why me?”

Well, my friends, this is not a new thing for human beings. We’re in very good company.  Throughout history – whenever the call comes to try a new thing, to go to a new place, to speak a prophetic word, most of the time we humans have raised the cry, “Why me?” Perhaps followed by, “Why not send someone else? You know, someone with more training. Someone with more experience.  Someone with better skills or more suitable qualifications.”

And perhaps this reaction is most common when the call comes from God. Especially if we sense that God’s call will put us at odds with the world around us.

It’s very much like the call God issues to Jeremiah in today’s reading. When a word from God comes to Jeremiah commissioning him to be a prophet to the nations, Jeremiah’s immediate response is to object. Instead of seeing the possibilities, Jeremiah argues that he is inadequate to the task.  In this case he argues that he’s too young. My guess is there are any number of reasons the reluctant prophet could come up with as to why someone else would be better suited to the task at hand.

But, it seems, God knows well the hearts and fears of humankind.  In the very next breath God tells Jeremiah there’s no need to be concerned about his age. Jeremiah is assured that God will give the prophet the words to speak at the appropriate time. And then God says what God repeats to every generation, “Do not be afraid…for I am with you to deliver you.” And, as if that assurance isn’t enough, God gives a sign by touching the mouth of the prophet, thereby giving Jeremiah what he needs to fulfill the call to prophesy. The power given to Jeremiah is awesome indeed: appointed over nations and kingdoms, “to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” I cannot help but consider how challenging and how tempting such a call – such a gift – might be. The hope is the gift and the ability to be a part of God’s dream for this world.  The temptation is assuming one has the power to exercise dominion over others – how easy it might become to abuse, or misuse, such a calling!

And though we live half a world away, in a time far removed from Jeremiah, the same awesome power is ours to wield – for good or for ill. For our words, as well as our actions, have power to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant. Is it any wonder the most sane among us cry out, “Why me?  Why us?” and in our next breath, “God, can’t you send someone else?” Is it any wonder that there are people of faith in every generation who either flee from the call of God as Jeremiah tried to do, or others who see such a calling as an invitation to exert dominion over others?

But, as Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has said many times – quoting his grandmother – “If we’re breathing, God is calling us.”[2] I imagine in much the same way God has called God’s people over the ages.  Perhaps like Jeremiah, it’s the call itself that we fear the most.  We can compare it to the words of Marianne Williamson, words which are often mistakenly attributed to Nelson Mandela:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you “not” to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. It is not just in some of us; it’s in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”[3]

My sisters and brothers, God is calling us – calling us to ministries familiar and new – to people and places we know and have yet to meet or see. We may never be called to speak the same sort of word Jeremiah speaks, but God may well ask us to speak the unexpected – to advocate for those whom we never would guess we would support. We may well be the people destined to pull down systems which oppress God’s people, and in their place plant new ways of living and being together in community. We may well be the very ones called to destroy barriers to things like adequate housing, and healthcare; to reasonable, caring, and humane immigration reform; to both food and job security for everyone.

We might do so by wielding a hammer or paint brush building a house with Habitat for Humanity of Johnston County. Or, to address issues of healthcare or immigration reform, we can put to good use our command of language by writing letters or emails to those elected to public offices, entrusted with promoting the common good. We might find ourselves buying extra groceries at the store to put in our food basket the first Sunday of the month, or working to encourage the building of grocery stores in areas of our community considered food deserts.  If we are an employer or business owner, we can be expansive in our hiring practices.  If we’re younger and still in school, we can make friends with students we notice are without friends or who sit by themselves at lunch time.

Truth be told, any one of us – all of us have gifts and talents that, with God’s help, can be put to work to build up and to plant and maybe even to be prophetic!

It boils down to something Eeyore has been known to say, “A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.”[4]

Answering the call of God may well cause us to want to ask, “Why me?  Why us?” and to object that we’re just not up to the call.  But if we’re breathing, God is calling us.  And if we struggle with that call – or are tempted to abuse that call – well, God says to us, “Do not be afraid…for I am with you to deliver you.”[5] And that, my friends, is very good news!


[2] Many sermons listened to over the 15 years Michael Curry was Bishop of the Diocese of North Carolina
[4]Thai Nguyen, “Eeyore: A Pessimist’s Guide to a Beautiful Life, December 6, 2017  https://www.huffpost.com/entry/eeyore-a-pessimists-guide_b_6204004 Accessed on January 28, 2019
  
[5] Jeremiah 1:8 (TJSB)

Sunday, January 27, 2019

Repairers of the Breach


Epiphany 3C; Luke 4:14-21; St. Paul's, 1/27/2019
Jim Melnyk: “Repairers of the Breach”

The time was 537 years Before the Common Era of Judaism and Christianity. The peasant majority of Judah – the “people of the land” – had been left behind while the upper class, the landed aristocracy, priests, scribes, and merchants were exiled to Babylon. Many of the exiled people of Jerusalem have now found their way back home – only to find the city and their homes in disrepair or ruin. The powerful and glorious promises of Second Isaiah – the prophet who had spoken to them of restoration during their time in exile – the promises of Second Isaiah seem faded, distant, tarnished and untrue. Their lives and their world are in complete disrepair.

The wealthiest of those returning – those who had managed to hold onto their wealth in exile, or who had found ways to build wealth in Babylon – they are finding ways to rebuild their homes and start new lives. The poor and the disenfranchised – the descendants of those who had nothing to begin with before the exile – those whose families had been taken advantage of and mistreated before the exile – they find themselves in the same old boat – barely keeping afloat, barely keeping alive – once again under the thumb of the upper class, and wondering what ever became of the God who had brought their ancestors up out of Egypt. For most certainly, the poor and the disenfranchised feel trapped by a domination system not at all unlike what their ancestors experienced under Pharaoh.

It is not uncommon for people finding their lives in turmoil and world crashing down around their heads to look for someone or something to save them. Created in the image and likeness of God, we know that life – that the whole of creation – is supposed to be something other than what it often shows itself to be. Israel, in exile and upon their return, seeks hope in their experiences with a God who has always been an active participant in the life of their nation.

And so the prophet we call Third Isaiah – prophet of the return from exile – speaks as one anointed by God, proclaiming a message of comfort and consolation, and the promise of God’s favor for those who had nowhere else to turn. Isaiah proclaims, “Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”[1]

And then the prophet continues, “The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; God has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor…. (61:1-2a) And in another place, Third Isaiah, speaking for God, calls Israel to a new kind of fast: “Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them…? (58:1-7c)

This has been the hope of oppressed people from the beginning of time. Throughout the ages people of faith have experienced brokenness and loss, and have cried out to a God who seeks a better world for God’s people – a God whose dream for humanity calls us to new ways of living – to new life.

So is it at all surprising that Jesus’ comments in his home town synagogue elicit such a strong reaction?  “Borrowing from Isaiah,[2] Jesus situates the character of his mission within the Isaianic hope for the restoration of Israel. Interpreting the words of Isaiah in his sermon, Jesus extends the nature of that hope”[3] to his own day.

The congregation knows the context of the Isaiah passages. They know that Isaiah was talking about Israel’s experience upon their return from exile – their disillusionment that things had not changed for the poor, the outcast, and the needy – had not changed for those who are forever pushed to the margins of society. They know that in those early days of post-exilic Israel the prophet had promised the in-breaking of God to set things right – to turn the tables on those who had everything and so callously dismissed those who did not.

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” says Jesus, and in response, “All speak well of him and are amazed at the gracious words that come from his mouth.”[4] No focus groups. No exploratory committee. “Jesus [concludes] his reading and [launches] his mission. It [is] a…stunning announcement of his purpose.”[5]

Author Joe Nangle calls this passage from Luke “the Lord’s Magna Carta,” because in it Jesus announces that “he is the one sent to bring justice” to God’s people.[6] And we can see these words mirrored and then built upon by Jesus later in Luke’s gospel as Jesus begins what has been called his “Sermon on the Plain:” “Blessed are you who are poor…. Blessed are you who are hungry now…. Blessed are you who weep now….”[7]  This proclamation shared by both Isaiah and Jesus should be our Magna Carta as well – our clarion call – our statement of mission as followers of the One we call Christ.

Writing in Sojourners Magazine[8] Theologian Ched Myers reminds us, “There have always been two Americas: that of rich and poor, of inclusion and exclusion.” The America of exclusion embraces distinctions of age, class, gender, and race among other obvious differences. We might describe it as judging one another based on preconceived characteristics rather than on the character of one’s soul. “The America of inclusion [finds] expression in the ideal of ‘liberty and justice for all,’ and has been embodied…in the embrace of civil rights, women’s suffrage, or child labor laws.” In our faith experience as Episcopalians we would find it embodied in how we live out our Baptismal Covenant.

“These two visions of America,” Myers goes on to say, “compete for our hearts and minds,” and I would add, for our souls. The two visions compete for our attention in the voting booth, in our homes, and even in our churches.[9]

I believe with all my heart and soul that Jesus calls us to only one of these two visions or experiences of life: a call to proclaim a gospel that welcomes the stranger, lifts up the lowly, enfolds the lost, and renames the outcast. The vision Jesus proclaims in his hometown synagogue is a vision of the peaceable kingdom of God – where humanity will find a way to live in harmony with the rest of creation; not as harsh rulers who treat the world like a cheap mistress, but as stewards of God’s good gifts, entrusted to act on behalf of the Creator.

We are called to this vision of Jesus. As disciples of a liberating messiah, we are called to break the yoke that binds our sisters and brothers in any form of oppression. We are called to loose the bonds of injustice that strangle the helpless and destroy the fabric of creation. Ancient Jewish tradition given voice in the sixteenth century calls this tikkun olam, usually translated as “repairing the world.”[10] Isaiah calls it repairing the breach.

There are people in our communities – people all around us – who know they are called to help repair the world – but they don’t know where to start. Invite them in and welcome them to this holy calling. There are people who are hungry, cold, lonely or afraid. Become part of the ministries at St. Paul’s that seek to make a difference – through groups like our Outreach and Social Justice Committee, Christian formation, or programs like The Brotherhood of St. Andrew, the ECW, and Meals on Wheels – and then invite others into our community, where they can find welcome and a safe place. There are people at St. Paul’s who yearn to grow in their faith, or who struggle with economic hardship, or who want to find a vehicle of service through our parish. Give to the work of St. Paul’s. Share the good gifts you have received from God, so that the love, mercy, justice, and grace of God will be made known in this place, and in the world around us.

We share our gifts, this community, and our ministries with others because we are all, in this place and the community around us, a part of the Body of Christ – each of us – even the folks we might want to label an appendix or a spleen – you know, the folks we secretly think we could all do without,[11] but who Paul reminds us are just as important a part of the whole body of Christ as anyone else.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon you – the spirit of the Lord God is upon us, and we are anointed by God through our baptisms and our experiences of the Living Christ to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed. God has proclaimed it is time for us to be about the mission of repairing the world.

In the words of hymn writer and priest, Carl P. Daw, Jr.:
                        “Till all the jails are empty and all the
                                    bellies filled;
                        Till no one hurts or steals or lies, and no
                                    more blood is spilled;
                        Till age and race and gender no longer
                                    separate;
                        Till pulpit, press and politics are free of
                                    greed and hate;
                        God has work for us to do.”[12]

God has work for us to do.



[1] Isa. 58:12
[2] Isa. 58:6 and 61:1-2

[3] Luke 4:18-19n The New Interpreter’s Study Bible: NRSV The Apocrypha (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003)

[4] Luke 4:21-22, paraphrased

[7]  Luke 6:20-21The New Interpreter’s Study Bible: NRSV The Apocrypha
[9] ibid
[11] Based on a sermon by Christina Berry, Faith Presbyterian Church, Silver Lake, Minnesota, citation lost
[12] “Synthesis: A Weekly Resource For Preaching and Worship Following the Revised Common Lectionary,” (Boyds, MD, PNMSI Publishing Company, January 21, 2007) attribution lost