Last week, when I opened my e-mail, this ad came in over the transom. 

This promo easily could have been an exhibit in our seminary’s annual show of Tacky Religious Art — another commercial desecration of Christmas.

For us Episcopalians, “tacky” is one of the worst offenses, a venial sin for sure.

Excuse a minor digression.  BUT…This is why I so love All Saints Day.  They haven’t figured out yet how to monetize it.  How much All-Saints schlock have you seen on TV with dancing chipmunks and harmonizing toilet bowl scrubbers?

In any case, here is — the Christmas promo.  A Hot Deal Directly from the North Pole.  Yes, folks there actually is a North Pole…in Alaska, near Fairbanks.  And those fine citizens milk it for all it’s worth this time of year.  Actually, Christmas 365 days a year up there.

Well, here’s the special.  You can order up your Certified Letters from Santa.  Each piece printed out on Fine Linen Paper.  Use the special code, “Jolly15,” and you’ll save 15% right now!

Now you see why I so like All Saints Day.  No special letters from St. Francis or St. Peter to purchase from God knows where.

But if you want the real message of Christmas and not a bunch of Santa hoo-ha, let’s turn to Mary and her message instead.  Her song, we call the Magnificat.  Magnificat, because God often magnifies the least to produce the most glorious results.  Magnifies us when we feel ourselves to be the least, to be of no account.

Magnificat – now here’s a promo.

Mary, a woman accounted for nothing in her society.   Most men have no idea what that feels like.  Though I did get a smidgen of insight into personal nothingness the other day.

I went to the auto dealer for a recall issue.  It was early in the morning, cold and breezy.  A fellow came up to my car, asked a few questions and put a big number on my windshield.  Then I stood by my car as I was asked to do.  In the cold.  In the wind.  And stood.   And stood.  And stood.

Meanwhile, a number of agency personnel walked by.  And walked by.  And walked by.  It was as if I was invisible.  I finally stopped one.  As he began to walk away without away listening to me, I asked him, “What am I?  A customer or an inconvenience?”  It was a little taste of invisibility.  In that moment I felt like the “Least of All.”  Welcome to Mary’s club.

Mary, frightened, expecting a child and on her own.  Shunned by all in her village.  Scared for the child she was expecting.  Utterly alone — How on earth does she tell Joseph?  Wanting to shrink into anonymity.  So much uncertainty.

But as my friend Mike Kinman said several years ago, Mary gathered up her skirts and burst forth with her full agency.  If she was to bear this child, she would not be a shrinking violet.  She cut loose with the most radical proclamation, straight out of Israel’s prophetic tradition.   Pure, unadulterated, terrifying Grace.

She knew in her bones — this child – her child — would turn the world upside down.  Mary comes off more like Mother Jones than Mother Teresa.  Mother Jones – a union organizer — hell raiser totally in it for her people.  As Fr. Mike put it that Sunday, Mary took one step back and said, “Hold my beer and watch this.”

“He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit.  He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.  He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.”[1]

These verses are not the namby-pamby platitudes that pass for many of our sermons in the prosperity gospel congregations, or many mainline churches. 

This torrent of righteous proclamation is straight out of one considered to be of no account.  Don’t give me any portraits of Mary is soft blue pastels, harmless as a cocker spaniel.  I want the “Mother Jones” Mary.  The “Rosie the Riveter” Mary.  The Eleanor Homes Norton Mary!

It is out of this radical option for the poor that every union organizer is born, has breath.  It is out of this radical option for the poor that our economics will find rebirth and our planet a future.

You folks who oppress your labor force, your time is up.  Either wages rise and everyone gets a fair shake or no one works.  You’re shut down.  That’s the union hall translation of “the rich are sent empty away.”

The candle business that forced people in Kentucky to keep working as the tornado sirens screamed their warnings – yes, you folks.  I’m talking to you.  Your workers, at least those who survived your callous indifference – these workers should take you to court until they have wrung every last penny out of you.  You considered them of no account, disposable, less than nothing.  And many died.  It’s ironic that it was a candle business that was an agent of such deep darkness.  Don’t you think?

Micah has it right when he proclaims, “You, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule.”[2]  Out of the Least of All, God’s righteousness springs up.  Like the grass that grows through the cracks, though they spread the asphalt over it.

The high and mighty thought they could plan an insurrection on January 6 under the cover of darkness and anonymity. Overthrow our constitutional government.  It is the “little people” who have spied them out – reporters and lowly congress critters who have pulled back the curtain.  These are the ones of whom Mary sings in her Magnificat.  These are the least of Ephrathah, the lowliest of clans. 

They will keep the spotlight of the God’s honest truth on those January 6^th seditious malefactors until they are marched off to prison for conspiracy.  Yes, the fish rots from the head.  Thrown down from their thrones these perpetrators will be.  Actions have consequences.  There will be plenty of time for God’s mercy when you’re in contrition-mode with a few years behind bars to think about your actions.

Again, it will be the Least of All – Hundreds of strong women and their supporters in this very same spirit marching in the streets – for health care rights, for voter’s rights, for a fair economy.  Not going to take it anymore.  Going to be the drudge and scapegoat no longer.  They are here to scatter the proud in their conceit.  A Gospel Action if ever there was one.

This, the birth of one destined to turn the world upside down.  All who follow in his path are insurrectionists in the cause of a Love beyond all Love.  Sometimes the work has a hard edge – of necessity.

Sometimes it’s a gentle soft touch, soft as velvet, as tasty as a ripe peach just off the tree.  In all cases, true liberation from what weighs down.

Jai passed along a wonderful such story from Elizabeth Gilbert — a story of one of the “Least of All.”  A big-city bus driver at the end of a long afternoon picking up exhausted, cranky commuters heading on home.

Elizabeth Gilbert gets the Last Word:

“Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated with one another, with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here is what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight, just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I will open the window and throw your troubles in the water.”

It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who had been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?

Oh, he was serious.

At the next stop, just as promised, the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up but everyone did it. The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.”

Out of the Least of All, out of you and me, the coming promise of Christmas is arriving to turn our world upside down.  Sometimes with a bullhorn on a picket line, sometimes with the soft strains of a holiday song, sometimes by poem.  Or a gentle smile.   Maybe on a crowded bus.

“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.”  In his stead YOU may be the one on the soup line serving up hearty nourishment.

In our land, as a great darkness descends over our democracy, you may be the Paul Revere, sounding the alarm.  Up to “trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.”  Waking folks up.

In the darkness a light has shined.  Now, you are that Light.  Let it shine.

This is what Mary’s alarming song is all about.  Someone of lowly birth coming to kindle the life spark where it had been extinguished, born to set the world on fire.  And all of us, of lowly birth — arsonists for Christ.

That’s what this bus driver was, the sheer audacity of Grace, all the way down to the river. 

 Christ has come.  Christ is come.  Christ will come again.  Light that fourth Advent candle.  Amen.

---

[1] Luke 1:46-55, NRSV.

[2] Micah 5:2, NRSV.

St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

                  Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

                   Advent 4
                December 19, 2021

Out of the Least of All

Micah 5:2-5a; Canticle 3 (the Magnificat);
Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55

Today we light the pink candle on the Advent wreath.  This is Mary’s Sunday.  And this is Stir Up Sunday – the clue that it was time for folks to get their Christmas puddings started.  Why, you ask?  The collect that begins worship for today begins, “Stir up thy power, O Lord, and with great might come among us;” Ladies, get your puddings stirred up.  Christmas is coming.

Some of you are probably expecting to see Deacon Pat up here this morning.  I got a call early Friday morning that she was having a medical issue.  As she spoke, my Army medic mode kicked in and I realized this might be pretty serious.  I told her to have her son Will get her to the hospital right away, as in NOW.

That’s how it is, one thing after another.  Life sometimes smacks us upside the head.  Yes, I know that it’s Joy Sunday.  We lit the pink Advent candle, but life intrudes.  Stuff happens.  Where is the Joy?

The JOY is in the real world.  The work and problems given to our hands and minds – there’s the JOY.  We have commitments, errands, dishes to wash.  I always give thanks at the beginning of each morning while I’m sitting on the side of the bed waiting to make sure I have my balance that once again, I can put on my pants one leg at a time and get to it.

After Pat’s early morning call, I called Barbara to make sure we had follow-up, as she lives much closer to Pat than I.  I then went and found the newspapers to see what else God might have on the morning’s agenda.  Then I opened up the computer to check the e-mail.  Finally, I got to work on a sermon that I hadn’t planned on writing this week.

If God was going to stir up divine power, I realized that I’d better, and quickly, stir up my gumption if I was going to be part of this action.

Like Fr. Malcolm Boyd used to say, “Are you running with me, Jesus?” 

Unfortunately, it seems, God has some pretty poor material to work with.  I’m talking about us.  About me.  But with God, we shall be sufficient.

“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter of Jerusalem!”[1]

Sing, we will!

In this time of festive preparations for the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, out of the blue, my friend Dick called with tickets to the Claremont Chorale Christmas Concert.  Indeed, we will sing.  What a treat.  Sure, we will enjoy the music, but much more than that, the joy is to be surrounded with such a group of kind, thoughtful friends.

As our House of Hope team looks forward to another trip back to West Virginia, funding sources are finally coming together.  One of the programs we will borrow from is Recovery Point out of Huntington, West Virginia.

While in West Virginia on our last trip, if one was looking for meager material of humble beginnings, we found them as we visited a rehab center run by the clients themselves.  In recovery jargon, it is known as a peer-to-peer operation.  There were no medical or other professional staff.  The curriculum is solely The Big Book of AA.

Our version of the program will include medical detox.  It’s much more humane.  And definitely more effective in getting folks through the recovery.  To go cold turkey is hell.  Just read Dopesick or watch the new documentary based on that work on Hulu.[2]

As we were shown the facility and spoke with residents there, it was obvious, one could not get to more humble beginnings.  As we were leaving, a fellow in an orange jump suit and in shackles was being escorted in by a couple of armed deputies.

Behold, this place was, in living color – orange, the Christmas miracle come alive.  Out of degradation and desperation, God was including one more person in God’s great plan of salvation history.  Yes, from Abraham, Joram, Ruth, and a whole bunch of other people we’ve never heard of – right up to Bathsheba, Solomon, to Joseph and beyond – the story continues until it comes to such as you and me.  And a smelly, sorry-ass fellow in an orange jump suit.  Gloria. Gloria!

Recovery Point in Huntington is solely a men’s facility; there’s a separate women’s facility in Charleston.  It seemed like there were about one hundred men living there, mostly in their twenties and thirties. 

I was astounded at the organization and the ethic of recovery I witnessed in those men.  Two of the biggest learnings accompanying the journey to sobriety are respect and accountability.  All chores are done by those living there from cleaning up and making one’s bed to kitchen duty and mentoring those coming out of detox.  The place ran like clockwork.  Discipline was strict.  Consequences were meted out for screw-ups.  And it was all accepted with equanimity by those who knew in their gut that Recovery Point was their last, best chance. 

Now, I sure wouldn’t want any of these men seeing the office and desk I came home to.  They’d know I’d flunked recovery from the chaos.

In Luke’s telling of Jesus’ baptism, hundreds are flocking to John to be baptized into a righteous life.[3]  John tells them that to prepare they must put on a new ethic, the garment of righteousness and humility. 

To the tax collectors, “collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”  To the soldiers (and we would say to all policing authorities) “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”  And Black lives do matter, along with the lives of all our citizens.  Decent behavior and compassion will be the sign of your entry into the Kingdom of Salvation. 

It would be almost unbearable, what the Baptizer would have said to Wall Street tycoons and bank presidents.  “Do not send battalions of lawyers up against union organizers.  Do not cheat your depositors by setting up bogus accounts and burying them under enormous fake fees.”  Recovery leads to joy, but it’s a hard road.

Like, as with the clients of Recovery Point, recovering capitalists would find new joy in some of the simpler pleasures of life – a warm cup of coffee in the morning and a dazzling sunset at eventide.  Yes, a cup of joe and a cup of joy to begin each day.

Right there at Recovery Point, Huntington, West Virginia!  Gloria.  Gloria!  This was far better than any Miracle on 34^th Street.  This was the real deal.  Miracles created every day through newly found sobriety.

And to top it off, the following day back in Charleston at Starbucks, I spied a young woman wearing a Recovery Point jacket with a friend.  I introduced myself and mentioned House of Hope. They told me that they were staff at the woman’s center in Charleston.  

Thinking back, my pickup line that morning was probably one of the weirdest, most unlikely, that may have ever worked.  Anyway, these two women came over and shared some of their stories. 

One shared of her seven-year-old boy in an institution.  He had been damaged from her neglect when she was stoned.  Recovery’s not easy.  She will live with that reality the rest of her life.  But here she is, picking up the pieces.  Here she is – Stayin’ Alive!  Stayin’ Alive!  All the work of Holy Spirit baptism.

The dead are brought back to life and the blind see with new eyes.  She finally has hope for something better.  Christmas Miracle in Charleston, West Virginia!  Gloria.  Gloria! 

We know how that story begins – a single step.  And Mary answered the angelic messenger, “Let it be unto me according to thy word.”   Gloria.  Gloria.  “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion.”  

As we offer up prayers this morning for Deacon Pat, let us with joyful hearts, reflect on all the love she has given over the years to St. Francis — the joy she has brought to so many.  And we pray that she will have many more years of ministry in our midst.  Now, let us light that pink candle for JOY.  It comes each morning, fresh with the sunshine.  Amen.

---

[1] Zephaniah 3:14, NRSV.

[2] Beth Macy, Dopesick (New York: Little, Brown & Co., 2018).

[3] Luke 3:7-18, NRSV.

                  St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

                  Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

                   Advent 3 (Gaudete Sunday)
                December 5, 2021

Stir Up Your Power

Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 9 (the First Song of Isaiah);
Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

As we approach Advent, thoughts turn to endings and beginnings.  We are on the cusp of coming out of COVID-19.  Yet, it is still with us.  We see folks dining outside, playing in the park.  Kids are in school.  At the same time, the mood of the public is on the sour side. 

A cloud of fear and suspicion hangs over thoughts of hesitant Christmas shopping.  With death threats whispered, our politics are in the toilet. Sports teams are playing again.  By the way, kudos to the Atlanta Braves.

Speaking of sports, something of a stench hovers over the gridiron in Wisconsin.  “You lied to everyone,” Hall of Fame quarterback Terry Bradshaw scolded.  Aaron Rodgers cared about only one person – himself.  His selfishness exposed his teammates to the corona virus. 

Now, Rodgers has tested positive for the disease.  On Fox Sunday Sports, while featuring a tribute to the Naval Academy, Bradshaw let loose. 

“I’ll give Aaron Rodgers some advice. It would have been nice if he had just come to the Naval Academy and learned how to be honest [and] learned not to lie,” said Bradshaw of the Packers quarterback. “Because that’s what you did, Aaron. You lied to everyone.”[1] 

Gone is the day when America once looked up to its sports heroes and establishment without reservation.  These days, for too many professional athletes, it’s all about entitlement and the big bucks.  

Aaron, that your team in your absence lost their game this last Sunday is a small, insignificant price to pay for what you have done to your reputation and to the respect of your teammates and the fans.  Aaron, maybe you might consider those midshipmen at Annapolis for a few moments this coming week.  Contrition is still good for the soul.

I’ve become pretty disillusioned by professional sports over the years.  Cities spend fortunes on state-of-the-art stadiums, and on a whim their team up and moves for a better offer.  What is it now – the Advil Raiders and the Microsoft Chargers???  Playing in God-knows-where!

The edifice has crumbled.  The trophies are tarnished by cheating and steroids.  Tarnished, has much of America. Not a whole lot left but the money.  AND, to wring more of your cold, hard cash out of you, gambling is now allowed at many sports venues.  Next, the players themselves will be placing the bets.

We live in unsettled times, as was Jerusalem in 66-70 of our Common Era (CE). 

In Mark’s depiction, as Jesus’ disciples enter the holy city of Jerusalem, they are agog as they stare up to the splendor of the Temple.  One of the disciples, tugging on the sleeve of his garment, exclaims, “’Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!’  Then Jesus asked him, ‘Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’”

The lesson here is impermanence.  And rebuilding.  For Jews, out of the calamity of 69 CE, the destruction of the temple and the fall of the fortress of Masada, came the end of temple worship centered around the sacrifice of burnt offerings. 

Born was rabbinic Judaism centered around the synagogue and came the Diaspora, the scattering of Jews to all corners of the earth. 

The early followers of Jesus, those who had survived the destruction, being Jews, likewise were also scattered like chaff blown by the wind.

Into this social upheaval came all sorts of charlatans promoting all sorts of nonsense.  Just like today.  Ivermectin, bleach and other quack nostrums are nothing new under the sun.  The bruhaha over vaccinations is but a symptom of a society in stress.  When it comes to the halls of reason and scientific method, not one stone is left upon another.

Unfettered craziness!

Senator Ted Cruz has now taken on our beloved Big Bird.  Did you hear, the other day Big Bird stood in a line for his vaccination.  I guess, so he wouldn’t get birdie pox.  Ted Cruz had a conniption.  Said that Big Bird was a shill for government vaccine propaganda.  Brainwashed, his little birdy brain was.  Instead of reason, we get outrage porn.  Not one stone left upon another in the precincts of logic.  Not one!

And it gets worse.  Did you know that all this harangue about masks and vaccinations is evil?  Emerald Robinson’s employment at Newsmax was terminated for claiming that COVID-19 vaccinations gave one the mark of the devil.  She’s presently off the air while her employer reviews her tweets claiming that the shot gives recipients Satan’s seal of ownership.

Ms. Robinson tweeted: “Dear Christians: the vaccines contain a bioluminescent marker called LUCIFERASE so that you can be tracked. Read the last book of the New Testament to see how this ends.”  Not one stone left upon another in the temple of sound religion. 

In spite of such absurdity, Simon and Garfunkel cross my mind: “And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson/Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo…”

I think I’m beginning to miss Tammy Faye and Jim Bakker and the PTL crowd.  At least, with that grift, no one died to purchase gold faucets for their humble abode.

Mark was written either shortly before, or most likely, after, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in the year 69.  That year the city was pillaged and razed to the ground.  Much of the population was killed or taken captive in a slaughter perhaps comparable to the Srebrenica massacre, to that of Rwanda, or President Jackson’s genocidal policy of Indian removal from the eastern United States.  Let us not forget the “Trail of Tears.” Only the Holocaust, in recent history, would have been among tragedies surpassing that of Jerusalem.

For Mark and the early Christian community, the events of the Roman-Jewish war were a complete disaster.  But more than that, those events were full of portents of what was to come for those who had survived.

In times of profound sense of loss, let us keep the faith in one another and listen.  In such commitment is the substance of Christian Hope.  Faith that God is still working wondrous purposes out.

First, is the necessity to grieve.   These tears are healing rivulets flowing down cheeks.  Sometimes stuff happens, very bad stuff.  In disaster, hope is a scarce commodity.  Time is necessary for shock to dissipate.  Time is necessary to gain orientation to present-day realities.  To discern new beginnings, Spirit openings.  The craziness of this time – it will subside like a bad head cold.  We will get through this together.  Faith will suffice for the days ahead.

Second, is to organize, plan, think and write.

The huge production of books and articles on our current difficulties is one source of comfort and hope.

Books on the opioid epidemic have proliferated over the past ten or so years.  They attest to the necessity and blessing of community.  We are not alone in facing this.  There is help.  Just the shared experience of another who has walked this path is comfort.  Hearing the stories is an essential spiritual discipline.  Do not turn away.

Sam Quinones, in his second book on the addiction crisis, brings the living testimony of families, of communities, some, for the first time ever, working in concert to confront this scourge.

He tells, early on, of the hunger he found for presentations after his first book had been published.  In communities, large and small, in Appalachia and all throughout the middle of America.

He tells of one of the moments in the small town of Portsmouth, Ohio, that was the seed for his second book on our drug crisis, The Least of These.[2]  He writes:

“After my speech, an older couple—thin, short, and pale—came up to a table where I was signing books.  We were alone.  Quietly, so only I could hear, the man said that their daughter was in prison for many years for a crime related to her opioid addiction.  He said they were raising her young daughter and didn’t know what to do.  They were exhausted.  They were concerned they wouldn’t live long enough to see the girl through to adulthood.  He was a man of few words and no tears.  He looked shellshocked.”

“’It’s so hard,’ he said.”

“I was new at this and didn’t know how to respond.  We each held the others hand, frozen in mid-handshake, this man and I, and stared into each other’s eyes as his wife stood by in silence.  I squeezed his hand finally, and I think I said something about them not being alone.  That I was sorry.  They moved on, and I can still see the man looking back at me and nodding.”

“This book grew from that moment and others like it.”

Such are the moments of healing, the beginning of hope.  It’s in the simple act of sharing with another that you can’t go on any farther.  Admitting exhaustion.  Such is the beginning of hope. 

Drawing from ancient testimony of the psalmist, Jesus followers remembered a saving truth: “The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”[3]

When asked where he sees hope, “What places have you seen that are doing the right thing?” Sam responds, “Right here.”  The cornerstone! That has become his answer. 

Addiction is not a Republican or Democratic, not a Green or Independent problem.  People who would never have agreed on much of anything are joining their efforts, are now learning each other’s names, making plans, going out for pizza together.  When not one stone is left upon another, they are the chief cornerstone.  They are the ones restoring hope.  You very fine citizens; you are the ones leading others with new eyes to see beginnings that God is about.

Ordinary neighbors, those with the courage to unite in towns big and small, these are stones rejected – rejected by the purveyors of these drugs, rejected by indifferent bureaucrats, entitled politicians.

It’s going to be just average folks who have a care.  It is out of this cornerstone that the entire dwelling of sobriety be constructed.  Such is the seed of Hope.

Not one stone left upon another, but in the rubble lies the cornerstone.  This is the gospel testimony we of the Jesus Movement claim.  It’s through folks like that older couple who dared to share their desperation, it’s through writers like Sam Quinones who can document these stories with a generous spirit, and with hope – that we rediscover the Hope of things eternal.  Through such hope, we uncover a chief cornerstone to build anew. And to you, Mrs. Robinson, to us all: “Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo.   Amen

---

[1] Fatma Khaled, “Terry Bradshaw Rips Aaron Rodgers Over COVID Fiasco: ‘You Lied to Everyone,’” Newsweek, 11-7-2021.

[2] Sam Quinones, The Least of These: True Tales of America and Hope in the Time of Fentanyl and Meth (New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021).

[3] Psalm 118:22, Mark 12:10, Matthew 21:42, Luke 4:11, Acts 4:11.

                                St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

                                              Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

        Pentecost 25, Proper 28
        November 14, 2021
 

    “Not One Stone Upon Another”

                                      Daniel12:1-3; Psalm 16;
                                 Hebrews 10:11-14,19-36; Mark 13:1-8

“In our Custody, In our Care.”  That’s the motto of the Minneapolis Police Department.

This last week the jury that had convicted Derick Chauvin of murder assembled with the media for the first time since that fateful trial.  Seven of the eight met for an interview with the host of CNN’s Don Lemon Tonight.

Several jurors reported a moment of epiphany, when it dawned on them that something was missing.  Some critical act missing that was triggered by the motto of the Minneapolis Police Department – “In our Custody, in our Care.” 

The forewoman explained:     “At some point, I think it was Jodi, I’m pretty sure it was Jodi said, ‘Wait a minute, does the intended act of harm have to be the death of George Floyd, or can it be him not providing the life support?’ And it was like all of a sudden the light bulbs just went on for those people that I think were undecided or on the not guilty side.”[1]

As Jodi said, for her the defining moment of that incident is not what the officer did.  It’s what the officer failed to do.  That, for her, proved intent.

As another juror added, “George Floyd was in their custody. He was never in their care.”  That was the assessment of juror Sherri Hardeman.

Thus came the first ever guilty verdict for a white officer for killing a black man — “Never in their Care.”

Yet, CARE was not derelict.  Never absent at that scene.  A young woman who gave a care steadfastly kept her camera rolling as those fateful eight minutes, forty-six seconds ticked by.

And millions of Americans gave a CARE as in outrage they took to the streets to protest the indignity shown George Floyd.  Unfortunately, our congress has yet to muster up the courage to show the same spine, the same CARE as that young bystander.

As we celebrate the Saints of God, I am coming to believe that it’s all about CARE.  They are the ones who simply give a CARE.

That’s the entire story of the resurrecting of Lazarus.  Jesus is the cosmic embodiment of CARE.  As, might any suffering loss, suffering the sting of death of a dear friend, Jesus wept at the news of his friend.  He and the entire village, had unabashedly joined Mary and Martha in mourning the loss of their brother Lazarus.  Here we find the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35, “Jesus wept.”  Those two words encompass the entire mercy of God.

We are drawn to a God who promises to wipe away our tears when in a season of weeping.  A promise of comfort, of CARE.

We have lost several dear ones at St. Francis in this past season of weeping:  Our sisters Alicia, Stephanie and Diane.  Our brothers Fred and Oliver.  Numbered among the Saints of God to be sure.  In their own inimitable ways, they gave a CARE for us all and for the Church of Christ.

But, more than that, we worship a God who summons us back to life. Just as did those millions of marchers who filled our streets after the death of George Floyd.  Black, white – all ethnicities – rich and poor – urban rural.  All of them calling America back to its founding principal motto:  E Pluribus Unum – Out of Many, One.  Calling this nation back to life.

That trembling young woman with a cell phone, steadfast, she is one of the Saints of God.  She would have never claimed to be anyone special, would never have claimed any special notoriety.  She just followed the instincts of the Spirit-implanted humanity in her soul.  She simply did her duty as a fellow human being, a Saint to be sure!  Calling us to witness.  To life.

Yes, as the hymn proclaims, “You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church or in trains, or in shops or at tea…”[2]  A saint has that force within to kindle the life quality where it was not.

Sometimes it’s by raising a ruckus, like those who steadfastly protest the indignities heaped upon the “least of these.”  They are about “trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.”  As we move through the process of “sausage making” in congress, the Saints of God are on the alert for indignity heaping.  Senator Patty Murray is one, an exemplar of that necessary trouble when she calls out “one seventy-four-year-old man” who would deny paid leave to women having to tend to a sick child or care for an elderly mother.

Senator Patty Murray was in high dudgeon on Thursday:  “We’re not going to let one man tell all the women in this country that they can’t have paid leave,”[3]

The outrage didn’t stop there.  Remember the bit about “a woman scorned” and Hell’s fury. 

“I think it’s horrific that one white man can make this decision,” said Dawn Huckelbridge, director of Paid Leave for All. “But I think it’s also a failure of our entire government…And this could have been a cornerstone program that would have helped every working family in this country. And we’ve squandered that opportunity.”[4]  Shame.  Shame on us.

Legislating, that so-called sausage making, is not a pretty process.  Much sturm und drang.  Especially when it’s the little people, the “least of these” getting ground up in the process.  Ground up and discarded.

To no one’s surprise, the folks with the most means don’t usually get pulverized in this messy process.  In the midst of the offal and slime on the floor, God’s Saints call out privilege when they see it, when they smell it.  The Saints of God continue to call America to values imbued in its founding documents, foundational tracts and essays. 

Yes, Frederick Douglas, I’m thinking about you.[5]  I’m thinking about those stirring words in the preamble to the Declaration of Independence.  I’m thinking about Jane Addams at Hull House and Susan B. Anthony.  I’m thinking about a good friend and fellow marcher, Rabbi Leonard Beerman.  A companion on the journey who always asserted, “My marching feet are my prayers.”  Mine too.  All Saints of God who have mentored our democracy through its fitful journey to the present day.  Raised us back to life.

I’m thinking of those intrepid guides who followed the “Drinking Gourd,” leading the enslaved to freedom up north.  I’m thinking about Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman – all the anonymous conductors, Black and White, on that most blessed Underground Railroad to freedom.  All following a bright North Star — leading America to a brighter destiny.  These are the incandescent Saints of God I celebrate today.  Holding the “least of these” in tender care.

Yes, you can meet them on trains, but also in demonstrations, at the workplace and in the Halls of Congress. You find them on the internet, lobbying for a just politics. You can find them in our Pilgrim Place dining hall, writing letters on behalf of those imprisoned and tortured for protesting tyranny and dictatorship. Yes, I’m thinking of you who monthly write those letters on behalf of Amnesty International. Right here in Pilgrim Place, in our churches and around the world. You have a CARE for the most despised and forgotten. Saints, to be sure.

One more thing.  In researching the turmoil around the Build Back Better Bill and paid family leave, I came across an outfit of insurance brokers serving the Black community.  This business was created because many national companies, due to “red-lining,” had refused to issue policies in minority or poor neighborhoods.

Wealth & Equity, a non-profit, was “created to unite the insurance industry on a mission to educate, underwrite, and empower the Black community by leveraging life insurance and enhancing financial education, while also helping Black agents and agencies reach their highest level of career success.”[6]

These people looked around and noticed that most insurance companies thought communities of color and low-income neighborhoods were not worthy of their effort.  This discrimination led some righteous souls early on to enter that market.  As a result, the nonprofit, Wealth & Equity, was given birth as a Black owned enterprise.  They gave a CARE.  And still do.

If ever business folks could make it into the pantheon of Saints, these self-help, non-profit folks are Saints of God!  They’re all about respect and empowerment.

Yes, saints galore.  Closer to home, so close — saints who abound.

These are the husbands and wives, who over the years have gone the extra mile with tokens of love and affection.  Flowers for no special day.  A favorite breakfast.  A spontaneous day in the park together.  Even through kiss-and-make-up arguments.  Sometimes it’s loved ones who forgive the unforgiveable.  Cherished quiet time they allow one another.  It’s how they’ve made allowances for each other, cut one another some slack.  It’s those joyous moments of celebration like the discovery that a new baby might be on the way.  It’s shared moments of sorrow too deep for words.  They do the necessary chores to keep things going, day in and day out, without complaint.  Saints to be sure!  Folks who daily give a CARE.

Saints are those who’ve kept up long-term friendships that have weathered misunderstandings and absences.  Friendships that year after year spring up, even after the years and months have flown by, as if not a day had been missed.  Folks who will always have your back.  The ones who bring out the best in you, expect the best from you and are willing to believe the best about you.  People who hold you in prayer and tender thoughts.  Precious, indeed, in the sight of the Lord.  Saints to be sure.

The Saints of God – “They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds of thousands still, the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’ will.”  The Saints be Praised, AND May I be one too.   Amen.

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[1] Nick Paschal, “Jurors Reveal it was Something Derek Chauvin didn’t do that Convinced Them all to Vote Guilty,” Yahoo Entertainment, October 29, 2021.

[2] Lesbia Scott, The Church Hymnal, #293, Church Pension Fund, 1985.

[3] Chris Cillizza, “This Democratic Senator is Irate at Joe Manchin,” CNN State of the Union, October 28, 2021.

[4] Quoted in unsigned op. ed., Wealth & Equity, October 28, 2021.

[5] Frederick Douglass, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”  Speech given to Independence Day celebration for the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society, July 5, 1852.

[6] Wealth & Equity, “Who are We,” https://wealthandequity.org/.

St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

                                              Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

        All Saints Sunday
 

       “In our Custody, In our Care”

                              Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9; Psalm 24;
                                     Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44

I remember driving from Ridgecrest out through the desert to our church in Randsburg, just off Highway 395.

It was not an infrequent sight to see in the distance a group of buzzards circling over what I presumed to be their lunch,  As I got closer, I could see them fighting over the scraps of Br’er Rabbit, or whatever was left of some unfortunate road kill.  These buzzards were a tenacious lot.  It wouldn’t be until the last moment when I was about to run over the lot of them, that they would hop away or take to the air.

From time immemorial, these scavengers have been a warning to desert travelers that this forbidding terrain could be deadly to the lost and unprepared.  Fatal to those who scoff at the precautions of survival.  Or just the plain stupid. Yeah, what you don’t know can easily kill you out there.  With temperatures of one hundred twelve and higher, one does not last long without water and shade.  Besides the heat, hazards lurk under rocks. Unseen mine shafts await the unwary.  That circling group of birds is your stark warning.  You may end up dinner, with a few scraps left over for their breakfast in the morning.

Those circling birds are indeed a timely warning for the desert traveler.  Every bit as sharp and urgent as Amos’s prophecy to the nation Israel.  And now, to the nation America.

The purpose for this is exactly the same as that warning from your mother about the hot stove or the rushing traffic on a busy street.  It’s the skull and cross bones on that little green bottle in the back of the kitchen cabinet.  Its purpose is that you might “live long and prosper.”  That you might not be removed from the gene pool at a tender young age.  Or at any age.

For his nation, Amos’s warning was so that its people might keep and enjoy the freedom won by God when they had crossed the Red Sea before Pharoah’s horses and chariots.  Exodus was Freedom.  It would be hard to keep.

No nation can sustain itself for long when it is riddled by corruption and fraud.  More on that later.  Corruption has set in, so this is the law suit that God has brought against the nation of Israel.  Court is called to order at the city gate, the seat of judgement.  God is present to hear the case and pronounce judgement.

Here’s the opening summons:

“Seek the Lord and live, or he will break out against the house of Joseph like fire…Ah, you that turn justice to wormwood, and bring righteousness to the ground…

Now come the particulars of God’s indictment against the House of Israel:

“They hate the one who reproves in the gate, and they abhor the one who speaks the truth (read, “but we have Alternative Facts”).  Therefore, because you trample on the poor and take from them levies of grain …you take a bribe, and push aside the needy in the gate.”

Finally, the summation and judgement:

“Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said.  Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of the people.”

It may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to a righteous remnant – that’s the earnest and desired purpose.  Blessedness and Righteousness will kiss each other in your dealings — that’s the intent.

The purpose of it all is an amendment of one’s ways.  Repent, which simply means to turn around and head in a new direction – a saving direction, the direction of national solidarity and wholeness.

God doesn’t want that we should feel sad or guilty; the purpose here is that we should thrive.  It is that the nation should be a realm of justice and equity so that we dwell in peace with one another, and the sojourner who also lives in the land. 

This is a warning about the path you are on which is leading to ruin and destruction. 

Apart from God’s corrective word, our hearts are idol factories.  How quickly we lose the purpose of it all.  The prophets, running all the way from Moses to Zechariah to Jesus and to Dr. Martin Luther King are the corrective to our self-serving, destructive rationalizations.

Under the category of self-serving revelations: Jai came across televangelist Kenneth Copeland, who told his congregation that airline vaccine mandates were “the mark of the Beast,” and another reason why they should buy him a private Jet.

No, pastor.  God doesn’t want you to have a jet and lots of bling.  God wants you to be a decent human being and faithful to the gospel you pledged allegiance to upon your ordination.  God wants you to be an upright citizen in the land.

Perhaps a more contemporary warning and revelation has come from one of our conservative columnists, Robert Kagen — not an alarmist, but a deeply ethical foreign policy analyst who served in the U.S. State Department in the 80’s.

He sounds a warning to us Americans that our democracy is on the brink.  “The United States is heading into its greatest political and constitutional crisis since the Civil War, with a reasonable chance of over the next three to four years on incidents of mass violence, a breakdown of federal authority, and the division of the country into warring red and blue enclaves”

The warning signs are obscured by the theatrics of Trump and his supporters, the January 6^th insurrection, the pandemic, the economic malaise and flat-out “wishful thinking.”  But the evidence is right out in the open.  In front of God and everyone.

Bogus charges of election fraud only serve to diminish our faith in constitutional order.  Even in California, one of the leading candidates to replace Governor Gavin Newsom in our recent recall election, began claiming that the election was rigged before a single vote was in.

Election laws are being perpetrated across over a dozen states that would limit the franchise, reinforce gerrymandered districts and permit legislatures in Red states to overturn the results of any election they don’t like.  No matter what a secretary of state has certified.  “We just don’t like your electors.  Take ours!”

A local, John Eastman, a product of our very own Claremont McKenna College…that’s right, our own home-grown, a Claremont educated seditionist, provided Trump with the road map necessary to overturn the 2020 election.[1]

This is how it was to work.  I know, it’s “in the weeds.”  But this is how democracies die. 

Trump gets enough states like Arizona and others to have their Republican legislators submit alternative slates of electors – alternative to those previously certified by their secretaries of state.  All V.P. Pence needed to do was to void both slates of electors from those states, then declare that because were not enough valid electors for either candidate, and throw election into the House of Representatives.  There the number of small, sparsely populated red states would overwhelm the rest, and then declare Trump re-elected.  Warm up the Marine Corps Band for one more chorus of “Hail to the Chief.”

More realistic and far more dangerous than the delusional fantasies of Mr. Pillow Guy.  This week I came across the headline from Salon, the internet magazine: “Mike Lindell’s new genius plan: Knock on your door and ask whether you’re dead. The pillow maven’s last-ditch effort centers around sending out canvassers to neighborhoods across the nation.”[2] 

Maybe on Halloween such a canvasser might get a “yes” to that inquiry.  

When fraud and lies and fantasy prevail, no nation can long endure.  “Stop the Steal” and insurrection are dead ends for the promise of America.

Kagan, in preface to his essay quotes James Madison, author of much of our Constitution: “Is there no virtue among us?  If there be not, we are in a wretched situation.”

Whether it be bribery, theft, cronyism, nepotism, or just plain idiocy…a nation governed on such a foundation cannot long endure.  That was the judgment of the prophets.  That was the judgement of earliest Americans who founded the Iroquois Confederacy, and those who met at Independence Hall in 1776.  That is the lesson of all nations down through history.

What can we then do?  We are not helpless.  We have a sacred right and responsibility.  We the moral obligation of agency as citizens in this republic.  An obligation that goes far beyond simply voting every two or four years.

Become informed and involved.  Yeah, newspapers are sometimes boring.  Books are long and definitely more difficult than Facebook or Snapchat.  If we want our children and grandchildren to have a chance at a decent life in a free society, it will take a bit of effort.  Actually, a lot of effort.

This is not the of heroics as storming the beaches of Normandy or conducting undercover operations behind enemy lines.  Won’t get you a Presidential Medal of Freedom or your name on that marble wall at the CIA headquarters.  But it just might help us keep our democracy.

To raise these issues might be unpopular in some circles.  But all it takes for tyranny to overtake us is for good men and women to say nothing, do nothing.  Just keep quiet.

It maybe it is you who is appointed as the Paul Revere of this moment.  You may be the one to trip the alarm.  Wake us up to the fire on our doorstep.  Or just urge your neighbor to vote.

Everyday in our morning news, faithful reporters and newscasters inform us of the rot in the Ship of State.  The timbers are compromised.  Wood borers have eaten through much of the structure.  The sails mildew.  The malnourished crew is exhausted.  The ship is adrift.  David Brooks, Robert Kagin and others are sounding the alarm.  Just as Amos did for his nation.

DO NOT DESPAIR.  Warnings are given that we might right the ship before it’s swamped.  Before malefactors have scuttled it. 

Warnings are given that all might enjoy “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”  Their aim is that we all might live in peace, each secure in their own home, under their own fig tree. 

Choose the better way and prosper.  To flourish is the will of God, in harmony with all others and all living things on this “earth, our island home.”

“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…”

There are critical steps we can take now to preserve the inheritance of this land.  Before it looks like Putin’s Russia, Kim Jong-un’s North Korea.

Push for the inclusion of all. Conservative and former Republican, David Brooks, a guiding light on the communal ethic necessary for our survival as a democracy, now urges not 3.5 trillion, but — GET THIS – 4 TRILLION in the Build Back Better legislation presently mired in congressional deadlock.  This from our conservative friend!  Why?

Like Amos and the 8^th century Prophets, David Brooks knows that no country, no economy is sustainable if over half the people are left out.  Left in hopeless destitution.  And that’s how they feel.  Jessie Jackson is right in his summons, “Keep HOPE alive.”

These people need a real champion, not a fraud who mainly cares only about himself and is too busy with mass rallies of adulation.  That was Mussolini and Papa Doc in Haiti.  That’s the old “bread and circuses” ploy of dictators.

“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…”  That’s active citizenship.

Do your bit to help on election day.  I never had so much satisfaction as when driving those without transportation to the polls.  Join a service club.  Subscribe to a local paper.  Support a philanthropic organization.  Maybe all you can do is send in a few dollars a month to a charity.  Remember, it’s not just you.  The money of us all adds up.  Support your local school board.  Many board members and teachers are presently under vicious attack.

You have opportunities at your disposal Amos did not have.  This is how we create the beloved community.  These are the building blocks of the New Jerusalem, the New San Bernardino, the New Highland, the New Claremont, the New West Virginia.

Truth is the cornerstone.  Love is the password.  Open are the city’s Gates of Justice.  It is all meant to be glorious in the Lord’s sight.

None of this work is glamorous.  Face it, meetings can be flat-out boring.  But this IS the work of DEMOCRACY.  It’s what you signed up for when you first put your hand over your heart in the third grade and learned the Pledge of Allegiance.  It’s what you signed up for when you were first allowed to hold your very own sparkler on a magical Fourth of July night.  It’s what you signed up for when you entered the voting booth that first time.

“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…”  Amen.

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[1] https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/21066248-eastman-memo.

[2] Zachary Petrizzo, “Mike Lindell’s Genius Plan: Knock On Your Door and Ask Whether You’re Dead,” Salon, October 5, 2021.

                                     St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 19, October 10, 2021
  Proper 23

        “Some Fundamental Respect Needed Now”

                                Amos 5:6-7, 10-15; Psalm 90:12-17;
                                     Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31

In one of Martin Luther King’s most poignant writings, written from a city jail in 1963, Dr., King spoke of our common fate in America.  We are one people tied up in a bond of interconnectedness.

“Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham.  Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.  We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.  Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” [1]

This sage warning is no more apropos of our survival than today, when we consider our society’s response to COVID-19 and a myriad of other present challenges.  It is most relevant to our texts from Genesis and Mark considering marriage.  And…wait…wait for this….it ties into our celebration of St. Francis and our patronal feast day this Sunday.

First, on marriage and this rolling pandemic.

St Francis is the saint of interrelatedness.  He believed that all creation is a seamless work of mutuality.  All – humans, plants – even the sun and the moon – the physicality of it all, living and non-living.  And this is indeed true because in the end, you see, we are all stardust.  Precious in the being of God, stardust.

For most of us, in this mortal life, our family is the most immediate expression of the reality of our mutuality.  Marriage is the sacrament of transforming mutuality.  Somewhere, theologian and preacher Barbara Brown Taylor said marriage is our “one opportunity to grow up.”

“But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.  For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife and the two shall become one flesh’ So they are no longer two.  Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

Down through the ages peoples of all faiths have been very wary of infringing on this relationship between man and woman.  It is most precious and holy – except when it hasn’t been.  Since the days of slavery, families were torn asunder on the auction block with no regard to the sanctity of the marriage vows.  Just as they were most recently at our southern border.  All justified and excused by the supporters of our previous president and his party of so-called Family Values.  Heart-wrenching, the scenes were.

As our knowledge of human relationships and genetics has grown, society now can acknowledge that Ed and Steve can live in the same bond of wedded bliss as John and Alice, or Jane and Joan.  And do raise well-adjusted and successful children.  The point is – it is through the intimate mutuality of the family that most of us will find our greatest satisfaction and love in life.

I had a cynical high school teacher whose take on marriage equality was, “why shouldn’t they suffer just like the rest of us?”  Now it might have been that Mr. Coulson’s relationship could have used a touch of family counseling.

Given that some of us come out of damaged and damaging family relationships, the ideal doesn’t always work out.  Sometimes addiction and mental illness are challenges too big to overcome.  Sadly, divorce is the better option.

For some, especially as we grow older, deep and abiding friendships provide that love and support.  As especially for the aging who may have earlier lost life partners.

Growing up in Signal Hill we had neighbors who had know my family for years.  The wife had actually been the baby sitter for my brother and me when she was a teenager.  When they moved down to the ocean, one of their sons and his partner moved in to the house.  My father, especially, was intolerant of what he called their “lifestyle.”  He wouldn’t have anything to do with them and called them names you’d have gotten thrown out of school for using.

But over the years, a good number of years, Dad mellowed.  He grew beyond his West Virginia provincialism and prejudice – actually, ignorance.  Eventually, they were just Fred and George.  Two wonderful neighbors who helped him with some of his chores as he grew less able to do for himself.  And after Mom died, they became close companions.

That is the sort of “web of mutuality” of which Dr. King speaks — the interconnectedness of creation of which our beloved St. Francis lived.

Secondly, we also form those bonds with our non-human companions.  I still miss having our son’s two cats that lived with us for well over a year while he was in Spain and Morocco working on his dissertation – yeah, he’s still working on it!  I keep telling him, as in the old Grey Poupon mustard TV commercial, “While we’re young, Christopher, while we’re young.” 

But back to these cats — It would only be seconds after I got back home that they’d be curled up on the sofa with me watching the news.  Brian and Larry, I was so glad to see them when we went back to New Haven to visit.  It’s like we hadn’t missed each other a day as Brian curled up in my lap.

This past week we lost another beloved sister at St. Francis.  Covid and pneumonia took Diane from us, even though she had had her “jab.”  Departed, but still living on in the memories of those who loved her, she remains a part of our blessed, unbroken circle.  Diane, presente!

All life about us is precious without measure.  Let us cherish one another every day.

As the planet warms, much more than Brian and Larry will we all be missing.  Last week when I opened the Los Angeles Times, the accompanying picture to an article on the diminishing Salton Sea, as we rob it of water, was the photo of a magnificent great egret taking flight.  The wing span of that bird was breathtakingly beautiful as it began to gain altitude.  It’s long neck so graceful in takeoff.  In Spirit I am a part of that bird, and it is part of me.  I knew this reality deep in my soul as I sat transfixed, mesmerized by that picture.  We are blessed with one woman at our church with a tender heart who understands such relationships.  Sister egret, we cherish you – precious gift of our Creator.  Just as St. Francis taught us.  If we destroy your habitat, it will be a spiritual loss to our souls, to the soul of all creation.

Should we use up all the water from the Colorado river and dry up the Salton Sea, we humans have the power to drive these splendid creatures into extinction.  At least here in California.  Remember, we must, the old Beatles song from their White Album, “Hey, hey, Bungalo Bill – what have you killed today?”  That’s us. 

Don’t forget the millions upon millions of passenger pigeons, so numerous they once darkened the skies over America.  Don’t forget the “Good God Almighty” woodpecker whose last, dying cry long ago echoed through the old forests of Arkansas and Tennessee.[2]  A cry and a sight that astounded all who ever witnessed it.

Thank you for the warning, Dr. King, Thank you for the warning, St. Francis.  Extinction is forever.

Back in college, several of us guys would pack up most every summer and go camping in Yosemite.  Most mornings we would hike up to Vernal Falls from the valley floor, and once or twice, to the top of Half Dome.  Often, as we would begin our climb up the trail to the falls, an old guy – I mean, a really old guy, all muscle and bone, would pass us, running up the trail.  By the time we would be about two thirds of the way up, huffing and puffing, he’d greet us on his way back down.  Today, I’m not in his shape, but do still envy his stamina.  Face it – I was NEVER in his shape.  He, too, was every bit a part of St. Francis’ amazing web of interconnectedness, as was Half Dome and the rush of Vernal Falls. Thank you, King and Francis, for the reminder.

Those invigorating summer days were a life-saving reconnection back to God’s splendid, restorative creation.

One year us guys decided to go to see the Big Trees in Sequoia National Park — not all that far from Yosemite.  I had never seen anything so awesome.  Staring up into the heavens to where the treetops soared, was a spiritual experience.  Some of these 3,000-year-old giants were over three hundred feet tall.  With trunks larger than six feet in diameter.  St Francis would surely be one with these magnificent specimens. I surely was.  In fact, on first arriving, all us guys got very quiet as we beheld their majesty.  I remember us jumping out of the car and just staring up into the clouds and treetops.  WOW!

Now, we could lose it all to fire.  These magnificent trees, the Ancient Ones, as known by Native Americans — have stood for centuries – from the time of the Prophets, Amos and Hosea — from the time of Jesus and the Roman Empire.  From the time of tramping boots of conquerors: Charlamagne, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan.  From the time of George Washington, Mozart, John Muir and John Donne… from the moment of that very first Fourth of July at Independence Hall…Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea… Harriot Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Susan B. Anthony, Margaret Sanger – these trees have witnessed it all.  Count the tree rings.

They now urgently summon us to face the catastrophe of Global Warming.

These lofty Ancients of Days have been on the minds of many of us lately as infernos now rage about them.

The Sequoia National Monument lies partly on the Tule River Reservation. Many of those devastated by the fire damage, and those who care for these trees, are First Americans.  But these trees are precious to all who’ve ever been transfixed by their majesty.

A forest ecologist with “Save the Redwoods,” Linnea Hedlund, remembers the first time she saw one of these trees.  “My 7-year-old brain could not fathom it was real.  It was unlike anything I had ever seen, she recalled.”[3]

Sequoyah Quinton, a member of the Cherokee Nation and a storm chaser, had been named after his grandfather, “who was named for Sequoyah, who had created a written form of the Cherokee language in the early 19^th century, felt his heart break as he watched firefighters wrap the base of the Sherman tree in aluminum foil.  The morning the fire approached the sacred grove, Sequoyah dropped to his knees and prayed for something to stop the destruction of the sequoia trees.”[4]

Together, we are one blessed gift of God, bound up in an “inescapable web of mutuality” — Husband, wife, lovers, children, companions – Brian, Larry, First Americans, and old man running.  Sequoias and Half Dome.  All that shares being itself with us.

The first gift of Grace, the first gift of Creation, is the simple blessing that there is Something at all.  Instead of Nothing.  “It is not fitting that man and woman should be alone.”  We are not.  We are all One in the Spirit of the Great Creator.

Thank you, St. Francis; thank you Dr. King, for this reminder.  In the splendor of all creation, “Soon and very soon, we shall see the King.”

Pray, God, we learn to take care of one another while there’s still time.

Now, let’s go bless the animals.  Amen.

.

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[1] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Letter from a Birmingham jail,” April 16, 1963

[2] Ed Bradley, “Finding the Good Lord Bird,” 60 Minutes, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/finding-the-lord-god-bird/

[3] Diana Marcum, “Making a Stand for the Giants,” Los Angeles Times, September 24, 2021.

[4] Ibid.

     St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 19, October 3, 2021
  Proper 22

 “A Single Garment of Destiny”

                           Genesis 2:18-24; Psalm 8;
                         Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12; Mark 10:2-16

“Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.”  How many times have the words gotten out of our mouths before we wish we could take them back?

In the heat of argument, the insult, the half-truth, the jibe at another’s expense – those words come back to haunt us.

As a political pugilist I confess I have called those on the opposite side of an argument things one wouldn’t want to print in a sermon.  Definitely not flattering, life-enhancing descriptors.  So, I write this sermon to myself as much to anyone else.

The counsel from the book of James is a corrective.  James urges a more excellent way: “Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth…Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from?  Do they not come from cravings that are at war within you?”[1]

Envy, ego, malice – they rear their ugly heads at one time or another in most any congregation, making a most foul-tasting broth.  The author of the book of James was very aware of social and disordered spiritual dynamics of his flock. 

Every bit as much as much as St. Paul.  See first and second Corinthians.  Things get said that would have been better off left unsaid.

As a newly arrived pastor on one congregation, I was soon met by several women on the altar guild.  They were tired, they complained.  They had been doing this forever.  Couldn’t some of the younger folks take this over.

I spent several weeks talking with some of those younger folks about how they could assume their responsibilities for our common life.  Eventually a couple or so agreed to join the altar guild.

Things seemingly went fine – for a couple of weeks.  Then I encountered one of these women who told me she was needing to quit.  When I asked what was the matter, she said that what the existing members really wanted was newcomers who would do things exactly as they had done them – done them for years! 

They wanted clones of themselves with no new ideas and were somewhat rude in letting the newcomers know their place.  Definitely, not a more excellent way.  My way or the highway!

One of my associates was always fond of quoting Luke 6:5, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”  And fisticuffs fly.  And feelings are bent out of shape.

Avarice, competition, envy, guilt – they are so often reflected in our lame excuses.  Even to the point that the coverup become ludicrous. 

One day, as young students were walking up the hill from their elementary school there was a very loud explosion.  Then yells and screams.  When one of the teachers arrived on the scene, she discovered a boy with some badly burned fingers.  It turned out that he had brought a packet of gunpowder he had taken from his father’s reloading operation to school.  As he was bragging about it and what he could do with it, it went off.

Caught red-handed, or black-handed in this case, he told the teacher, “I don’t know where it came from.  It just dropped down out of the sky and I picked it up.”  That’s certainly much more inventive than, “The dog ate my homework.” 

Is this any more risible than the Wells Fargo’s lie to cover up bilking thousands of customers out of millions and millions of fake fees for opening bogus accounts in their names?  “The branch employees did it.”  Oh, really?  In branches all across the nation – all at once?   Hmmmmm.

Such lies and half-truths may bring forth a chuckle.  But repeated in full blossom, they can wreak havoc in any church, in society.  Did I tell you about the January 6^th damage inflicted on our nation by the BIG LIE?

Jesus is said to have brought forth a little child, suggesting that his career- climbing disciples should be as selfless as that young one.  If so, I don’t think Jesus knew much about children.  We learn deceit and treachery at a very young age. 

Taking the child into his arms, he said that whoever welcomes such a one, welcomes me and the One who sent me.  But be under no illusions.  We are born for trouble as the sparks fly upward – Job 5:7.

I remember rushing to the aid of our youngest one day, who was crying his eyes out.  It turns out that his brother had bit him.  Hard enough to leave teeth marks.

As I attempted to reason with our oldest, that it was much better to use words if you didn’t like what someone said or did, his response was, “Well, if they don’t agree with you, you just have to bite them.”  Here we are just at second grade and ready to wage war World War III.  Out of the abundance of the heart comes all sorts of vile and nasty stuff.  Teeth marks included.

“Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom” – it takes a lifetime to absorb this advice. 

Yes, take that young person into your arms, and train her up in the way she should go and she shall not depart from it.   The beginnings of that “excellent way.”

Definitely, there is a more excellent way.  The purpose of James advice is to preserve the gift of community.  Martin Luther King called it the Beloved Community.  It is Gospel Spirit that urges our hearts to yearn for such companionship.  It is the call that comes in darkest night.

My grandmother’s advice is appropriate here.  “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” 

Similar is the Four Way Test in Rotary of the things we say:

1.  Is it the truth?
2. Is it fair to all concerned?
3. Will it build good will and better friendships?
4. Will it be beneficial to all concerned?

Sometimes a hard truth is appropriate to the moment, but spoken without the personal attack, it might be heard.  Danger, abuse, racism must be called out, yet Dr. King knew this could be done without the demeaning ad hominem, the personal insult.

When Mrs. Reiner called me in after class to talk about the homework I was not turning in and my lack of preparation for her high school English class, she did it in such a way that I really wanted to do better.  And I did.  She had an investment in my succeeding, an investment in me, and communicated that with a generous spirit.  It is testimony to her active concern that today I still remember her fondly.  That is the more excellent way commended to our hearts.

Through friends, parents, teachers and mentors – those who want us to succeed — God reaches down to the best in us — instills in our hearts the power to choose for the more excellent way, the “way born of wisdom.”

“Be perfect as your Father/Mother in heaven is perfect.”  When we are urged to be perfect in Matthew 5:48, what is being urged is not some sort of compulsive perfectionism.  The Greek here means grow towards the end to which you are intended.  To grow into your full and true self, your full potential.  This is exactly what Mrs. Reiner was urging.  As with a more “excellent way,” this takes a lifetime of seasoning.

As my Methodist friends are wont to say, “I’m going on to perfection.”  Still a long way to go for me.

In a remarkable op ed piece in the New York Times, Venus Williams gives testimony to the wisdom she received from her mother as she began her remarkable tennis career.  Physical strength was certainly important.  But equally so, psychological and spiritual balance.  This is irreplaceable motherly wisdom passed down from generation to generation.

At the age of fourteen, Venus was beginning to move into the professional level of tennis.  She had traveled with her mom to an important tournament in Oakland, and was entering a new level of her young career.  There would be pressure beyond what she until then had known. 

That day in Oakland, her mom took her aside to warn her of the intense scrutiny and demands she would now be under as she advanced.

The wise counsel her mother gave her was that this sport was not just about being tough with a well-honed body.  It wasn’t about how hard she hit the ball.  It was about the balance of a complete life.

“What my mom was telling me that day in Oakland was that none of those elements of winning would work unless I also tended to my mental health. I needed to have a balanced life and not identify myself solely as a tennis player. Even though I was beginning to have success as a young pro, I had to remain committed to my education, stay connected to my religion and enjoy the experience of improvement — not be so driven that I would miss it all.”[2]

That gift of love, bestowed by a wise mother, has carried Venus through tough years when she discovered she had an autoimmune disease.  It has carried her through upset and disappointment.  It has carried her through triumph with poise and humility.  Her mom and her faith have given Venus the gift of a “gentleness born of wisdom.”

For those who have followed her career down through the years, Venus has been an example of perseverance and generosity.  Always tending towards what God has intended her to be.  Venus has chosen a more excellent way.  So may it be with each of us – that we grow into the fullness of our authentic, God-intended, selves.   Amen.

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[1] James 3:13 ff.,  New Revised Version.

[2] Venus Williams, “Being Tough Means Taking Care of My Whole Self,” New York Times, Opinion, September 13, 2021.

St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 17, September 19, 2021
  Proper 20

     “A More Excellent Way”

                         Jeremiah 11:18-20; Psalm 54;
                          James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”  So began a most bizarre adventure for a little girl and her dog in the aftermath of a fearsome tornado.  An adventure that would charm both adults and children for generations.

That might be fine for a film narrative, but it’s all too real and all too devastating for many abandoned Americans as the summer comes to a close.  We’re not in the usual, comfortable America anymore.

The sleepy little town of Fair Bluff sits on the banks of the Lumber River in North Carolina.  Like many small rural towns, it is facing its demise.  Battered by Hurricane Matthew in 2016, and then again by Hurricane Florence in 2018, there’s little left to wash away.  The threat had become existential when their main industry, a factory producing vinyl products, had shut its doors and left after Matthew tore through.

Towns like Fair Bluff throughout the South and Northeast lie in sodden devastation.  Many residents have either died, or if fortunate, relocated.

“On a recent afternoon, the sidewalks were empty and the storefronts abandoned, their interiors smashed up and littered with trash, doors ajar.  The roof of one building had collapsed, a battered American flag stuck in the debris; inside other buildings were ransacked shelves, plastic containers full of Christmas decorations, an upside-down tricycle.  Speakers on a Methodist church played recorded hymns for no one.”[1]

Further south, New Orleans seemed on the verge of a comeback in the waning days of August.  And then Hurricane Ida hit — the coup de grace to this year’s tourist season.  Hotels had been completely booked.  Bartenders and restauranteurs were looking for a big Labor Day weekend that might help them catch up.  Lots of tips.  Now one manager had to let their guests know that storm damage had closed the hotel.  Much of the “Big Easy” swelters in unbearable heat, no electric power to be had for a couple more weeks.  No water either.

In California much of the state appears as an apocalyptic inferno straight out of hell.  In spite of super-human efforts, the Caldor Fire creeps ever steadily towards the resort community of Lake Tahoe — erratic winds driving the blaze from treetop to treetop.  The tourist season is up in smoke.

What an end to a summer.  All the while, the delta valiant rages and fills emergency rooms and ICUs to overflowing.  Our schools are opening.  But will they stay open?  We now have a pandemic of the unvaccinated!

The caldron of suffering and death is nothing new to the Christian community.  Remember those who hid Jews from Hitler.  As Jesus and his disciples traveled from town to town, he did not sugarcoat their immediate prospects.  He labored under no illusions.

“Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes and be killed…If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” 

This is not a journey for the fainthearted or the sunshine disciple.  Not for the lackadaisical or those seeking certainty or the self-congratulatory seeking redemption in worn-out dogma.  The fires rage, the winds howl, making it real.  No escape for the pious.  Jesus warned his followers that the only path of faithful discipleship was through the toils and the sufferings of humanity.  With some joy and respite along the way.  That joy we would discover in one another’s company as we pass through it all.

That is why we are called by our presiding bishop Michael Curry to turn the Jesus club into the Jesus Movement.  Jesus does not need admirers and disputatious folks who argue over who he is.

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Get that cross off your lapel, from around your neck and onto your back.  Jesus is calling people who will do what he does – heal the sick, feed the hungry and visit those in prison, hold a hand of the troubled.  That is also the call of Bishop William Barber, leader of Moral Mondays—his summons to today’s communities of faith — to be a MOVEMENT.[2]

We, indeed, are called to be a MOVEMENT of joy and hope in the midst of our battered nation. 

No one may be attending to the hymns broadcast form the United Methodist church in Fair Bluff, but there yet remains a community of the faithful who pays the electric bill.  These are the ones who will do welfare checks on their neighbors.  These will show up with a covered dish for those whose home has been devastated.  These people will watch your children while you stand in line to complete forms for rebuilding at the emergency shelter. These are Spirit-empowered folks in it for the long haul.  In it for the journey to Jerusalem and beyond.

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

As one chef grilling hamburgers in downtown New Orleans for hurricane survivors said when asked by a reporter, “This is what we do here for one another.”  This is what we do.  Sounds like the beginnings of a movement to me.

Bishop Barber identifies the “ghetto of Nazareth” as the origin of this movement.  A movement led by those made poor by systems of exploitation – that is the context of “ptokos”[3] – the impoverished.

Out of this backwater, this impoverished village, this place not unlike Fair Bluff, or any of the myriad abandoned communities scattered across America comes a stirring. 

“In Caesar’s world, where narcissistic leaders only cared about the grand and the greedy, the pompous and the pretentious, Jesus announces a revival led by and among the rejected.  Caesar, who loved to put his face on money and buildings; Caesar, who catered to the greedy and led by fear and political shenanigans.”[4]

The Jesus mission is a clarion call to the broken and the lost, to those who will never receive an invite to Mar-a-Lago or much of anywhere else.  To those in disbelief, staring at their sodden belongings in a flooded home, comes a summons.

Into that world of stratospheric wealth and power, Jesus inaugurates a movement out of literally, “nowhere.” And through “nobodies.”   A Movement of the unlettered, the disenfranchised, both men and women, the lowly – in sum, the poor.

On this weekend anniversary of 9/11, most of us remember exactly where we were when those planes hit the towers.

I remember Jonathan calling from school, asking if I had the TV on.  “Go turn it on, Dad.  Planes just crashed into the World Trade Tower in New York.  This is bad.  I don’t think we can’t let this one slide.  Gotta get to class,” and with that, he was gone.

Mesmerized, I stared disbelieving at the screen — transfixed by the enormity of the tragedy.  One of the first thoughts that entered my mind after I started processing this reality was: “Can’t let this one slide?  Now, I suspect we are going to do something very stupid.”

Looking back at our exit from Afghanistan last week, that’s exactly what we did.  Not one, but two very stupid decisions.  That’s the assessment of two significant foreign policy scholars, both with combat experience:  Paul Rieckhoff, founder of Iraq Afghanistan Veterans of America.  Also Col. Andrew Bacevich (ret.), who served in the Vietnam War.  Both, published authors and professors.  Andrew lost a son in the Iraq war.  Read their writings. “Chasing Ghosts”[5] and “After the Apocalypse.”[6] 

Twenty years later, we still remember those first responders clambering over “the pile” desperately searching for any survivors.  The pictures of fire fighters, covered with ash and dust, sleeping on the pews of St. Paul’s chapel down the street.  Exhausted beyond endurance.  The names posted on pictures and notes tied to the fence of that house of worship inquiring as to the whereabouts of family members and friends.  Lit at night by a sea of votive candles.  And hovering about it all, unseen, the prayers of a nation.

Looking back on the tragedy of 9/11, the Covid scourge tearing at our nation – the multitude of problems we face – we need a grounded community of Hope.  We need a Spirit Movement.

As I watched, probably the most compelling narrative of the events of 9/11 and twenty years forward, I was most grateful to the two film makers who put together “Memory Box: Echoes of 9/11.”   Record it, stream it.  It’s available in multiple showings on MSNBC.  And get a box of Kleenex.  The gift of this film is of the same kind as that of the Jesus Movement.  Chock-a-block Spirit-filled compassion.  And HOPE.

The Church at it’s best nurtures that Spirit.  Is a habitation for that Spirit.  But that same Spirit moves through and among those daily building the Beloved Community.  Some Christian, some Jewish and Muslim.  Some “Nones” whose faith alone is known to God.

On this anniversary of 9/11, surrounded yet by a sea of pandemic, we are not a people without Hope. 

I share a story from my friend Dick Bunce – shamelessly stolen from the sermon he preached to the Unitarians this last week.

From Dick I quote:

“Here’s a brief clip from a recent issue of a news magazine.  A Michigan judge, Bruce Morrow, gave Edward Martell, a drug dealer, probation instead of a prison sentence of many years.  This changed Martell’s life. 

Judge Morrow said:  Mr. Martell, I believe you have greatness within you.  I sentence you to probation and challenge you to become the CEO of a fortune 500 company. 

Martell worked his way up, first enrolling in a community college, then graduating from undergraduate and then from law school.  All the while, Judge Morrow stayed in contact with Martell, and Martell with the judge. 

Martell had many obstacles to overcome.  Recently, now 43, he stood before the judge again, this time to be sworn in for the practice of law. 

Martell says he cried like a baby.  I doubt that the judge had dry eyes as well.

Wow. What if this could become widespread?  What if a whole city could become known as a city of compassion? “

A nation of Compassion.  A nation of Justice.  A nation of Peace.  A nation of Generosity.  A nation of Equity and Opportunity. That is the movement Rev. Barber is summoning us to.  Jesus summons us to.

This coming week, we lay to rest the mortal remains of a sister who over the years has been a faithful member of St. Francis, Sally Mayock Hartley.  With these words we in thanksgiving return her to her maker:

“Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Sally Mayock Hartley.  Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.  Receive her into the arms of your mercy, and the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints of light.”

Might we also live into the reality of this prayer.  At the end of this mortal journey might we be accounted a member of that Blessed Community.  “Servant, well done.”  Until then, may we daily strive to be staunch and steadfast members of the Jesus Movement.   Amen.

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[1] Christopher Flavelle, “Battered Bottom Line in Towns Climate Change Has Come For”, New York Times, September 4, 2021.

[2] William J. Barber, II, We are Called to Be a Movement (New York: Workman Publishing Co., Inc., 2020).

[3] Op Cit, 11.

[4] Op. cit., 11-12.

[5] Paul Rieckhoff, Chasing Ghosts: Failures and Facades in Iraq: A Soldier’s Perspective (New York: New American Library – Caliber, 2006}.

[6] Andrew Bacevich, After the Apocalypse: America’s Role in a World Transformed (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2021).

     St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 16, September 12, 2021
  Proper 19

     “Called to be a Movement”

                         Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 116:1-8;
                   James 3:1-12, [11-13], 14-17; Mark 8:27-38

“You are not a horse.  You are not at cow.  Seriously, y’all.  Stop it.”  This was the tweet from the FDA on why you should not use Ivermectin to treat or prevent COVID-19.  Desperation is raging through our nation, rampaging like Hurricane Ida, along with this pandemic[1].

Feed stores all across the country are reporting that sales of this drug to deworm horses and cattle have skyrocketed.  Tucker Carlson and others on Fox News have been censured for promoting this drug as a cure for COVID-19.  Groups on Facebook are promoting it as a treatment. Sales reaching 88,000 prescriptions of this dewormer per week.  Texas, alone, reporting a 550% spike in poison calls from the ingestion of this drug.  Filling scarce ICU beds needed for Covid patients.  And so useless.  Almost 90% of these folks were unvaccinated.  “Y’all stop it!”

This takes us back to the Bad Old Days when a group of quack doctors and Trump were promoting hydroxychloroquine as a new miracle cure.  You remember the bogus group, America’s Frontline Doctors.  These were the first to promote the hydroxychloroquine cure.  Their spokeswoman was that very same doctor who had been asserting that ovarian cysts were caused by people having sex in their dreams with demons and witches.  You know — the same woman who said the government was run in part by humans and “reptilians and other aliens.”

And this group of crazy even got a hearing before the president and vice president.  “I thought she was still very impressive,” the Donald concluded after the visit.  Reptilian overlords and all.

And all the while, a safe, effective cure has been available.   Free.   At CVS or Walgreens.

But many, for ideological reasons, peer pressure or ignorance, (who knows?)  won’t take the vaccine.  So, out of shear desperation they’ve turned to snake oil.  “You are not a horse.  You are not a cow.  Seriously, y’all.  Stop it.”

I guess the upside to this quack cure is, if you had worms, you don’t now.

Desperation drives all sorts of behavior.  Some well founded.  Some absolutely off the charts.  It was out of such desperation that a foreigner approached Jesus concerning her daughter’s demon possession.  Women in that place and time did not approach men. It was unseemly.  Especially for a foreigner, a Syrophoenician.  We have our ways.  You best mind them.  Stay in your place, woman.

When asked for healing for her daughter, Jesus’ response is a slap across the face. “One does not give the children’s food to the dogs.”  At this she should have slunk quietly away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But this woman persists.  “Even the dogs are allowed to gather the scraps under the table.”  She’s got him there.  She was a first century Molly Ivins, Katie Porter, Barbara Jordan, Liz Chaney and Elizabeth Warren – all rolled up into one.   Nasty Woman on a mission!

This interchange opens a whole raft of possible questions about Jesus.  We don’t usually associate snarky with him.  But then, we don’t associate violence with him either – like beating the hell out of a bunch of greedy money changers at the temple doorstep.

So, let’s leave the theological speculation aside and accept the story as we have it.  This woman was the prod to widen his vision.  Grace, healing, compassion – these are boundless.  Not the property of any one tribe. Her mission to save her daughter enlarged his vision.  A moment of Grace.

Like Dr. Seuss’s Grinch, Jesus’ heart grew one size lager.  Out of the desperation of this mother, comes a great religious epiphany.  ALL means ALL. That’s the whole story about Divine Love.

It is out of this gospel compassion that many worked tirelessly amid danger to evacuate U.S. personnel and Afghans at Kabul.  Though the danger was palpable, these folks put their lives on the line.  Literally, it turns out for thirteen of our service members.

Behind the scenes, in desperation, many more stateside worked untold hours to save Afghan friends and colleagues. The same desperation as that of the Syrophoenician mother with a demon possessed daughter.  That airlift effort was of a kind with the Great Compassion embodied in today’s gospel lesson.  Once finally organized, it was a phenomenal achievement.

Sadly, we didn’t reach all our friends.  We failed to save many of the most vulnerable: women and girls facing a bleak future of forced servitude and a waste of talents.  Many stories of heartbreak I find troubling.  The former president even blocked the processing of visas for these allies for months on end.  Stephen Miller and his ilk are still ranting about letting these folks in – “they’re going to kill us all.”  The very same desperate people, many of whom saved our butts at great risk to their own lives. Go figure!

I read the anonymous email of one Afghan man[2] and his family attempting to make it through the crush at airport gates. Syavash, an Afghan journalist for over fifteen years, his wife, Sarah, “one of the first women to attend medical school after the fall of the Taliban in her province of Parwan” – she was.one of the first woman doctors in Afghanistan.  They and their two sons, finally gave up after thirteen hours in the most inhuman conditions – wading through sewage that flooded the street, enduring the insults and beatings of Taliban security, the scorching heat and dust.  It finally became too much. 

“My wife was hit with a stick several times and so were numerous other people.  They threw water on us and repeatedly said, ‘Your owners, your masters, the Westerners abandoned you.’ 

“My wife, who suffers from severe back pain was hit so many times and I could only beg, ‘Please don’t hit her.  She is a woman and she is sick.’

“Pasoon may only be 7 years old but he knows what is going on around him.  He kept saying, ‘Let’s go home.  I will tell the Taliban to take two of my toy cars and don’t hurt my father and mother.’”

The Spirit, moving through this family’s desperation, can move us here, we who can do something helpful.  Might even move the Taliban to recognize our bond of a common humanity.  I hear that they have in secret been working with the CIA to continue to spirit Americans to the Hamid Karzai International Airport, even past the August deadline.

It was out of this same Great Compassion that many were led to save and shelter these vulnerable Afghans.  It is who we are at our best.  Spirit incarnated.

Yet even Jesus could not feed or heal everyone.  Nor could we extract everyone in those past several weeks at that besieged airport.  In these last hours of desperation, we failed ourselves.  We failed many friends — and we’re just not in His class.

Left with “thoughts and prayers,” we are not helpless – if that same Great Compassion which moves through these prayers, is emboldened and enfleshed, Spirit empowered, these “thoughts and prayers” can work healing and welcome. As my friend David often quotes Alfred North Whitehead, “Ideas won’t keep; something must be done about them.”

I called my friend Anne, another woman on a mission, who is part of Newcomers Access Center,[3] working to get these refugees safely resettled here in America, asking her how we at Pilgrim Place might be of help.  “Of course, money always helps,” she quickly responded.  But we can do more.  Much more.

We can tutor these folks in English, our women can take Afghan women shopping and to other appointments.  We can help in finding housing – hopefully at our almost empty United Methodist seminary in Claremont.

You can donate a car in good running condition.  You can be a long-term friend of an Afghan family. Contact them twice a week or so, plan a picnic.  And definitely practice English all the time.

Money, for certain, always helps, and you can donate through the Newcomers Access website. – http://www.newcomersaccesscenter.org 

Don’t worry, Anne’s making a list.  If you live outside Southern California, we can connect you with groups working in your local area to welcome these new neighbors.  Most churches have a connection to an organization in their denomination that is responding to the needs of these new refugees. 

If the One of Great Compassion touches your heart deep down to where your mojo is, do what the Spirit is whispering to you.  Now. 

Just as Jesus grew in Spirit in the instant of that mother’s rejoinder — grew to include those not of his tribe or religious clique, so might we.  Eternally, he comes to us in the face of the dispossessed seeking refuge.  As a refugee in Egypt fleeing Herod’s wrath.  So, now he does here in America.

James Baldwin put it this way about the bond of our common humanity — about the working of that Great Compassion among us:

“For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; The earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us.  The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.”[4]  Amen.

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[1] U.S. FDA tweet, @US FDA, August 21, 2021.

[2] Anonymous, “What it’s like for an Afghan family trying to make it to the Kabul airport,” Yahoo News, August 29, 2021.

3 www.newcomeraccesscenter.org, (909) 455-3248, 401 N. Gibbs Street, Pomona, CA 91767.

[4] James Baldwin, The Price of the Ticket (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985), 393.

St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 15, September 5, 2021
  Proper 18

     “A Woman on a Mission”

                         Isaiah 35:4-7; Psalm 146;
                   James 2:1-10, [11-13], 14-17; Mark 7:24-37

Rudy Giuliani, Sunday morning was flustered and taken aback by Chuck Todd’s question as to whether his client, the former president Trump, would testify at his impeachment trial.  Fulminating and sputtering, he finally blurted out, “Truth isn’t Truth.”

Not any different sentiment from that of Pilate at Jesus’ so-called trial.  Bored with the whole proceeding, Pilate responds to Jesus’ assertions that he has come into the world to testify to the Truth, “What is truth?” a bemused Pilate asked.

“We have alternative facts,” Trump’s press secretary Kellyanne Conway would counter, when confronted by inconvenient facts.

Truth, indeed!  What is truth?

In John’s gospel, Jesus proclaims that he is the “bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”  A certain reference to the Eucharistic meal.

And what is this bread which satisfies completely?  In our disingenuous and duplicitous age, this heavenly bread is TRUTH. 

When Jesus in John’s gospel proclaims: “I am the way and the truth and the life,” this is the testimony of John’s faith community that Jesus is in his being and teaching true nourishment.  He’s the Real Deal.  He is what leads to ultimate fulfillment and satisfaction.  Jesus is the Door to the blessings that make our days worthwhile.  He is God’s true Wonder Bread that satisfies to the utmost.  No bad aftertaste.

In a bygone age many of us got our “truth” from a handful of trusted sources.  Walter Lippman, Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, Jim Lehrer or Dan Rather or a trusted local newspaper. 

We got another truth on what mattered and the formation of a “good life” from trusted clergy and medical professionals.  Don’t forget Dr. Spock.  From Scout leaders and our teachers.  The police were our friends.  “If you feel you’re in any danger, find a policeman,” we were told.

Those old verities are as obsolete now as a buggy whip.  Not that they are not true or don’t communicate wise advice, but nowadays, nobody pays much attention and there are too many exceptions to the rule.

Not all clergy, not all teachers or scoutmasters are safe.  News outlets put out patiently false information, “alternative facts.”  The kind that will kill you, if you trust them over CDC director Dr. Rochelle Walensky and Dr. Fauci.  Or your own doctor on getting your inoculation.  Kill you, they will.

Facebook is “less than.”  A poor substitute.  Fake News and alternative facts.  I’m not talking about how some of us keep daily contact with a wide circle of friends or post crazy video clips of cats doing improbable things.

Apparently, all sorts of “alternative facts” and sketchy narratives are pushed by some groups with an ax to grind.  Or a plot to overthrow an election.  Or racists organizing neo-Nazi and KKK hate events.  Or pillows to sale.  Caveat emptor – let the buyer beware!

Jill Lapore, in a recent piece about Facebook begins citing its mission statement — “to give people the power to build community and bring the world closer together.” 

“That sounds like a better fit for a church, and not some little wood-steepled, white-clapboarded, side-of-the-road number but a castle-in-a-parking-lot megachurch, a big-as-a-city-block cathedral, or, honestly, the Vatican.”[1]

That mission statement is all a lie.  The real mission is to make money – a ton of money for Mark Zukerberg and the top management.  An obscene amount of money.  That’s the truth of the matter.

So go on, post the clip of the toddler trying to get up on the couch, pictures of your vacation.  But don’t rely on Facebook for your news.   For the truth of the day, go to Judy Woodruff on PBS.  That will set you free and will often delight.

The Truth that is Jesus’ mission statement is life affirming TRUTH, a warning to allow for life-giving alternatives, the warmth of human connection.  It is the door to a new way of walking that scripture calls life eternal.  It’s what builds up.

It is life enhancing.  After Simone Biles’s difficult week at the Olympics, her boyfriend, to boost her up, texted that one’s harshest critics will be those who have the “least investment in you.” 

Or as Yogi Berra quipped, “The loudest boos come from the cheap seats.”

Jesus Truth is magnanimity.  It is a “Generous Orthodoxy” to the wayward son in a “far country” — to that woman at a well in Samaria.  His Truth is a word of possibility to each of us.  It is Life Abundant.  Here is good counsel — wisdom with an investment in you.

“Just do it.  You will feel so good,” comes the deadly counsel for too many on our junior high and high school campuses.  

This, the “alternative facts” of those out for their own gain.  This is the lure to bring the lonely into their orbit of destruction.  This so-called truth is death and heartbreak for families across America.

In a three-part series our local paper ran an expose on drugs ravaging our quiet little community of Claremont.  “Forever 15” is about a local girl who, indeed will be forever 15.  Because she’s dead. Chloe is one of some nine recent suspected overdose victims at our high school.

On a Saturday early in July of this year, “Karie Krouse hosted a memorial service for her daughter Chloe Kreutzer, now forever 15.”  The rising Claremont High School sophomore died June 1 of a suspected drug overdose.[2]

The Truth is, we are a nation in crisis.  Our children are adrift.  Drugs and violence flood our campuses and streets.  That is the terrible Truth, more and more coming to light, as the Covid crisis fades – or had begun to fade until the delta variant came along.

In the case of Chloe, it was just one pill.  What she thought to be a Percocet, but laced with fentanyl.  Given from a friend, bought from a stranger?  Who knows?  In any case, enough to kill.  That was the sad truth for her, for her family and friends.

“The news hit Claremont hard. Chloe was by all accounts a kid who wasn’t a regular drug user. She had a lively, supportive group of friends who are still mourning today.”[3]

There is another truth, a TRUTH that is Light and Life, a Truth grounded in the spirit and reality of Jesus.  Help is available.

In the midst of this overdose tragedy, our communities abound with those who are there to listen, who will hold a hand.  There are alternatives. 

Narcotics Anonymous has helped countless addicts free themselves from addiction.  Their 12-step program may not work for all, but it has been the salvation of many.  Many high schools now have trained peer-advocates. 

The truth of “recovery high schools” is life-giving reality for teachers and students who hold one another up through the journey to sobriety.  This truth is of the same reality as that TRUTH that is ”amazing grace.”  It is Light and Life.  A taste of eternity.

Ed Bacon is fond of saying that, yes, the truth will set you free, but first it will hurt like hell.  It is inconvenient.  It’s saving TRUTH to wake us up.  Bread of Life stuff.

When former vice president Al Gore produced his film and the companion book, “An Inconvenient Truth,” many scoffed.  It was simplistic.  It was imagined apocalypse – Old Testament fearmongering.  It would now be labeled “Fake News” by those very same scoffers.  The cheap seats.

The inconvenient truth announced this week on global warming is that the folks in Europe are going to freeze.  We have just about managed to shut down that flow of warm water that issues from South America and the Caribbean we know as the Gulf Stream.  This is that current that continues up past Great Britain and Greenland that then dives down to the bottom of the ocean to return south again.[4]  This is the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Current.  Your science lesson for today.  There’ll be a test.

If this current is completely halted, Europe will experience the coldest winters ever since the Little Ice Age that in medieval times killed millions and destabilized the political order of the entire continent.[5] 

Nature made the last ice age; we may be making the next.  Inconvenient truth.

This calamity will wreak havoc throughout ocean circulation around the entire globe.  God only knows what it will do to the climate.  God only knows because the scientists surely don’t.

This “inconvenient Truth” is warning and danger given that we might amend our ways as a human race.  Whatever President Biden and our congress have in their budget to address global warming – It’s not enough. 

What to make of this hodgepodge of news, facts and various truths?  Indeed!

A visiting pastor attended a men’s breakfast in the middle of a rural farming area of the country.

The group had asked an older farmer, decked out in bib overalls, to say grace for the morning breakfast.

“Lord, I hate buttermilk”, the farmer began.

The visiting pastor opened one eye to glance at the farmer and wonder where this was going.

The farmer loudly proclaimed, “Lord, I hate lard.”

Now the pastor was growing concerned.

Without missing a beat, the farmer continued, “And Lord, you know I don’t much care for raw white flour”.

The pastor once again opened an eye to glance around the room and saw that he wasn’t the only one to feel uncomfortable.

Then the farmer added, “But Lord, when you mix them all together and bake them, I do love warm fresh biscuits.

So, Lord, when things come up that we don’t like, when life gets hard, when we don’t understand what you’re saying to us, help us to just relax and wait until you are done mixing. It will probably be even better than biscuits.

Let us pray – that with our effort, the result will be better than the raw ingredients served up on some days.  This is the life-sustaining TRUTH that we are invited to participate in, to engage with.  Keep bringing it on — Jesus TRUTH – wholesome Bread, “strength for the journey.”  Amen.

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[1] Jill Lapore, “Facebook’s Broken Vows,” The New Yorker, August 2, 2021 issue.

[2] Mick Rhoades, “Forever 15: Fentanyl, and the opioid crisis hit home in Claremont – PART 1,” Claremont Courier, July 24, 2021.

 

3 Op cit.

4  Ryan Morrison, “The Real-life Day After Tomorrow,” Daily Mail.com, August 5, 2021.

[5] Brian M.Fagen, The Little Ice Age (New York: Basic Books, 2000).

     St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach

        Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

       Pentecost 11, August 8, 202
  Proper 14

 

              “Truth, What is Truth?”

                            1 Kings 19:4-8; Psalm 34:1-8;
                           Ephesians 4:25-5:2; John 6:35, 41-51