Tag Archives: Lectionary

Grace in a Wage Based World – A Sermon on Matthew 20:1-16, Proper 20A

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The collect and reading for today may be found here. The appointed gospel is Matthew 20:1-16.

Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, `You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, `Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, `Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, `You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, `Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, `These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, `Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

 

We could all tell our own version and experience of this parable. We know people who, in our not so humble opinion, neither earned nor deserved what they got; a job, a promotion, a raise, recognition, happiness, success. That we worked longer and tried harder seemed to make no difference. More often than not we view the world, ourselves, and others through the lens of fairness rather than grace, the exact opposite of how God views the world and our lives.

We’ve been taught from an early age that fairness matters. Watch a bunch of children play and it won’t be long before you hear someone say, “That’s not fair!” So it wasn’t fair the night my grandmother gave me twelve lima beans and my sister got only eight. That I actually counted the beans on our plates and that I still remember that night suggests how deeply ingrained within us is the concept of fairness. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think so. I am willing to bet that you too in some way have counted lima beans!

It’s not just children. Adults want fairness too. Too often, however, fairness rather than love, acceptance, mercy, forgiveness, or generosity is the measure by which we act and judge another person or life circumstances.

We like fairness, I think, because it give us some assurance of order, predictability, control, and hierarchy; even if it is a false assurance. Fairness is based on what you deserve, how hard you work, what you achieve, the way in which you behave. Sometimes it is fair to give a reward other times a punishment. We live in and promote a wage based society in which you earn what you get. You deserve the consequences, good or bad, of your actions.

What happens though when divine goodness trumps human fairness? You get today’s parable. Today’s parable suggests wages and grace stand in opposition to each other. They are two opposing world views. The degree to which this parable strikes us as unfair is the degree to which our life and world view is wage based. A wage based world view allows little room for grace in our own lives or the lives of others.

Grace is dangerous. It reverses business as usual. “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” That’s not how a wage based society works. The world says the last are last and the first are first because they deserve it. It’s what is fair. Our understanding of fairness, however, does not seem to have priority in the kingdom of heaven where grace is the rule not the exception. Grace looks beyond our productivity, our appearance, our dress, our race or ethnicity, our accomplishments, our failures. Grace recognizes there is more to you and who you are than what you have done or left undone.

Grace reveals the goodness of God. Wages reveal human effort. Grace seeks unity and inclusion. Wages make distinctions and separate. Grace just happens. Wages are based on merit. The only precondition of grace is that we show up and open ourselves to receive what God is giving. When we do we begin to see our lives, the world, our neighbor differently.

Many of you know that before going to seminary I practiced law for about fifteen years. Every month the score sheet would be distributed to all the attorneys in the firm. It listed the name of every attorney, the number of hours they worked, the number of hours billed, and the number of dollars collected. It was the basis for our wages and the incentive for our comparison, competition, expectation, and judgments. We knew who had begun work at dawn, who slept in until 9:00 a.m., who came in at noon, who showed up at 3:00 p.m., and who dropped in at 5:00 p.m.

One day several associates, the attorneys who are employees of and not owners of the firm, were reading and talking about the latest numbers. One senior associate whose numbers were higher than most, including some partners, said, “That’s not fair! I am going to demand they pay me what I am worth.” This went on for several days. Then he got quiet and didn’t say much about it. After a few days I asked him, “So have you talked to the partners?” “That was the dumbest idea I’ve ever had,” he said. “What if they agree? What if they actually pay me what I am worth? I’d be taking a pay cut!”

Grace reminds us that we are not nearly as self-sufficient, deserving, or independent as a wage based society would like us to believe. Neither is our worth determined by our productivity or usefulness to another. Grace does not justify or excuse discrimination, unfairness, or oppression. To the contrary it holds before us the truth that each person is more than their behavior, their looks, their accomplishments, or their failures.

The tragedy of a wage based life is that it blinds us to the presence of grace, the life of God, in our own life. It can make us resentful of grace, goodness, and beauty in the life of another. It separates and isolates us from others. Eventually we set up standards and expectations not only for ourselves and others but for God. That’s what happened to the first hired in today’s parable. They saw themselves as different from and more deserving than the later hired. They grumbled against the landowner saying, “These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us.” The truth is they are not that different from each other. Neither group owned the vineyard. Both groups needed a job and both groups were chosen, invited in, by no effort of their own doing. There is, however, something that distinguishes the first hired and the later hired.

The distinction is not what time they showed up to work. The real distinction between the first hired and all the later hired is the terms under which they entered the vineyard. The first hired entered the vineyard only after agreeing to the usual daily wage. They settled for too little. They shortchanged themselves. That’s often what happens in a wage based society. Apparently the landowner is willing to pay more than the usual daily wage. A full day’s wage for less than a full day’s work. “That’s not fair,” we might say. No, it’s not. That’s grace.

The first hired got what they bargained for. The later hired workers, those who come at 9:00 a.m., noon, 3:00 p.m., even 5:00 p.m., did not, however, negotiate for the usual daily wage. They entered the vineyard trusting they would be paid “whatever is right.” Whatever is right is not determined by the first hired or by a wage based society but by the goodness of the landowner. These later hired workers received more than they earned, more than they deserved, more than they had a right to ask or hope for. That’s just what God does. “Whatever is right” isn’t about fairness but about grace.

Why settle for the usual daily wage when God wants to give you “whatever is right” for your life, your needs, your salvation? “Whatever is right” will always be more than fair, more than we could ask or imagine. Yet we sometimes trust a wage based life more than we trust grace. In so doing we deny ourselves and others the life God wants to give. So how might we begin to move from a wage based life to the vineyard of grace?

Stop comparing yourself and your life to others and you will create room for grace to emerge. Refuse to compete in such a way that someone must lose for you to win. Trust that in God’s world there is enough for everyone. Let go of expectations based on what you think you or others deserve. Give God the freedom to pay whatever is right knowing that God’s ways are not your ways. Make no judgments of yourself or others. That is the way of grace, the way of God.

Imagine if we all let go of those four things; comparison, competition, expectation, and judgment. Your life would be God-filled, you would make space for the life of another to be God-filled, and the world would, the parable tells us, look a lot like the kingdom of heaven.

 

Re-centering – A Sermon on Matthew 16:13-20, Proper 16A

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The collect and readings for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 16A, may be found here. The appointed gospel is Matthew 16:13-20.

When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

“But who do you say that I am?” I wonder sometimes if we hear this question as Jesus’ mid-gospel exam. We are about half way through Matthew’s account of the gospel. So it makes sense that Jesus might gather the guys and say, “Ok let’s see what you’ve learned, if you really understand. Who am I?”

Most of us know the right answer. We’ve read Peter’s answer. “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Today’s gospel is not, however, about giving the right answer. This is not a test. This is not about what is in our head but what is in our heart. It’s about what lies at the core of our existence. Jesus is asking the disciples to consider what centers their lives. What is the axis about which their world turns? It is not enough to just give the right answer. They are to become and reveal the answer by their lives, words, and actions. Those things, for Jesus, are foundational to a life of discipleship.

We all have some center from which we live. People, things, and experiences tend to become our anchor point, the center of our life. They give us our bearings and stability. Our center orients our life and the direction we go. It not only shapes how we live but, more importantly, who we are becoming.

Our spouse, children, friends, or other relationships can easily become the center of our world. Sometimes it is our beliefs, opinions, or prejudice. Anger or fear can live at the center of our life. For some profound loss and grief become their world’s center. For others love and beauty may be the defining axis of life. Who or what is our center? Whatever it is that center is capable of propelling, enlivening, and growing us or it can keep us stuck and stagnant.

We often discover what lives at the center of our world when the experiences and circumstances of life knock us off kilter. Everything is thrown out of whack and we struggle to regain our center. Sometimes that means we have settled for something other than Christ on which to center our lives. Christ is the true center. That does not mean there will not be difficulties, pain, or losses. It means that when they occur the center holds and we all need a center that will hold.

The Dome of the Rock, now a Muslim shrine, has significance for both Judaism and Islam. The rock at the center is, according to Muslim tradition, the spot where the prophet Mohamed ascended to heaven. According to Jewish tradition, the rock was the center of the Holy of Holies and the center of the world. It is said this is the rock to which Abraham came to sacrifice his son Isaac.

In Jewish midrash, the rabbinic teaching and preaching on the scriptures, it is said that Israel is at the center of the world. At the center of Israel is Jerusalem. At the center of Israel is the temple. At the center of the temple is the holy place. At the center of the holy place is the ark, the presence and glory of God. Underneath the ark is the foundation, the rock upon which all rests.

The imagery of that midrash takes us deeper and deeper to the center of the center of the center. That is exactly what Jesus is doing with his questions in today’s gospel.

“Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
“But you, who do you say that I am?”

In the first question Jesus is asking what the disciples hear and see around them. In the second question he wants to know what they see and hear within themselves. Jesus is always pushing us to go deeper, to look within and discover who or what our life is centered on, and then to re-center. But we are followers of Christ. Isn’t he already our center? Maybe so, but the life of discipleship is one of continual re-centering.

“You are the Messiah, the Son of God, the living one,” Simon Peter answers. This is more than just an answer. With those words he has re-centered his life. Christ is the axis around which Peter will present his body “as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God.”

“Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah…. I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church.” Jesus renames Simon. His Greek name is Petros which in English means rock. Simon is now Rock. Whenever we re-center our lives on Christ we become a new person. Every time the lines of our lives converge on Christ we become rock-like. We become the foundation, the rock, on which rests the church, the new ark that holds and reveals the presence and glory of God.

With all its frailties Jesus chooses human life and relationships to be the rock on which he builds his church. We are not, however, rocks that are unmovable or unchangeable. As water slowly forms and shapes a rock over time so does a lifetime of re-centering form and shape us to be Christ’s foundation in this world.

Re-centering is our life’s work and it is not easy work. It means we must continually let go of what we thought centered our lives and move to our true center; the Messiah, the Son of God, the living one. The opportunity for re-centering is hidden within the ups and downs of our life. It is something we do over and over and we don’t always get it right. Look at Peter. He is the one of little faith sinking in the water. He doesn’t understand the parables. He argues with Jesus and ends up being called Satan. He falls asleep when he is supposed to be praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. He denies knowing Jesus. Through it all he was being shaped, formed, molded into the rock Jesus knew him to be. Ultimately Peter was crucified for re-centering, following, and loving Jesus.

Despite what it may look like Peter clung to the center. There is really nowhere else to go. Jesus’ words, “You are rock and on this rock I will build my church,” are words of life. They were for Peter and they are for us. What Jesus says to Peter he says to all.

“Who do you say that I am?” Don’t just answer his question. Go live the answer. Discover the “rockness” that Jesus knows you to be. Live with hope in the midst of despair. Love your neighbor as yourself. Though the gates of death open to you know that they cannot prevail. Care for the poor, feed the hungry, and defend the oppressed. Offer forgiveness despite your anger. Pray when you are too busy to pray. Love your enemies despite your fear. Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow him. Practice generosity in a declining economy. Re-center even when it feels like you cannot stand up. Do these. Be the rock. Be the rock on which Jesus’ church stands before the world.

Children and Dogs – A Sermon on Matthew 15:21-28, Proper 15A

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The collect and readings for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9A, may be found here. The appointed gospel is Match 15:21-28.

Jesus left Gennesaret and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

“Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me….”

Most of us know that song well. For many of us it describes the Jesus of our childhood, the Jesus of our growing up. It’s simple. It’s easy. It conjures up images of a sentimental faith and a sweet, cuddly Jesus. Those are images many still cling to. That’s how we want the world to be, the way we want to live, and who we want Jesus to be. The problem is that that kind of faith encourages a naiveté about God, life, and the world.

Look at the pictures of the Somalian famine. Listen to our politicians. Calculate the cost of our wars. Study history. Walk amongst our guests at the food pantry. Talk with a cancer patient, their surviving spouse, or the alcoholic struggling to get well. Balance the family budget, work full time, raise your kids, be faithful in you marriage, and while you are at it remember to eat well and exercise. We all know what it’s like. We’ve each got our own story. We need a faith that can carry us through this life. Too often a sentimental faith becomes cynicism, causes us to turn away from our difficulties, or leaves us feeling paralyzed. Life is neither simple nor easy. So why should we settle for a faith that is?

We’ve all grown up since the days of singing “Jesus love me” but has our faith
 grown up? Yes, Jesus loves us but faith is not about sentimentality and Jesus is not always soft and cuddly. Just ask the Canaanite women in today’s gospel. She’ll tell you all about it. She’s not one of the chosen people. She’s an outsider that the insiders don’t want to be around. When we were kids we would say she’s got cooties. There’s just something about her that is not acceptable. On top of that she is a woman in a society in which woman have no real value or standing. To make matters worse she’s a screamer with a crazy kid.

Life for her is neither simple nor easy. Sentimentality won’t cut it. She needs help so she comes to Jesus. Yes, Jesus loves her but he ignores her and then calls her a dog. So what we do with that?

Many have tried to explain it away. They offer excuses trying to justify Jesus’ behavior. None are really convincing. Maybe Jesus was just tired and having a bad day. Or he was teaching his disciples something. Really? At the expense of this woman and her daughter? Others say Jesus was testing her faith; as if her life was not enough of a test. Maybe Jesus didn’t understand the full extent of his mission and ministry. I suspect all the many excuses only highlight how embarrassed we are by this text. Regardless of why Jesus did what he did we don’t like it. It makes us uncomfortable. That’s not the Jesus we want but that’s the Jesus we get in today’s gospel. And sometimes that’s the Jesus we get in life.

There are days that we pray and get no answer. We come before God and offer all that we are and all that we have. We speak our words, express our feelings, make known our needs and nothing happens. We wait. We listen. God is silent. It’s like talking to the walls of our room. If you’ve ever felt that way then you know this Canaanite woman. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. Instead he talked about her to the disciples. She heard every word. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” Jesus tells them. For her, however, there are no words, no gestures, no acknowledgment, no explanation. Nothing at all.

What do we do when that happens? Where do we go? Do give up? Get mad? Quit the church? Sometimes someone will come to me and ask, “Why? Why is God silent? Why am I ignored?” I wish I knew. I don’t have an answer. Even if I did I doubt it would be satisfactory. So I do the only thing I can do. I send them back. “Go pray,” I say. “Just show up. Regardless of what God does or does not do you show up. Even if its seems God does not.” That’s what the Canaanite woman did.

Jesus was silent. She could have gone home, argued, or asked, “Why?” But she didn’t. Instead she came closer to Jesus, fell before him, and kept on worshipping him saying, “Lord, help me.” That doesn’t make sense but that’s what she does. This woman who was ignored and seemingly rejected by Jesus moves even closer, entering deeper into his silence, and begs like a dog. She continues to show up trusting that somehow it is enough to just be there before him. At some point he has to act. She doesn’t know when or what he will do. She only knows that she will be there when he does do something.

This time he answers. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” He called her a dog, an animal. Those words sound so harsh, so mean, so wrong. They are. But maybe they are not about Jesus or the woman. Jesus is naming the reality of the world in which they both live. The reality is that there are children and there are dogs. We see it everyday. Some have while many do not. Some are in and others are out. For some life flourishes. Others struggle to make it another day. Children and dogs.

They did not make it that way. It was like that before either one of them were born. It was that way before they met and it is still that way today. That doesn’t make it right and we should do all we can to change it. However, that is the world in which we must pray, the world in which we must live our faith, the world in which we must learn to show up. That’s the world in which Jesus and this Canaanite women meet. Life is neither simple nor easy and dogs don’t eat the children’s food in this world.

The woman knows this. She even agrees with Jesus. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” She has again found a way to show up and be present even when it seems everyone and everything is against her. This time Jesus speaks and acts. “Great is your faith,” he tells her. That very hour her daughter is healed.

So what do we do with that? Some say she finally wore him down and Jesus relented to get her to be quiet and go away. That sounds more like what we do. Some say she was rewarded for her persistence. Maybe, but you and I both know of persistence that did not get rewarded. So what’s the difference? Others suggest Jesus realized he was wrong and changed his mind. Perhaps.

I don’t know why Jesus acted the way he did. Maybe we don’t need to know. Maybe this story is not even about Jesus. It’s about us, our faith, and our world. Life is difficult. Deep abiding faith is a real struggle. The world is broken and divided into children and dogs. In the dog days of life all we can do is continue to show up and that’s enough. God may or may not do what we want. It doesn’t really matter. To not show up is to only deepen the divide. To turn away means that we won’t be there when God does act. We will miss it. We will miss the moment of healing, the words of forgiveness, the acts that transform. We will never know that Jesus really does love us.

Keep Your Hands and Feet Inside the Boat – A Sermon on Matthew 14:22-32, Proper 14A

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The collect and readings for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 14A, may be found here. The appointed gospel is Matthew 14:22-33.

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

 

It is not hard to imagine what it was like for the disciples that night as they crossed the Sea of Galilee. We need only think about the storms that have blown through our own lives. Think of a time when your life was drenched in darkness, that three or four in the morning kind of darkness.  It’s so dark you cannot even see your own hand. You do not know what is ahead or when you will arrive at the new shore. Think of a time when it felt as if you were drowning in fear. You began to see ghosts. Something was there. Something was going to get you. Ghosts may not be real but fear is. Recall those days when the winds of change were blowing against you and no matter what you did, how hard you rowed, you got no where. Maybe there was a time when the events of life battered you over and over like ocean waves.

Storms come in all sorts of different ways striking individuals, families, churches, nations, and the world. Cancer, divorce, schism, famine, war. We can all tell stories about how life was blown off course, the structures of life were washed away, plans and hopes damaged or destroyed. Whenever the storms of life arise so does the question of faith. Do we have faith? Do we have the right kind of faith? Do we have enough faith?

Jesus’ question to Peter is one that often haunts us as we cross the sea of life. “You of little faith; why did you doubt?” There’s something about that question that makes quick, trite answers and assumptions much too easy. “You just need faith. If you had more faith you would get what you prayed for. A different kind of faith and your life would be better, easy. If your faith was stronger you wouldn’t doubt, struggle, or question.” So I wonder what would have happened if Peter had more faith, enough faith, a different kind of faith. The usual answer is that Peter’s fear would have disappeared, the wind and waves would have been of no consequence. He would have continued walking on water.

There is a real danger in this kind of theology and understanding of faith. It says that if we have enough faith we will overcome the storms of life in some spectacular way. Somehow we will transcend the laws of nature, physics, biology. We will defy gravity. In extreme cases some will forego medical care for faith. That is not the kind of faith to which we are called. That is not what faith is about. That is more about magic than faith. It seeks proof or evidence to support belief.

That kind of faith will not carry us though the storms of life. We will eventually sink like a rock in water. That’s what happened to Peter. Perhaps it is no coincidence that his name in Greek means stone or rock.

Regardless of how much faith we have disease takes a toll on our body, accidents happen, loved ones die. Despite our faith life is difficult, relationships break up, we don’t always get what we want. No matter how strong our faith the sea of life gets rough and stormy.

Maybe the usual answer is simply wrong. Maybe faith is not about walking on water through the storms of life but about staying in the boat. With a different kind of faith Peter would have stayed in the boat. “You of little faith; why did you doubt?” Maybe Jesus is asking why Peter got out of the boat.

After all Jesus is the one who “made the disciples get into the boat.” Jesus is the one who told them to “go on ahead to the other side.” Jesus is the one who prayed during their night voyage. Jesus is the one who came to them in the midst of the storm. Jesus is the one who reassured them saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

It was Peter’s idea to get out of the boat. Peter is the one who wanted to defy gravity, the one who sought some spectacular proof of Jesus’ identity, presence, and power. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Peter’s words are reminiscent of an earlier time and place. Satan. The wilderness. “If you are the Son of God….” Peter’s faith has taken him out of the boat and put God to the test.

I don’t say this in judgment or criticism of Peter. I say this as one who recognizes himself in Peter, as one who wants to walk on water and escape the storms of my own life. I say this as one who has seen and heard others express that same desire. At some level we have probably all lived with Peter’s faith. To the extent we have we need to go on ahead to a different kind of faith.

The disciples’ voyage across the sea is a passage from one kind of faith to another. It is the journey from faith used to escape life’s storms to a faith that carries us through them; from an external faith of physical presence and proof to an interior faith of spiritual presence; from a faith dependent on the circumstance of our life to one that experiences Christ present regardless of what is going on around us.

Jesus physically separated himself from the disciples and sent them on ahead but he never left them. Their faith and our faith must now be experienced as larger than Jesus’ physical presence; not limited by the boundaries of what can be seen, heard, touched, or understood; independent of miracles that overcome the laws of nature. Jesus is taking us from a get-out-of-the-boat kind of faith to a stay-in-the-boat kind of faith. This transition of faith happens in the dark night of our life, in the midst of life’s storms. In every storm of life we must decide whether to get out or stay in. Faith is not a way to escape the winds and waves of life. It is the way through the storms of life. Sometimes faithfulness means staying in the boat and simply rowing.

A stay-in-the-boat-faith knows that Christ is always coming to us. We are never abandoned. There is no storm we go through in which Christ is not with us. A stay-in-the-boat-faith never gives up because Christ never gives up on us. With every storm through which we sail Jesus comes to us saying “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” He gets in the boat with us and the winds cease. Our walking on water is not the miracle. The miracle is that Christ is stronger than any storm that comes our way. The miracle is that with Christ in the boat we pass through the storms of life to a new shore and a new life.

Crossing the Jabbok – A Sermon on Genesis 32:22-31 (Jacob Wrestling), Proper 13A

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The collect and readings for today, Proper 13A, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost may be found here. The Old Testament reading, Genesis 32:22-31 , serves as the basis for the sermon below.

The same night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

Jacob wrestling by Marc Chagall

At some point we all leave home. In a sense we become homeless. We leave behind the way life was. We move out of the familiar ways and places that once housed our lives. Sometime this is a welcome move and other times, not so much. Some of this homelessness is a natural part of life. Growing up or growing old are both a process of leaving home. Other times the circumstances of life dictate a move; a hurricane, a death, a divorce, a job transfer, going off to school. Faithfulness led Abram and Sarai to leave their home for a new land. Sinfulness caused Adam and Eve to leave their garden place.

While leaving home often involves physical or geographical changes it is equally a spiritual condition.  It is a movement and change deep within our soul. Regardless of how or why it happens homelessness disrupts life and leaves us longing to return home. Everyone wants to go home. After all, Toto, there’s no place like home.

They say you can never go back home. I think that’s right. After our boys moved out I remember how excited Cyndy and I would get when one of our boys would come back to visit. We had a such a good time with them – for the first three days. It wasn’t bad it was just different. Once we leave home it won’t ever be like it was before. We can’t undo the past or turn back the clock. We cannot keep things or people the way they used to be. Yet, we are not destined to be homeless. That is not God’s intention.

In a paradoxical way we leave home so that we might return home. We never go back as the same person we were when we left. The journey home changes us. T.S. Elliott expressed it beautifully in his poem Little Gidding:

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

Over and over throughout the Old Testament God promises to bring his people home, to a new land, the promised land. You and I are heirs to that promise. Jacob is an heir to that promise, a promise that was first made to his grandfather, Abram. Sometimes that promise may be all that sustains us in our homelessness.

The fulfillment of God’s promise is our journey home. This new home, however, the promised land, is more than a physical place or a geographical location. It is a spiritual home of wholeness, healing, and peace. It houses love and union with God, neighbor, and self. That does not mean that the journey home is necessarily easy or without struggle. To the contrary, the journey home always brings us to the River Jabbok.

That’s where Jacob is today. He ran away from home after buying his brother Esau’s inheritance and stealing the blessing that rightfully belonged to Esau as the firstborn son. He worked fourteen years for his uncle Laban to get two wives, one of whom he didn’t even really want. Now Jacob wants to go home. Now he stands at the Jabbok. The way home always brings us to the ford of the Jabbok. We each have our own Jabbok that we must cross.

Jacob sends his wives, his maids, and his sons on across the river. Jacob, however, stays behind. Always the schemer, he sends messengers with gifts to Esau to pave the way home; and with good reason. Esau was planning to kill Jacob when Jacob left home. The messengers return but the news is not good. Esau is on the to Jacob and he has four hundred men with him.

Jacob cannot buy his way out this time. He is stuck. In front of him is Esau. Behind him is his past; the lies, the deception, the stolen blessing; the home he left behind. It is nighttime and Jacob is alone on the banks of the Jabbok. The Jabbok is, however, more than just a river. It is a lonely place, a dark place, a place of struggle and wrestling.

All night long Jacob wrestled with a man. Who was that man? Was it God? Esau? Was it Jacob’s uncle, Laban? Was it Isaac, his father? Was Jacob wrestling with himself? Was he wrestling with his past? His future? His identity? His faith? Perhaps the best and maybe the only answer to those questions is, “Yes. Yes, that’s who it was.” Regardless, it was a face to face meeting with God.

In this nighttime wrestling Jacob is both wounded and blessed. The two always seem to go together, blessings and wounds. His old life and identity as Jacob, the heel grabber, however, served him well. He held on to this man of the night long enough to receive a real blessing, not a stolen blessing, but one through which the promises of God will be fulfilled and Jacob will be changed.

Daybreak comes and Jacob is no longer Jacob, the deceiver and the supplanter. He has been renamed and reborn. He is now Israel, the one who struggles with and prevails against God. Jacob does not defeat God. He prevails. He stays in the struggle until a new day dawns and he receives the blessing that was always his. That is faithfulness. That is the way home. That is our work at Jabbok.

Jabbok, however, is not a place unique to Jacob. It is a place most of us know well. Jabbok is the struggle with an addiction. It is getting up every morning to grief and loss that are unbearable. It is tossing and turning through the night trying to figure out what to do next. It is the slow work of rebuilding trust and putting back together a marriage or a friendship. It is sitting day after day at the bedside of a loved one who is dying. It is faithfulness in the routine ordinariness of life, work, family, and marriage. It’s a week, a year, a lifetime of prayer and doing what’s right but not ever seeing the result.

Jabbok is experienced in a thousand different ways. It is the nighttime of our lives and the way home. It is the place where we are wounded, renamed, blessed, and made a new person. It is a holy place. That’s why Jacob renames Jabbok. He now calls it Peniel, the place where we see God and our life is preserved.

We each have our own story of standing on the banks of the Jabbok. We can probably name pretty quickly the wounds we have received there and describe how we now limp through life. In the midst of the struggle and the pain of being wounded it’s hard to see or trust the presence of a blessing. It’s too dark to see. But whatever you do don’t let go. Hold on. Jabbok will soon give way to Peniel. A new day is dawning and there is a blessing for you. It doesn’t mean life is magically fixed or that we go back to the old family place. It means God is faithful. It means we can now move forward. We are blessed, renamed, and made a new person; free to cross over, and go home. And we all want to go home. After all, Toto, there’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.