June 24, 2007
In Paul’s letter to the Church in Galatia, he wrote these words:
As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.
For you are all one in Christ. If only we could live that out.
It seems more and more in the conversations going on in the Christian Church, we find a list of "beliefs" that one must adhere to in order to be classified as a "REAL" Christian.
I often find these lists of beliefs troubling. Do we really think that we can know the full nature of God?
We cannot contain God as God really is in words or ideas. This doesn't mean we give up on trying to know God, however. And, within the limits of our humanity, aided by divine revelation, we can gain some knowledge of God. But it is always incomplete knowledge. Whenever we say, "This is God," we need to add, "But God is more than this."
Does this mean we embrace an "anything goes" perspective? I don't think so. If you want to know what Episcopalians believe, worship in an Episcopal Church. It's all there in the liturgy. When we offer our praise and thanksgivings to God, surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, we are attempting to express, in our own finite and limited way, using time-tested forms and customs, the way we have found to build a closer relationship with the living God.
However, our ushers do not administer entrance exams at the door. I do not test those who come to the altar before offering the sacrament. When the world wants to know who we are, and who God is, our response is "Come and see."
If we like it or not, the religious landscape of the world has shifted. Christianity is no longer The Main Event. We have become simply another booth at the fair. Such a shift requires that we rethink how we present our faith.
The area in which I live grows a lot of blueberries. Imagine going to a farmer's market, approaching a booth offering blueberries, and being told that before you can make a purchase, you must state without reservation that these are the best berries, and in fact the only REAL berries. Further, you must renounce all previous berry purchases, and believe in the stated formulary and history regarding the creation of these berries, which is included in the 25 page booklet that the vendor thrusts in your face. I don't know about you, but I know I would avoid such a booth in future trips. It's not the pedigree of berries that interests me. The question on my mind was "Do they taste good?" ...Taste and see...
I think of some of our children who come forward to receive communion. Do we insist that they hold the “right beliefs,” even when their intellectual development does not allow them to deal with such complex ideas? No, we don’t. They know something is going on that is important to everyone else. And they know that it has something to do with God. That is enough. Yes, we need to offer a fuller understanding as they grow older. And we’ll do that, through our Christian Education programs.
In the end, I don’t think when I get to heaven that God is going to ask me much about what I believed. But I would imagine there will be quite a few questions about what I did, or did not do. It is through our actions that we express what we believe. And I think excluding someone from the body of Christ because they don’t live up to our expectations is a wrong action. When we do that, we are standing in the doorway of the kingdom, blocking the way for others.
But how can we have unity if there is no common belief? Yes, there are some things that we have to agree on. We do have some core doctrines. There are some points on which we have to come to some kind of agreement, or it will be impossible for us to act in the name of Christ.
Our Gospel lesson points us towards one of these core doctrines. Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answered, "The Messiah of God." The Hebrew word mashah is translated into messiah, which means anointed. Christ is the Greek word christos which also means 'anointed.' For the first time in Luke's gospel, Jesus is proclaimed Messiah. Peter said that Jesus is anointed king and comes to free people and establish the kingdom of God.
This is important. It’s not enough to understand Jesus to be just another prophet, or a wise teacher, or a good man. And here’s why it is important:
We believe that Jesus is the manifestation of the divine; that Jesus is God incarnate. The reason this is important is that Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Messiah, represents the bridge between heaven and earth. God is no longer a distant deity. The word became flesh and dwelt among us. God has entered our world. God is among us.
This keeps us from falling into the common human error of thinking we can save ourselves. We can’t. We’re broken and we can’t fix ourselves. We need a savior. We need a God with skin on. And that is who Jesus Christ is for us.
That is our foundation. Our believe in Jesus as the Messiah, the word made flesh and moving among us, is the glue that holds all Christians together.
Do I think it matters how a person comes to this belief? No. It could be through the experience of God in their lives. It could be from hearing the scriptures. It could be from the example of God’s love that they have seen through Christians in action. There are many ways to encounter the risen Christ. And, since we all start at a different point, the way we express our beliefs are going to be different.
In essentials, unity
In nonessentials, diversity
In all things, charity.
Let us not consider our diversity of beliefs as a problem. Instead, let us celebrate this diversity, giving thanks to God who is revealed to us in so many ways, and so allowing all people to see and respond to God’s gift of grace. Let us be one in Christ Jesus.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Third Sunday After Pentecost
June 17, 2007
This morning, we have heard about Jesus going to a dinner party hosted by Simon, one of the leading citizens of Jerusalem. In the middle of the meal, something unexpected, something astonishing happened. A woman crashed the party. And not just any woman. A woman from the streets; a notorious sinner…a prostitute. She walks in and starts pouring expensive feet. Then she begin to cry, her tears falling on his feet. She begins to wipe his feet with her hair.
The actions of this woman broke just about every social custom of that day. Beyond that, it broke most of our social customs today.
Imagine if this happened to you. You’re having dinner, and a woman you’ve never seen before suddenly bursts into the dining room, and begins to wash your feet with her tears. I don’t know about you, but I’d be terribly embarrassed. What are people going to think? Aren’t they going to wonder how I came to know such a woman? This is going to destroy my reputation. Someone call 911. Get this crazy woman out of here.
That’s probably how Simon, the host of the party, saw things. He’s outraged by the whole thing. He thinks to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him-- that she is a sinner."
And sometimes, I think that is how the Church responds to some people. Not all the time, but sometimes. When we throw open the doors of the Church, and send out the message that are a welcome to join in the feast, some people may respond to that invitation that may make us feel uncomfortable. They’re different. Their a little strange. They don’t look like most of us. They dress differently. They talk differently. And maybe we know some of them to be notorious sinners.
And when persons like the woman in this morning’s Gospel story show up, they feel our reaction to their presence. The sad truth is that much too often, people who, like her, were drawn to Jesus too often avoid the church today.
Phillip Yancey tells the story of a friend of his in Chicago who worked with poor persons in the city. He was visited once by a prostitute who was in dire straits. She had been renting out her two-year old daughter to men for sex in order to support her drug habit; and she was homeless, sick, and unable to buy food for herself or her daughter. Yancey's friend asked if she had thought about going to a church for help, and the woman seemed horrified. "Church?! Why would I ever go there? I was already feeling terrible about myself. They'd just make me feel worse." She had experienced church as a place of judgment and inhospitality.
How can we be more hospitable to the stranger in our midst, even if we feel uncomfortable? We may want to take a closer look at Jesus’ response to this woman.
Instead of worrying about himself and his reputation, Jesus immediately jumped to the defense of this woman. We're not told exactly what had happened to this woman before she showed up at the party, ; but, obviously, something had taken place that was absolutely life-changing…life changing enough for her to kneel at Jesus feet and weep. Somehow, she had become aware of the love and mercy of God. Since it was to Jesus that she offered her gift of perfume, it must have been ministry of Jesus that was the catalyst for her change of heart.
Somehow, this woman had come to see that God's goodness is always bigger than our sinfulness. This woman had come to understand that there is nothing we can do to make God love us any more than God already loves us, and there is nothing we can do to make God stop loving us.
So how did Jesus respond to Simon’s outrage? He said to him, “"Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."
Her sins have been forgiven; hence her great love. There’s a point here that we need to make sure we get straight. This woman was not trying to earn God’s forgiveness by washing Jesus’ feet. God’s grace is a free gift. We don’t deserve. And we can’t get it through good works. The woman in this story had already experienced God’s grace, God’s forgiveness. The act of ministering to Jesus was in response to this gift of grace. It was an act of thanksgiving for the good thing that god has already done.
When we find a stranger in our midst here at church, we need to always remember that God has already touched their lives. They wouldn’t be here otherwise. Our role is to celebrate with them the good thing that god has already done, and love them with the love of God.
In his commentary on this Gospel story, Fred Craddock wonders where one goes when told to go in peace as Jesus instructs this woman to do at the end of our story. "What she needs," Craddock says, "is a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. The story," he says, "screams the need for a church, one that says you are welcome here."
There is an old legend about Judas that Madeleine L'Engle tells. The legend is that after his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent, he looked up and saw way, way up a tiny glimmer of light. After he had contemplated it for another thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards the light. The walls of the pit were dark and slimy, and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top and then he slipped and fell all the way back down to the bottom. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb up again. After many more falls and efforts and failures, he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room with twelve people seated around the table. "We've been waiting for you, Judas," Jesus said. "We couldn't begin till you came."
So many people are looking for a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. May they find such a community on the corner of Main and Cedar in downtown Tuckerton.
This morning, we have heard about Jesus going to a dinner party hosted by Simon, one of the leading citizens of Jerusalem. In the middle of the meal, something unexpected, something astonishing happened. A woman crashed the party. And not just any woman. A woman from the streets; a notorious sinner…a prostitute. She walks in and starts pouring expensive feet. Then she begin to cry, her tears falling on his feet. She begins to wipe his feet with her hair.
The actions of this woman broke just about every social custom of that day. Beyond that, it broke most of our social customs today.
Imagine if this happened to you. You’re having dinner, and a woman you’ve never seen before suddenly bursts into the dining room, and begins to wash your feet with her tears. I don’t know about you, but I’d be terribly embarrassed. What are people going to think? Aren’t they going to wonder how I came to know such a woman? This is going to destroy my reputation. Someone call 911. Get this crazy woman out of here.
That’s probably how Simon, the host of the party, saw things. He’s outraged by the whole thing. He thinks to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him-- that she is a sinner."
And sometimes, I think that is how the Church responds to some people. Not all the time, but sometimes. When we throw open the doors of the Church, and send out the message that are a welcome to join in the feast, some people may respond to that invitation that may make us feel uncomfortable. They’re different. Their a little strange. They don’t look like most of us. They dress differently. They talk differently. And maybe we know some of them to be notorious sinners.
And when persons like the woman in this morning’s Gospel story show up, they feel our reaction to their presence. The sad truth is that much too often, people who, like her, were drawn to Jesus too often avoid the church today.
Phillip Yancey tells the story of a friend of his in Chicago who worked with poor persons in the city. He was visited once by a prostitute who was in dire straits. She had been renting out her two-year old daughter to men for sex in order to support her drug habit; and she was homeless, sick, and unable to buy food for herself or her daughter. Yancey's friend asked if she had thought about going to a church for help, and the woman seemed horrified. "Church?! Why would I ever go there? I was already feeling terrible about myself. They'd just make me feel worse." She had experienced church as a place of judgment and inhospitality.
How can we be more hospitable to the stranger in our midst, even if we feel uncomfortable? We may want to take a closer look at Jesus’ response to this woman.
Instead of worrying about himself and his reputation, Jesus immediately jumped to the defense of this woman. We're not told exactly what had happened to this woman before she showed up at the party, ; but, obviously, something had taken place that was absolutely life-changing…life changing enough for her to kneel at Jesus feet and weep. Somehow, she had become aware of the love and mercy of God. Since it was to Jesus that she offered her gift of perfume, it must have been ministry of Jesus that was the catalyst for her change of heart.
Somehow, this woman had come to see that God's goodness is always bigger than our sinfulness. This woman had come to understand that there is nothing we can do to make God love us any more than God already loves us, and there is nothing we can do to make God stop loving us.
So how did Jesus respond to Simon’s outrage? He said to him, “"Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."
Her sins have been forgiven; hence her great love. There’s a point here that we need to make sure we get straight. This woman was not trying to earn God’s forgiveness by washing Jesus’ feet. God’s grace is a free gift. We don’t deserve. And we can’t get it through good works. The woman in this story had already experienced God’s grace, God’s forgiveness. The act of ministering to Jesus was in response to this gift of grace. It was an act of thanksgiving for the good thing that god has already done.
When we find a stranger in our midst here at church, we need to always remember that God has already touched their lives. They wouldn’t be here otherwise. Our role is to celebrate with them the good thing that god has already done, and love them with the love of God.
In his commentary on this Gospel story, Fred Craddock wonders where one goes when told to go in peace as Jesus instructs this woman to do at the end of our story. "What she needs," Craddock says, "is a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. The story," he says, "screams the need for a church, one that says you are welcome here."
There is an old legend about Judas that Madeleine L'Engle tells. The legend is that after his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent, he looked up and saw way, way up a tiny glimmer of light. After he had contemplated it for another thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards the light. The walls of the pit were dark and slimy, and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top and then he slipped and fell all the way back down to the bottom. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb up again. After many more falls and efforts and failures, he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room with twelve people seated around the table. "We've been waiting for you, Judas," Jesus said. "We couldn't begin till you came."
So many people are looking for a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. May they find such a community on the corner of Main and Cedar in downtown Tuckerton.
Homeless Outreach
We are supporting two ministries to the homeless: The Atlantic City Rescue Mission and The Lakewood Outreach Ministry. You can help by providing new towels, tooth paste and brushes, shampoo, bar soap, disposable razors, combs, brushes, toilet tissue and disposable diapers.
Items may be placed in the two large boxes in the Fellowship Hall marked for our ministry to the homeless. For more information, please contact the parish office at 609-296-9618. Please note that clothing is not needed at this time.
Items may be placed in the two large boxes in the Fellowship Hall marked for our ministry to the homeless. For more information, please contact the parish office at 609-296-9618. Please note that clothing is not needed at this time.
Vendor's Fair, Saturday, August 4
From 9:00 am to 3:00 pm, vendors will be set up in the parking lot across the street. Contact the parish office at 609-296-9618 to reserve a vendor space. First come, first served. An 8' space is $25, rain date is August 11.
Fellowship Dinners
On the last Wednesday of each month, we are offering a free hot meal to anyone who shows up. Leave your wallets home! Please call the parish office at 609-296-9618 to make your reservation.
ECW Potluck and Crazy Bingo, Tuesday, June 19
Bring a covered dish at 6:00 pm to share with 6, along with three $1 gifts, and join in the fun! Sign-up sheet in Fellowship Hall, or call the parish office at 609-296-9618.
Blueberry Festival, Saturday, July 14
Order your homemade blueberry pie today! The sign-up sheet is in Fellowship Hall, or call the parish office at 609-296-9618.
The Second Sunday after Pentecost, June 10, 2007
This morning we encounter two processions. One is going into the town of Nain and the other is coming out. Nain is a town in the South of Galilee, a short distance from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth.
At the head of the procession going into Nain is Jesus. The procession coming out is led by a coffin. What will happen when these two processions cross paths at the town gate? Which one will give way?
Jesus sees the grieving mother. What does He do? How does He respond? His heart went out to her. He feels compassion for her. He chose to share in her sorrow.
Moved by compassion, Jesus acts. "Young man, I say to you, get up!" he shouts. And the dead man sat up and began to talk. The compassion of Jesus led to something amazing happening, something unexpected. Death was trampled down by the Lord of Life.
This is our Christian hope. Through Jesus Christ, death, our ancient enemy, has been cast down and trampled underfoot. Death has been swallowed up in victory. We no longer have to live in fear of death.
But, sometimes, we do anyway, don’t we? It's difficult not to fear death. I’m not just talking about physical death. We die many little deaths throughout our lives. Many of the changes we face feel much like a little death. We grieve the loss of the familiar. We long to relive days from our past.
But the reality is that if we are to continue to grow, we must accept these little deaths. We must allow ourselves to be transformed into the full stature of Christ. And for that to happen, we have to let go of some of the baggage that we are dragging around with us; those old grudges, those past regrets, and those character flaws. There are aspects of ourselves that we have to allow to die.
In our Epistle lesson, Paul speaks about his earlier life in Judaism; about how he was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. You may recall when St. Stephen was stoned to death, it was Saul, who later became Paul, who held the coats of the stone hurling crowd. When Paul encountered Christ on the road to Damascus, he was transformed. But that transformation required a little death as well; the zealous persecutor of the Church had to die.
Congregations have to pass through these little deaths as well, if they are to be transformed and follow the call of God. I was an interim priest for a few years. I would be assigned to serve in a congregation while they made their transition from one spiritual leader to another. Sometimes their former priest was the beloved rector. Sometimes he or she was not so beloved.
Regardless of the case, there was always some element of a grieving process going on in that congregation. Interims were expected to allow that process to happen, and attend to any pastoral needs that might result from it. It was only when the congregation faced that that particular chapter in their life was now over that they could begin to dream about the future. There had to be a little death before there could be room for new life.
Sometimes, we fear these little deaths so much, that we are a bit too cautious. We hesitate to do anything new or risky. What if we fail? What if there isn’t enough? What if we make a mistake? We stick to the familiar, to the comfortable, because we are afraid of dying.
Barbara Brown Taylor, an author and an Episcopal priest, recently wrote a thoughtful article in the Christian Century entitled, “The Poured-Out Church”. I want to share part of it with you:
…when I consider my life of faith, this world is clearly where my transformation has taken place. It is in the world that I have met the people who have changed me—some of them believers, but far more of them not—people who have loved me, fought me, shamed me, forgiven me, sanding down my edges on one side while they broke whole ragged chunks of me off the other. The world is where I have been struck dumb by beauty, by cruelty, by human invention and greed. The world is where my notions of God have been destroyed, reformed, chastened, redeemed. The world is where I have occasionally been good for something and where I have done irreparable harm.
The reason I know this, however, is that the church has given me the eyes with which I see, as well as the words with which I speak. The church has given me a community in which to figure out what has happened to me in the world. It has given me a place to love and grieve, within a tradition far older and wiser than I. It is the church that has poured me into the world, in other words—which is counterintuitive. How can a church survive that keeps pouring itself into the world? I cannot possibly say. All I know is the gospel truth: those willing to give everything away are the ones with anything worth keeping; those willing to look death full in the face are the ones with the most abundant lives. Go figure...
“…those willing to look death full in the face are the ones with the most abundant lives.” Can we look death full in the face? Are we willing to pour ourselves into the world? Will we risk much for the sake of the Gospel?
We can. And we will. Because we are Christians. Because we do not live in fear of death. Because we are those who proclaim the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I’m not suggesting we be foolish. There’s a difference between being bold and risking much and being foolish. We are certainly called to be good stewards of the gifts God has given us.
But we must always remember that our mission field is out there in the world. And to be effective witnesses for God, we must pour ourselves into the world, even if it seems risky; even if it seems deadly.
How do we know where to pour ourselves out? In this morning’s Gospel, when those two processions met, one led by life, and one led by death, it was at the moment that Jesus was filled with compassion for the widow that everything was transformed. Life overcame death. Mourning was transformed into laughter and joy. This transformation began with compassion; with Jesus opening his heart to the grief of the mother. Where do we begin to pour ourselves out? In those places where people are hurting; in those places where we find ourselves moved to open our hearts and reveal the compassion of Christ.
Let us always remember that we do not exist for the sake of the Church. We exist for the sake of the world. We are called to pour ourselves out, driven by compassion for those who are hurting in this world. If that means we have to look death full in the face, so be it. Cannot God raise up something new from the ashes of our vanquished dreams?
Let us not live in fear of death, or the little deaths that each of us will face as we walk together with Christ in our midst. Let us be willing to risk much for the sake of the world, and proclaim with our every word and deed the healing power of God’s love.
At the head of the procession going into Nain is Jesus. The procession coming out is led by a coffin. What will happen when these two processions cross paths at the town gate? Which one will give way?
Jesus sees the grieving mother. What does He do? How does He respond? His heart went out to her. He feels compassion for her. He chose to share in her sorrow.
Moved by compassion, Jesus acts. "Young man, I say to you, get up!" he shouts. And the dead man sat up and began to talk. The compassion of Jesus led to something amazing happening, something unexpected. Death was trampled down by the Lord of Life.
This is our Christian hope. Through Jesus Christ, death, our ancient enemy, has been cast down and trampled underfoot. Death has been swallowed up in victory. We no longer have to live in fear of death.
But, sometimes, we do anyway, don’t we? It's difficult not to fear death. I’m not just talking about physical death. We die many little deaths throughout our lives. Many of the changes we face feel much like a little death. We grieve the loss of the familiar. We long to relive days from our past.
But the reality is that if we are to continue to grow, we must accept these little deaths. We must allow ourselves to be transformed into the full stature of Christ. And for that to happen, we have to let go of some of the baggage that we are dragging around with us; those old grudges, those past regrets, and those character flaws. There are aspects of ourselves that we have to allow to die.
In our Epistle lesson, Paul speaks about his earlier life in Judaism; about how he was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. You may recall when St. Stephen was stoned to death, it was Saul, who later became Paul, who held the coats of the stone hurling crowd. When Paul encountered Christ on the road to Damascus, he was transformed. But that transformation required a little death as well; the zealous persecutor of the Church had to die.
Congregations have to pass through these little deaths as well, if they are to be transformed and follow the call of God. I was an interim priest for a few years. I would be assigned to serve in a congregation while they made their transition from one spiritual leader to another. Sometimes their former priest was the beloved rector. Sometimes he or she was not so beloved.
Regardless of the case, there was always some element of a grieving process going on in that congregation. Interims were expected to allow that process to happen, and attend to any pastoral needs that might result from it. It was only when the congregation faced that that particular chapter in their life was now over that they could begin to dream about the future. There had to be a little death before there could be room for new life.
Sometimes, we fear these little deaths so much, that we are a bit too cautious. We hesitate to do anything new or risky. What if we fail? What if there isn’t enough? What if we make a mistake? We stick to the familiar, to the comfortable, because we are afraid of dying.
Barbara Brown Taylor, an author and an Episcopal priest, recently wrote a thoughtful article in the Christian Century entitled, “The Poured-Out Church”. I want to share part of it with you:
…when I consider my life of faith, this world is clearly where my transformation has taken place. It is in the world that I have met the people who have changed me—some of them believers, but far more of them not—people who have loved me, fought me, shamed me, forgiven me, sanding down my edges on one side while they broke whole ragged chunks of me off the other. The world is where I have been struck dumb by beauty, by cruelty, by human invention and greed. The world is where my notions of God have been destroyed, reformed, chastened, redeemed. The world is where I have occasionally been good for something and where I have done irreparable harm.
The reason I know this, however, is that the church has given me the eyes with which I see, as well as the words with which I speak. The church has given me a community in which to figure out what has happened to me in the world. It has given me a place to love and grieve, within a tradition far older and wiser than I. It is the church that has poured me into the world, in other words—which is counterintuitive. How can a church survive that keeps pouring itself into the world? I cannot possibly say. All I know is the gospel truth: those willing to give everything away are the ones with anything worth keeping; those willing to look death full in the face are the ones with the most abundant lives. Go figure...
“…those willing to look death full in the face are the ones with the most abundant lives.” Can we look death full in the face? Are we willing to pour ourselves into the world? Will we risk much for the sake of the Gospel?
We can. And we will. Because we are Christians. Because we do not live in fear of death. Because we are those who proclaim the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I’m not suggesting we be foolish. There’s a difference between being bold and risking much and being foolish. We are certainly called to be good stewards of the gifts God has given us.
But we must always remember that our mission field is out there in the world. And to be effective witnesses for God, we must pour ourselves into the world, even if it seems risky; even if it seems deadly.
How do we know where to pour ourselves out? In this morning’s Gospel, when those two processions met, one led by life, and one led by death, it was at the moment that Jesus was filled with compassion for the widow that everything was transformed. Life overcame death. Mourning was transformed into laughter and joy. This transformation began with compassion; with Jesus opening his heart to the grief of the mother. Where do we begin to pour ourselves out? In those places where people are hurting; in those places where we find ourselves moved to open our hearts and reveal the compassion of Christ.
Let us always remember that we do not exist for the sake of the Church. We exist for the sake of the world. We are called to pour ourselves out, driven by compassion for those who are hurting in this world. If that means we have to look death full in the face, so be it. Cannot God raise up something new from the ashes of our vanquished dreams?
Let us not live in fear of death, or the little deaths that each of us will face as we walk together with Christ in our midst. Let us be willing to risk much for the sake of the world, and proclaim with our every word and deed the healing power of God’s love.
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