The Rev. Canon John Bedingfield's sermon for February 21, 2021

[There will be NO in person service at Christ Episcopal today, Feb. 21, 2021 due to the inappropriate weather we have experienced here in our usually comfortable neck of the woods.]

Jesus, “was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts, ….”  That is all the author of Mark’s Gospel tells us about what happened after Jesus’ baptism.  And that couple of phrases tells us very little about what went on in the wilderness.  

Mark tells us the Jesus was “driven” into the wilderness, where he spent forty days.  The Greek word used for “driven” is the same one the author uses when he tell us about what Jesus did to the evil spirits that inhabited some of the people.  So Jesus was “compelled, or driven” out of his world, into a place where He was cut off from everything.  And He had to survive without the community.  Like Moses, who wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, Jesus also had to learn to rely on the grace of God for His very life.

So Jesus was in the wilderness, driven away from all of the people and things that he knew, without food or water, surrounded by wild animals, for over a month.  Think about the 100% human Jesus, and what a physical, mental, and emotional toll this must have taken on him.  He must have been absolutely miserable by the end.  Let’s face it, being in the wilderness is no fun!

This week, we in the South were part of the huge swath of the country that suffered through a winter storm of epic proportions.  Although most of Louisiana did not suffer as badly as did Texans (who were burning their fences, or furniture, to stay warm) we did go without electricity for a while and potable water for even longer.  And all of this in the middle of an ongoing pandemic.  So I started to think about how much this is beginning to feel as though our whole nation has been driven into the wilderness, for a time of testing that seems never-ending.

Back in the dark ages of the 1960s, I grew up in a middle-class household, with two parents (and for several years, two grandparents) in the home.  During my elementary school years, we were not rich, but we also never wanted for anything.  That is, if we needed something, we got it.  We went to church every Sunday — and I do mean every Sunday.  If you weren’t on death’s doorstep, you got out of bed and went to church … at 7:30 in the morning no less.  There were always adults around to be role models.  Sure, sometimes they drank too much, or swore too much, or got a bit loud.  But in the large, extended community in which I grew up, all of those adults were good people.  They were not physically, mentally, or emotionally abusive — not to each other, and not to any of us kids.  I was absolutely blessed to grow up in a community of people who were trying their hardest to follow Jesus and have a good time doing it.

In school, I was never the most popular, the most handsome, the best athlete, or any other “best” or “most.”  But I was always a part of the group.  I always found a way to fit in and be accepted.  That skill came in handy, because after my father reached a certain level in his corporate career, we began to move every few years, as his promotion progression demanded.  So I went to quite a few schools in my career.  And during only one year did I feel like an outcast.

When I was in the eighth grade, we were living in Northern Virginia, outside Washington, D.C.  It was 1969 and racial tensions were still running high after the riots in D.C. in the aftermath of the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  That was also the year that our school district finally ran out of appeals and had to comply with the Supreme Court’s 1954 school desegregation decision in Brown v. Board of Education.  So, in September, I got on a bus and went across town to what had been the historically African-American Junior High.  I went from the 1968 school year in an all white school, to the 1969 year, in which I was one of the 10% white population with a 90% African American majority.  Over the course of that year, I began to feel what it means to be driven out of my familiar community and into the wilderness.

The minority were treated by the majority in that school, exactly the way these same students had always been treated by a white majority in Virginia society.  We were constantly treated as “less than,” the other students.  We were looked down upon and pushed around — both physically and emotionally — by everyone with whom we came into contact.  I was threatened with physical violence, strictly because of the color of my skin.  And it took a toll on my psyche as the year wore on.

My eighth grade year was very much like a year in the wilderness.  I was removed from the community support that I had known.  The rules by which I had always thought that life operated, had changed.  During my school days, I had no group of friends, as I had always had.  Instead, when I looked around, all I saw was folks who resented my very existence.  Not to compare myself to Jesus, but being in the wilderness is being in the wilderness.  And following in the footsteps of Jesus, means trying to handle situations the way He did.  

Being in the wilderness for 40 days was a learning experience for Jesus.  He learned about the importance of being deeply connected to the Father of all.  He learned about true, deep trust in the Father — trust so deep that he “knew” the Father would keep Him alive and healthy until his wilderness time was over.  And He almost assuredly learned what His mission in the world would look like, from that time forward.  

Wilderness time is never very pleasant.  What makes it wilderness time is that we are suffering some sort of deprivation.  But there is not much that can sharpen our ability to learn, more than spending time in the wilderness.

I am grateful that the 1969 school year resulted in some positive lessons.  Rather than retreating to my own “white side of town” and becoming resentful of those who were treating me badly; I was able to talk with a couple of my teachers, one white, one black, who helped me understand that none of this was about me.  They showed me that this was built up rage that was finding an unhealthy release.  I lived through a wilderness time and learned empathy for people who had suffered in ways that I had never before even considered.

America in 2021 seems to be in a never-ending wilderness time.  We are as politically polarized as at any time since the Civil War.  As a country, we cannot even agree on what is truth and what are lies; what are facts and what are opinions.  We have a pandemic that has now been going on for over a year, with businesses shuttered and almost half a million of our sisters and brothers dead so far.  And last week we had winter weather that locked us down and continues to increase our sense of deprivation.  One way to see this is as hopeless.  Another way to look at it is, we are in the wilderness and can learn valuable lessons from it.

As a nation, we need to see what lessons are there to be learned from 2020-2021.  What have we done that brought us to this place and what can we do to avoid it in the future?  Those are national conversations that need to happen, using agreed upon facts as their basis.  But we, as individual Christians, can learn lessons as well.

Like Jesus, we can use our wilderness time to learn to trust God.  That doesn’t mean that we should just sit back and do nothing, while we wait for God to intervene and solve our problems.  Instead, it means that we should trust that God is God and we are not.  And God has given us all the tools we need to solve our problems.  We just need to learn to use those tools the same way Jesus did — with love of God and humans — after going to the Father in prayer.

In the name of one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

[Lent 1B 022121, Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25 or 25:3-9; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-13]

Ash Wednesday service 2021

There will be NO 2021 Ash Wednesday service in person at Christ Episcopal, Saint Joseph, due to our inappropriate weather.

You may join Bishop Jake Owensby for our 2021 Ash Wednesday service following information provided in the these links:

Diocesan Facebook link:  (15) The Episcopal Church in Western Louisiana | Facebook

Order of the service:  Ash Wednesday Order of Worship – Jake Owensby

The Rev. Canon John Bedingfield's sermon for February 7, 2021

In the name of one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

In the pandemic, when we’re all stuck in front of the TV, we tend to scour the channels for something new.  Recently I saw numerous shows (both documentary and drama) about David Koresh and the Branch Davidians.  Believe it or not, it has been over a quarter century since that fateful standoff, outside of Waco, Texas.  Having been a news junkie living ninety-nine miles from Waco when all of that was going on, I got interested in all of the retellings of this story, now that we all have perfect hindsight.  But that is not why I bring up the Branch Davidians today.  Stay with me for a few minutes and we’ll see if I can tie the phenomenon of David Koresh with today’s Gospel message.

In today’s passage from Mark, we heard that:

Jesus left the synagogue at Capernaum, and entered the house of Simon … (whereupon he healed Simon’s mother of a fever). 

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons.  And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

In the morning, … (Jesus said) “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

This odd, short passage tells us something very important about Jesus and His earthly ministry.  

He had Godly power.  After His instantaneous healing of Simon’s mother-in-law, He either healed or cast out demons from nearly everyone in Capernaum.

But this passage tells some other things too:

Jesus recognized that the people were coming to Him only for the healings.  That is: they were not really hearing His message.  And certainly they were not being transformed by what He was teaching them.  That is one reason that He silenced the demons.  If the people were not going to get the message from Jesus’ teachings, then He certainly did not want to leave it to evil spirits to explain to them who He was.

And He left Capernaum so that, as He said, “I may proclaim the message (in other places) also; for that is what I came out to do.

You see, the healings and the casting out of demons, those were what John’s Gospel refers to as “signs.”  The healings and feedings and other miraculous acts were not the reason that Jesus came to earth.  They were the opening act.  While they brought comfort and betterment to people’s lives, they were, in essence, just a signal for people to look up and pay attention to the real message … the message of gracious love and eternal life that comes from knowing and following Jesus.

This little passage from Mark tells us that Jesus was acutely aware that His miracles were not the story – the glory of God was the story.  And if people did not internalize the real story, they would run the risk of worshiping the “miracle-working-man” rather than God Incarnate in Jesus.

There have always been preachers, prophets, and miracle-men who seemed so out of the ordinary, so charismatic, so outwardly special, that people flock to them.  These leaders take small, insignificant gaggles of people, or moribund congregations and bring amazing growth to them.  Suddenly there is new life and conviction in the place.  There is a sense of mission and a banding together of the community – working with one purpose toward a single goal.  But here is where it gets tricky.

If that unified goal is anything other than the spread of the Good News of Jesus Christ; if the message is anything other than, as our Presiding Bishop has put it, bearing witness by our very lives, to the unconquerable love of the God we know in Jesus; if the goal of any preacher, prophet, or miracle-man is anything other than that, problems inevitably ensue.

Vernon Howell, later known as David Koresh, preached Armageddon.  He preached that he – Vernon, or David – was the Messiah, the Christ returned to earth.  And he believed, or at least he convinced his followers, that that title gave him the right or the duty to forego preaching love and redemption, in order to punish those who “deserved” punishment and reward those who “deserved” reward.  Unfortunately, as with all self-proclaimed, latter day messiahs, the absolute power that he claimed over his followers made him into a despot who took advantage of his people.  Who punished many and praised few, ultimately leading them to die rather than betray him.  Whether you believe that David Koresh was a deluded “true believer” or an able con man, either way, his story ended just as most such stories end, in tragic loss of life and shattered dreams.

Koresh believed in himself and his avowed “expertise” in a book of the Bible that was never meant to be read literally, by anyone, ever.  He neither espoused, nor lived the love of all human beings that is the hallmark of Jesus Christ.  And that is why he failed in his self-defined mission.  But it does not have to be as dramatic, nor as tragic as the Branch Davidians, or the Jim Jones People’s Temple in Guyana.  There are other, less dangerous, but in some ways equally sad examples around us all the time.

How many of you have seen or heard about a church – maybe even an Episcopal church – that gets a new leader, in our case we usually call them rectors, who comes in and makes a huge splash, only to have the congregation later disintegrate?  I bet that you all have.

I know a priest whose personality is bigger than life.  When he enters a room, particularly a room with a stage or platform in it, he dominates the whole room.  He is outgoing, gregarious, smart, funny, and always entertaining.  He has natural charisma, but over the years has honed that charisma into a razor sharp tool.  Everywhere this priest goes, the average Sunday attendance, the membership rolls, and the budget all swell.  One of his churches almost doubled all of those numbers in the first two years that he was there.  I hear you out there.  “Where is this guy and how do we get him to come here?”  Exactly.  That is what has happened to him throughout his career.  But there is a distinct downside to bringing him, or one of many like him, into any congregation.

Now please do not get me wrong.  This is a man of deep faith and love for our Lord.  But here is the thing.  When he preaches, when he celebrates the Eucharist, when he teaches, and when he leads other programs, Jesus is a part of what is going on.  But the priest and his aim of making that congregation the biggest and best it can be … that is the real agenda.  And it comes out in his rallying of everyone to “his program,” and to “his way” of doing things.  The central focus of his congregations slowly shifts away from “bearing witness by our very lives, to the unconquerable love of the God we know in Jesus,” to “getting everyone on board.”

When this priest leaves, as all priests inevitably do, his congregations crater, and within a year or two, go back to the size that they were before he arrived, or maybe even a little smaller.  And then, because they had such huge expectations, their old size does not seem good enough anymore.  And even the dedicated, long-term people of the congregation leave because they are disillusioned.

You see, when it is about the miracles, or when it is about the man who shows you the miracles, it is never about God.  When it is about God, it is never about the person who leads you.  When it is about God, it is about transforming your life; it is about, “bearing witness by your very life, to the unconquerable love of the God you know in Jesus;” it is about proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; it is about seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself; and it is about striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being.

No attendance figures, no budget minimums, no litmus tests, or must-achieve goals; being the Episcopal Branch of the Jesus Movement is never about anything other than the love and life of Jesus, and trying to live as He did, all day, every day.  That is work enough for all of us.  And it is what Jesus was striving for when he healed and cast out demons.

Amen.

[Epiphany 5B Sermon 020721, Isaiah 40:21-31; Psalm 147:1-12, 21c, 1 Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39]

The Rev. Canon John Bedingfield's sermon for January 31, 2021

In the name of One God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

In Harper Lee’s wonderful book, and almost equally wonderful movie, To Kill A Mockingbird, Atticus Finch is an authority figure.  He is a lawyer in the poor, small town of Maycomb, Alabama, during the Great Depression.  Atticus is one of the pillars of the town and someone whom the townspeople, by-and-large know and trust.  In other words, when Atticus Finch speaks – whether they agree with him or not – people listen.  And the first part of the story deals heavily with establishing Atticus’ level of authority, both at home and in the town.

Twice in only seven verses, the author of Mark’s Gospel tells us that the people were astounded and amazed that Jesus taught and acted, “with authority.”  Clearly for Mark, Jesus’ authority was an important thing, and one that the congregation members in today’s Gospel story had never seen until that day.

The people in the synagogue at Capernaum that day had no idea who Jesus was.  Mark tells us in previous verses that Jesus had just begun His ministry by choosing His first four disciples, who lived in Capernaum.  Jesus wasn’t a local boy.  He had just gotten to town from Nazareth.  So, when he began to teach that day, he came to the people as an unknown quantity.  But as soon as He started to teach, they “were amazed.”  Jesus taught them “as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”  That was a real difference for the people, even though the scribes were the men who had been trained in the Scriptures and were given the job of teaching them about their faith.  Mark wants us to understand that Jesus’ teaching was a new experience for a people who had been previously taught by trained experts.

In my days in the courtroom, I saw some of the best, and some of the worst trial lawyers in Texas.  I sat across from some very good ones and some very bad ones, but I also spent countless hours in the gallery – the place where “the audience” sits – waiting for my turn to go before some judge.  Through those experiences, I learned that there are very real differences between lawyers.  Some will out work and out prepare their opponents every time.  Others will never be prepared, no matter how much time they have or how important the matter they’re handling.  But there are also some (a small number to be sure) who have a God-given gift when they step inside the bar.  They do their jobs with authority and with authenticity.  And it makes a difference.

If you’ve ever been into a real courtroom, you may have seen these same things.  One lawyer gets up before the judge or jury and has a whole stack of papers and file folders.  Methodically, he or she goes through each one, asking good questions or making good arguments, in a very measured and careful way.  And inevitably you’ll find yourself falling asleep, halfway through their presentation.  Then the other lawyer gets a turn.  This person begins to speak, either with few – or no notes, and you find yourself riveted; captivated by every syllable, waiting to find out what is coming next.  One of the main differences between these two is that one presents the case with authority and one does not.  One knows which files to reach for in order to find the pertinent fact, the other knows, and has lived, the case.

The Scribes knew what the Scriptures said.  They knew where to find every law in Leviticus and Deuteronomy.  They knew where to look to find what the prophet Isaiah had said.  But Jesus knew the God from whom all the Scriptures had come.  “The Law,” of Scripture was written on His heart and the Prophets spoke words that Jesus didn’t have to look up, He knew the God who had spoken the words to them.  The Scribes taught the Hebrew Scriptures, Jesus was the Scriptures.

People were – and are – drawn to Jesus, not because of the miracles He produced.  Sure, the miracles made people gasp and show their awe, but in the long run, the miracles were signs, not events.  They were signs of who Jesus was, signs of where His authority came from, signs that the things He taught, said and did were true – were authentic.

One hundred and forty-odd years ago, the Bishop of Rhode Island, Thomas March Clark wrote a book entitled Primary Truths of Religion.  In it, Bishop Clark wrote this about Jesus:

The great evidence of Christianity is Christ.  And He authenticates Himself.  The most natural solution of His life is the supernatural.  The truths which He uttered were not truths which He had learned; He was the truth.  The works, the wonders and signs, that He performed, were the natural development of His superhuman power.

Thomas March Clark expressed the amazing power of Jesus that the people of Capernaum saw – Jesus’ supernatural authority; that which drew people to him as if by magic so that they could experience who God really is, just by being around Him.  

Here is where Atticus really distinguished himself from even the most gifted and authoritative of lawyers.  Not only was Atticus an authority figure around town, but when Tom Robinson was being unjustly charged with rape, Atticus got down into the middle of the racially heated situation and faced danger with him.  And probably more importantly, when Jem was injured in Bob Ewell’s attack, Atticus stayed up all night, sitting by the boy’s bed, looking after and caring for him.  He did not send anyone else to be a caregiver, he got into the middle of the suffering and helped to bring healing.

Atticus is a Christ figure in To Kill A Mockingbird. And this is one of the areas where that fact shines through brilliantly.  You see, Jesus did not just authoritatively teach the people about Holy Scripture or what God had said and done in the past.  When the man with the unclean spirit came in, Jesus left his teaching and went to interact with the man … He got down into the man’s misery with him.  And in the process, Jesus brought the man healing and wholeness.  Jesus – whom Mark has introduced as none other than “Messiah” and “Son of God” – is also one who confronts and responds to human suffering and need.  Even though Jesus has an exalted title, he wades into human misery.

We are naturally drawn to people who speak, “as one with authority,” because they have an authenticity that makes us believe that we can trust what they say.  That authenticity comes from “living” what we are talking about.  In other words, if I stand here and talk to you about the art of hunting deer or catching fish, you’ll likely tune me out, even if you really care about the subject matter, because you will be able to tell that what I’m telling you came out of a book, or from someone else’s experience.  It won’t authentically be my story.  But when I stand here and tell you about the power of Christ Jesus, resurrected and living in the world; hopefully you will hear authenticity in my telling.

I have read a lot about our Lord – his life, his teachings, his ministry.  And I can tell you lots of Jesus stories.  But what might move you is when I tell you how Jesus has moved in MY life.  That is an authentic experience of the one who taught with authority.  We all have those stories, the stories of everyday miracles that can only happen through the living God.  

Have you ever had something that happened in your life that was just beyond your life experience?  Something that was simply unexplainable?  Perhaps a lost pet – or friend – just suddenly returned.  Or maybe a tumor “disappeared,” between doctor visits.  Maybe it was something as ordinary as a relationship being healed after a long time of estrangement.  Each one of those things can be brushed aside as, “just one of those things,” or a coincidence, or “good luck.”  But if you believe that God created everything that is, and that God is active in the world, those would be everyday miracles.  And I will guarantee that if you tell someone your story, and include how you felt when God acted in your life – that will be an authentic explanation of God.

Now share your authentic stories of God.  That’s how we deepen community, and how we create new disciples for our Lord.  

In the name of one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

[Epiphany 4B Sermon 013121, Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalm 111, 1 Corinthians 8:1-13; Mark 1:21-28] 

The Rev. Canon John Bedingfield's sermon for January 24, 2021

The Old Testament reading this morning comes from Jonah.  We all “know” about Jonah, right?  I say, “Jonah” you say, “Whale.”  Everyone who was raised in any biblical tradition was taught as a child, the story of Jonah.  But, do you know how Jonah ended up in the belly of the great fish?  Or what happened after he got out?

Jonah lived in ancient Israel, probably sometime around the 8th century BCE, so almost 3000 years ago.  One day God called on Jonah and told him to go to Nineveh, one of the principle cities of Assyria, a very powerful enemy of Israel’s in what is today Iraq.  Now God told this ordinary guy to go to one of his nation’s enemies and preach repentance to them.  How do you suppose Jonah responded to this call from God, “out of the blue?”  Right.  Jonah said, “No way!”

Not only did Jonah refuse to go to Nineveh, but he got on a boat headed in the opposite direction, to Tarshish, or modern-day Turkey.  God gave Jonah a difficult and potentially dangerous job to do, and Jonah went 180 degrees in the wrong direction.  While Jonah was sailing toward Turkey, a terrible storm blew up on the Mediterranean Sea.  As all of the sailors worked to try to keep the ship afloat during the storm, they were calling out to each other – “Pray to your gods!”  Each one prayed to whatever god he worshipped and the storm continued to get worse.  So the sailors went below and woke Jonah up – he was sleeping through the storm – and they said, “Where are you from and who is your god?  Pray to that god to save our lives.”  Jonah told them that he was an Israelite and that his god was the God of all creation.  And he told them that he was running away from God.  Then Jonah volunteered for the men to throw him overboard because then God wouldn’t want to stop them, once Jonah was off the ship.  Ultimately, they did as Jonah suggested and the storm stopped.  Then Jonah was swallowed up by the big fish.  And guess what?  After three days in the fish’s belly, Jonah repented and apologized to God for running away.  Then the big fish spit Jonah out, right on the shore of Nineveh – where God had called him to go in the first place.

So, in this morning’s reading from chapter 3, we heard Jonah doing what he had been called to do, preach repentance to the people of Nineveh.  And it worked.  Chapter 3 tells us that Jonah’s preaching made the people repent, all the way up to the king of Nineveh, who called on the whole kingdom to change its ways.  And then Jonah rejoiced in the Lord, right?  No.  Then we find out that Jonah was angry with God, because God chose to spare Nineveh after everyone repented.  Jonah didn’t want his preaching to be the successful end to things, he wanted to preach repentance and then watch as God carried out a fiery judgment against the city.  So the book of Jonah ends with God explaining God’s penchant for mercy, while Jonah sulks.

Jonah was called by God to do something that he really did not want to do.  He refused.  Then God made things miserable for him.  In his misery, he repented and did what he was called to do.  Then God made the way clear and Jonah succeeded in the mission to which he had been called.  That story, as they say in priestly circles, will preach.

As I’ve told you in recent weeks, we are all called by God.  How things turn out is a matter of hearing that call and then responding to it, positively or negatively.  When we ignore God — or worse yet, say, “no” — life tends to be difficult.  But when we say yes — either reluctantly, as Jonah did, or easily, as did Simon, Andrew, James, and John — things seem to work out.  Saying yes does not mean that we will have no more problems, it just means that God’s mission will be furthered in the world.  And we will be a part of it, with God’s help.

Seminary professor, Will Willimon told a story about a student he had who, like me, was a “second career” student.  She had been a social worker for years before hearing a call to ordained ministry.  He said that she was terribly disorganized and never was able to turn in her work on time.  At the end of one particular semester, Dr. Willimon had warned all of his students that the final assignment had to be turned in on time, or there would be dire consequences.  As usual, the problem student did not have her work completed.  She told the professor, “I really would love to have gotten this done on time, but there were several other classes that required so much work.  I just couldn’t finish yours on time.”  Willimon had finally had enough and he exploded!  “You have got to do something about your inability to be on time.  What is going to happen when you’re in a church and you step into the pulpit on Sunday and say, ‘I really would love to have gotten a sermon written for today, but what with everything else going on, I just couldn’t.’”?  He said that she immediately yelled back at him, “Back off!  Do you think that I like things being this way?  I’m not here because I’m the world’s best student.  I’m not here because I’m well organized.  I’m here because this is where Jesus called me to be!  It was not my first choice to go to seminary, Jesus called.  So if you have a problem with my being here, take it up with Jesus, not me!”

Have you ever been called to do something that you absolutely did not want to do?  When I first heard the call to ordained ministry, I did everything I could to avoid it.  I was only three years out of law school and it was definitely not the time to go back to school.  So, to try to push the call aside, I signed up for every ministry I could in our large church, trying to satisfy a general call to serve.  But my sense of call just got stronger, as I got busier and busier.  Finally, there was something called Stephen Ministry, in which one goes through pretty extensive training and then is paired with someone who needs one-on-one spiritual care.  I was convinced that this ministry would do it, once and for all.  I wanted no part of personal, one-to-one, intimate ministry.  So I signed up for this thing that I definitely did not want.  And as always happens when one finally follows a call from God, I was blessed by Stephen Ministry in ways that I never could have imagined.  And becoming a Stephen Minister gave me the impetus to stop running from the call to ordination.

What are you being called to?  What is Christ Church being called to?  To the work of Jesus.  And the work of Jesus is love.  Love of all sorts and conditions of humans.  Feeding them, clothing them, comforting them.  Doing all that we can to meet their physical as well as their spiritual needs.  Not judging them, or treating them as somehow deficient because they need help.  Instead, as our baptismal covenant says, striving for justice and peace, and respecting their dignity.  That is the work of Jesus.  We are all called to do it in every way we can.

We can run from God’s call.  We can try to “fake God out,” by doing something else, like Jonah.  Or, also like Jonah, we can just say, “I refuse.”  But if we choose that course of action, we will have a hard time.  We will struggle, almost like we are pushing a boulder up hill.  But when we emulate those first disciples of Jesus and simply leave whatever we are doing to follow the call, Jesus will bless our work and will make us a part of the miraculous wonders being done by the God of all creation.

In the name of the God of love, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

[Epiphany 3B Sermon 012421, Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 62:6-14, 1 Cor. 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20]

The Rev. Canon John Bedingfield's sermon for January 17, 2021

It has happened to almost all parents at one time or another.  You wake up out of a “sound” sleep, to a baby crying, or a young child calling your name.  You groggily get out of bed and rush into the other room, only to find the child fast asleep.  Either your baby was crying or calling out while asleep, or you dreamed that you heard the call.  That must have been what it felt like for Samuel in this morning’s Old Testament reading.  But what Samuel heard was neither Eli sleep-talking nor a dream.  Samuel heard the very real voice of God, calling him to something new, exciting and scary.

In the story of this call from God to a young boy, we hear an interesting tale.  You see, Samuel lived his entire life up to that point with Eli, the Chief Priest of the Temple at Shiloh.  Samuel’s mother, Hannah was unable to have children.  Her husband Elkanah’s other wife had numerous children.  And she incessantly made fun of Hannah.  So, one year when Elkanah and his family made their yearly pilgrimage to the Temple at Shiloh, Hannah prayed with great emotion and fervor for God to give her a baby boy.  Eli, the old priest saw her and tried to kick her out of the Temple because, in her rocking and wordlessly moving her mouth while praying, he thought she was drunk.  She assured him that she was sober, just emotionally torn up.  Hannah told Eli about her prayer and her promise to dedicate her son to God’s service; and the old priest told her that God would grant her prayer.  That is exactly what happened and Samuel was born.  And unlike many people who make promises to God under duress and then forget the promises, Hannah kept her word God and dedicated Samuel to serving God.  So as soon as he was weaned, baby Samuel went to live in the Temple.

We take up the story this morning when Eli was old and almost completely blind.  Samuel had lived with him as a son, and that is important to the story because Eli had two biological sons, Hophni and Phinehas.  These two were priests of the Temple under their father and they turned out to be perhaps the worst priests ever.  Anything the people brought to the Temple as an offering to God, Hophni and Phineas would steal for themselves.  They also had inappropriate relationships with some of the women in their congregation.  In other words, Eli’s sons used their positions of trust to increase their wealth and to get what they wanted.  And maybe just as bad, Eli did nothing to stop Hophni or Phinehas from their sinful ways.

With all of that as background, the story begins with Samuel sleeping in the room with the Ark of the Covenant – a sign to the readers that God was physically present in the room.  The author of 1 Samuel tells us that Samuel didn’t yet know God – he had not yet spoken with God.  Then there was that strange night ….

Samuel awoke to hear someone calling his name.  “Samuel!  Samuel!”  The young boy got up from his bed and went in to see what Eli wanted.  When Samuel said to Eli, “Here I am, for you called me,” Eli groggily responded, “I did not call you, my son.  Go lie back down.”  It reminds me of the sleeping aid commercial a few years ago, where the man has insomnia.  He tosses and turns and finally turns on the light.  His wife is lying next to him, asleep and he whispers, “Honey.  Honey, are you awake?”  She opens her eyes and in an exasperated tone says, “I am now!”  That’s the way I imagine Eli would have been the first – and especially the second time Samuel woke him.  “Eli, Eli, are you awake?”  “I AM NOW!  Go back to bed, kid!”

But the third time that Samuel went in to see if his defacto father had called him, even the blind old priest finally saw what was going on.  Eli, the priest who was so blind that he didn’t recognize that Hannah was praying rather than drunkenly ranting; Eli, the priest who was so blind that he couldn’t see what his own sons were doing to the people of God; the priest who was so blind that, once he learned how his sons were stealing from God, could not see a way to stop them; this same Eli finally had vision enough to recognize God’s call to Samuel.  Eli is proof positive that God can use any of us to do a good thing.

Eli told Samuel to answer God and to listen to what God had to say to him.  And Samuel did.  That night, a young boy became a prophet for God.  Samuel became one who listened to God and then warned people about what God had told him.  On this first occasion of Samuel hearing God’s call, it must have been very exciting for him, but also very scary.  You see, God told Samuel that God was going to cut off Eli and his household from the family of God; that because of the evil and blasphemous actions of Eli’s sons, and because Eli had not stopped them.  Nothing would be able to bring reconciliation between God and Eli again.  And Samuel had to lie back down and consider all of that until the morning, when Eli asked what happened.  Samuel then had to accurately relay all of the horrible news he had been given by God, to the only father he had ever known.

That’s the thing about calls from God.  They rarely come when or how we expect them; even less often if we try to make them happen.  God calls us in all kinds of ways, at all kinds of times – but it is always on God’s time, not ours.  And the other thing about calls from God is that they don’t necessarily tell us what we want to hear.  Instead, they tell us what we need to hear.  

God calls us because God has a job or a message that is particularly suited to us and our abilities (even when we don’t recognize those abilities in ourselves).  God calls when God knows that we are ready – even if we have no idea that we are.  And God calls with instructions that may seem counter-intuitive, if not downright ridiculous to us.  But if we test those calls against someone like Eli; and if we faithfully listen and answer God’s call, the result will always be the same – a vision of something amazing.

In this morning’s Gospel, after Jesus calls Nathanial, Jesus tells him something that we would do well to remember.  “‘You will see greater things than these.’  …  ‘Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.’”  In other words, Jesus was saying, don’t be blown away by the simple things like the ability to see you when I was not physically with you; don’t think that it is spectacular that God knows where you are and what you are doing; rather, if you listen for, and answer God’s call – becoming a faithful disciple, you’ll be truly amazed by the wonders that God does, in your life and the lives of those around you.  

Last week I talked about the fact that we are all children of God, adopted into the household of God through our baptism by water and the spirit.  If that is true – that we are all children of the same God, inheritors of the Kingdom – then we all have the same rights, duties and responsibilities as did Jesus and the early Disciples.  It is our duty to listen for God’s call and to respond faithfully – even when the call is for something scary, like telling your father that God is no longer with him (like Samuel); or serving God in a brand new way, as Nathaniel did.  

The same God who the Psalmist says numbered the hairs on our heads, and who mysteriously knit us together in our mothers’ wombs knows our hearts and our minds.  That God will not let us go off in the wrong direction if we are listening and trying to be faithful.  Each of us will be given our own Eli – a “sometimes blind” old priest, or someone else with more battle scars than we have – to advise us on our call.  We are all called.  Our job is to listen, and to check to ensure that the call came from God, rather than a dream, and then to move to faithfully answer the call … whatever it is.  

In the name of one God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

[Epiphany 2B Sermon 011721, 1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20); Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17, 1 Corinthians 6:12-20; John 1:43-51]

Christ Episcopal, Saint Joseph, annual meeting: January 24,2021

        Our Senior Warden, Mr. H. T. Goldman, has set our annual meeting for January 24, 2021 immediately following the 10am service.