The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman's homily for Ash Wednesday, 2023 Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph

Deacon Bette will lead us in Morning Prayer with Communion Sunday March 5 at 10am

Memento Mori

Keep death daily before your eyes. That is what Saint Benedict wrote in his rule for monks. And early Christian monastics of all sorts found innovative ways to do it. Some took up a scoop of dirt from their eventual graves and kept it nearby. Some, in fact, slept in their coffins. Some built their own shroud, a few stitches at a time taken day by day by day throughout their adult lives.

These are memento mori. That is, reminders that they, we, and everyone are going to die.

In the Episcopal Church, we get ashes on our foreheads, but we only do it once a year. I’m not so sure that is enough. Indeed, I’ve really been struck this year by the understanding that many of our spiritual fathers and mothers taught that we need a daily reminder of our mortality.

I have long said I’m not afraid to die. I’ve lived a good life. Life doesn’t owe me anything. I know who I belong to and where I’m going… but not a clue, of course, as to what the next place actually looks like… Nevertheless, I’m not afraid to die.

At the same time, however, I struggle to conceive of the world without me. Maybe that’s because I’ve been pretty healthy all my life, but… somehow, it seems I’ll just go on and on, like the Energizer bunny! I cannot conceive of the world going on without me, but of course it will.

So consider a Lenten discipline of giving yourself a daily reminder that you are going to die—a memento mori. Make it real. Write about it in a journal, or wear something—maybe a skull pin or pendant, or an hourglass to remind yourself that time is running out.

And why? Why should we remind ourselves that we are going to die? Why make it a daily spiritual practice?

We already know at least some of the answers to that. We are all in this room old enough to have experienced death—not yet of ourselves, but of someone close to us. And we probably know that it does wonders for focusing our attention on priorities. When death is before your eyes, we know at least temporarily what is important and what is not important.

Perhaps keeping our own death daily before our eyes will indeed rearrange our lives, teach us to make better choices about how we spend our time, and our talent and even our money.

Keeping our own death daily before our eyes is also a way of healthy and appropriate letting go of those things that are so destructive to living a full and rich life. How much time will we invest in holding onto a grudge, stubbornly refusing to forgive, beating ourselves with regret… while contemplating our own death? Not much, I hope.

How about awaking us anew to the value of life itself and to the transient beauty that surrounds us? Like… trillium…

Earth's crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God; and only he who sees takes off his shoes. The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries. (E.B. Browning)

But if I look at the life cycle of a butterfly, eggs in foaming spit, hatching to worm, to caterpillar (chewing my passion vine into lace!) to silky cocoon, to a completely new creature of iridescent color that flies to the nectar in the flowers, lays eggs and dies, I see a whole of which I am a part. As are my beloved dead. Everything interconnects. I remember I am dust. (Suzanne Guthrie)

 Maybe keeping our own death before us helps us to be joyful, content and attuned to the present, to cherish every moment that we draw breath? To love God for God alone? For no other motive than to love for love’s sake?

Remember, you are going to die.

The Last Word: O Lord, may the end of my life be the best of it; may my closing acts be my best acts, and may the best of my days be the day which I shall meet Thee. (Muslim prayer)

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

 

The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman's homily for January 15, 2023

 

Come and See

Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph

Year A, Epiphany 2

Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42 

What a strange little conversation we hear in today’s Gospel story. “Come and see,” Jesus says, to two complete strangers. And they do. And the world changes, just like that. Not only for Jesus, and those two strangers, but for us as well.

We are in the season the church calls “Epiphany,” which means “showing forth” or “manifestation.” We celebrate not just any manifestation, but the great manifestation or showing forth of Jesus as the Son of God and savior, not just of the Israelites, but of the whole world.

Epiphany begins with the three wisemen from other parts of the world arriving in Bethlehem. They seek “the king of the Jews,” and upon seeing Jesus—at that point a toddler—they bow down and pay homage to him. By their actions, the three wisemen declare Jesus to be the King of All.

The Epiphany story continued last week with the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist. John himself recognizes something different about Jesus. He is hesitant to baptize this one, whom he says is greater than he. But Jesus prevails, John baptizes, and the universe speaks: This is my son, the beloved. None other than God manifests Jesus as the one and only son of the living God.

Today’s Eiphany story begins with a couple moments of great clarity on the part of John the Baptist. He is still preaching and baptizing on the banks of the River Jordan. He has baptized Jesus, the baptism itself was remarkable, but as yet nothing remarkable has come of it.

Now John sees Jesus approaching and loudly declares him to be the savior of the world. Still, nothing happens—at least nothing that the New Testament authors thought worthy of recording.

But the very next day, Jesus walks by John again, and this time—when John cries out his striking testimony, Look, here is the Lamb of God, John’s two disciples go off and follow Jesus.

Thus begins this strange little conversation that issues a real challenge to us today. It begins with Jesus turning to these two sketchy guys who have just walked away from the even sketchier guy—dressed in camel’s hair and eating locusts and wild honey and preaching hellfire and brimstone along the bank of the river—a truly sketchy guy… Jesus turns to the two following him and says, What are you looking for?

Well, that’s not an entirely strange question, although I would have probably been way less polite! But Jesus seems open to a reasonable explanation of why they are suddenly following him. So he asks, What are you looking for?

Here’s where it gets kind of strange. They do not answer. It’s a simple question, but they do not answer. Rather, they ask a question in return. Where are you staying? Not “where do you live?” which is what makes sense to me, but Where are you staying?

So it seems to me, first, that there was something enigmatic and compelling about Jesus, something they couldn’t quite put their finger on. I suspect they didn’t answer Jesus’ question because they just weren’t sure what they were looking for, only that Jesus seemed to have something to offer—something so powerful that they turned on a dime, so to speak, from following John to following Jesus.

Second, it seems to me that they also somehow sensed that following Jesus was a whole new ballgame. Whatever it was that they desired and that they thought Jesus had to offer, it was going to be a whole new kind of adventure. Jesus was not going to take them “home” to meet his wife or mother, or to some established carpentry workshop where he would learn the trade, or to the family farm or sheep herd where they would settle down and live happily ever after.

Later on in the New Testament we hear Jesus say, The foxes have holes and the birds of the heaven have nests, but the Son of Man does not have a place where He may lay His head” (Matthew 8:20). So I have to wonder if somehow these, his first two followers, sensed that from the very beginning.

Where are you staying? they ask. And now Jesus says the strangest but most compelling thing of all: Come and see. Come and see, he says, and invites these two strangers into his life.

Surely it is the kindest, gentlest, most gracious invitation into having one’s life turned completely upside down and inside out the world has ever known! Because that’s what it was. Those two sketchy guys quickly become a third when Andrew runs off to get his brother, and those three sketchy guys hook up with Jesus, and the consequence today is us—a whole bunch of sketchy guys and gals—looking to be followers of Jesus!

Here’s the two ways this story challenges us today. First, what are we looking for from Jesus? We’re here, in this church. So it is fair to conclude that we’re here seeking Jesus. (If we aren’t, then maybe we’re in the wrong place!)

I can only speak for myself, but I’m certainly looking for Jesus as a source of help and comfort in dealing with the challenges and concerns of daily life on planet earth. I’m looking for assurance of my own salvation. I’m looking for a refuge from the storm, and the older I get, the more I’m looking for safe passage to a better place—not soon, but eventually. Am I alone in that? No!

But here’s what I also know: Andrew, and his brother Peter, and whoever the third sketchy guy was… they got all of that, and more. Whatever they were looking for, they got way more than they bargained for. Their lives were turned upside down and inside out. At some point, the going got so rough that every one of them ran away from Jesus, because the way of Jesus is also the way of the cross.

So when Jesus says, Come and see, and we go, we are not just going to a place of comfort and reassurance, to a world of “what Jesus can do for me.” We are going instead to a place that can be quite discomforting and challenging. We are going to be stretched by our encounters with others. As we learn to love what God loves, we are going to suffer the pain of the world.

And here’s the second way, Jesus’ invitation challenges us. As the body of Christ in the world today, we are the ones called now to issue the invitation, Come and see. We are to be the bearers of the Good News of the love of God for all people and all creation. We are to be the ones to heal the sick, welcome the stranger, and share with those who have less.

Come and see. Every Episcopal church I know and love and serve in some way, wishes for more members. Maybe we’re even kind of good at saying, “Come.” But what kind of keeps me awake at night is, what if they do? What if people do, in fact, come? What will they see? A handful of folks focused on their own comforts and future? Or a sketchy bunch of Jesus followers seeking to do what Jesus would do? Loving their neighbors—and all that implies—in his name? That, my friends, is the most challenging question of all.

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

 

Schedule for January 2023 and Deacon Bette's sermon from January 1st, 2023

January 2023 service Schedule for Christ Episcopal, Saint Joseph:

Jan 8....Morning Prayer at 10am, Sam Corson

Jan 15...Morning Prayer with communion at 10am, Deacon Bette Kauffman

Jan 18...Holy Eucharist at 5pm, The Rev. Don Smith

Jan 22...Morning Prayer with communion 10am, Deacon Bette Kauffman

Jan 28...Morning Prayer at 10am, Tim Sessions

Deacon Bette's sermon:

What’s in a name?

In case you don’t remember, or have never noticed, the Hebrew Scripture—which is our Old Testament and is also part of Islam’s Koran—contains two creation stories. The first one that occupies the first chapter of Genesis is by far the better known. That’s the one that goes, “On the first day, God” did thus and such and on the second day God did other stuff, and so on.

I’m not sure why this story is more popular or better known. Maybe just because it comes first in the Bible, maybe because it is more detailed and satisfies our sense of order by enumerating God’s creation schedule.

In any case, the second creation story that occupies most of Genesis Chapter 2 gets relatively little attention. About the only thing most people recall from the second story of creation is that’s the one where God puts Adam to sleep and takes out a rib to make Eve. Sadly, not much good comes out of people remembering that because they tend to turn it into a rationale for a lot of nonsense about gender relationships! But.. we will not go down that rabbit hole this morning.

Something else happens only in that second creation story that I want to bring to our attention today. I’m reading now, Genesis 2:18-20a:

 Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.’ So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field.

 Today is the Feast of the Holy Name. Our Gospel lesson from Luke tells the story. On the 8^th day after his birth—to us, the 8^th Day of Christmas—Joseph and Mary take Jesus to the temple to be circumcised and named. And they name him “Jesus,” the name given Mary by the angel Gabriel. Jesus means “salvation.”

I connect these two stories—the naming of the animals and the naming of Jesus—to make the point that naming is a profound act. We call things into being by naming them.

Have you ever noticed that? That once you have a name for something or someone, it or they exist for you in a new way? That you see things you never noticed before once you have a name for them?

Here’ a small example. I went hiking yesterday in the Russell Sage WMA with several friends, two of whom are very knowledgeable about mushrooms. We were standing beside a fallen tree trunk covered with various fungi and I had photographed the ones I recognize.

That’s actually something I noticed about my nature photography. If I know the name of something, I am way more likely to make photographs of it. I love learning the names of all kinds of plants, animals and mushrooms, but I have to discipline myself to take pictures of them so I can then look through field guides and learn their names!

So… we’re standing beside this log and one of my knowledgeable friends said, “Look, this one is called ‘violet-toothed polypore.’” And I looked and sure enough, there they were. Little fan-shaped mushrooms with a purple rim on the side of the log. I had not noticed them.

What do you want to bet that next time I go to Russell Sage—or any other bottomland hardwood forest—I’ll see them everywhere! Because now I have a name for them. Violet-toothed polypore!

Naming matters. God invited the man to name the animals, and thereby called humankind into the role of co-creators. Throughout Hebrew Scripture, people and places are given meaningful names, that is, names full of meaning.

For example, “Moses” means “drawn out” because he was drawn out of the water by Pharoah’s daughter, and he goes on to “draw out” the Israelites from Egypt. Jacob names the place where he wrestles with God in a dream “Beth-el,” meaning “house of God.”

These names are not merely identifiers we need to keep characters and places straight. That’s kind of how we do names today. Rather, Old Testament names speak of calling and destiny.

“Jesus” literally means “salvation.” And that is who he is to us. That is his calling and his destiny. Of course, he has other names that point to other aspects of him: Prince of Peace, Counselor, to name just two. But his first and given name, from God the Father through the angel Gabriel, is Salvation. Jesus is our salvation.

And what a comfort it is to say the name Jesus and to know him as Savior, the one who brings salvation to us—not once, but over and over again, as often and as long as we need it, which is to say always and forever!

One of the several online sources I typically consult in preparing a homily suggests that we might want to “write the name of God above the new year,” mentally and emotionally, just as we might physically chalk the first initials of the 3 wisemen above our doorways on Epiphany: C + M + B (Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar).

Writing the name of God above the new year in our hearts and in our mind—and I did it in my journal last night—will then help us enter the practice of breathing the Holy Name so that it might eventually become one with the beating of our heart. This is a way to experience and understand what it means to “pray without ceasing.”

But if we leave it there, if saying the Holy Name becomes merely a comforting moment that wipes away our sin, if praying the Holy Name is merely an act of piety, then we have taken the name of Jesus in vain.

That’s the “boom” of this homily. The name of Jesus is not just the calling of a babe born in Bethlehem 2000 years ago. Claiming that name is a calling for us. To claim the name of Jesus is to do the work he has given us to do. Otherwise, we take his name in vain.

You probably don’t need me to enumerate once again what that work is. But I’m going to anyway. It is to love our neighbors—ALL of our neighbors—as ourselves. It is to heal the sick and feed the hungry, to give one of our coats to someone who has none. It is to see God in every other human face and all of Creation. It is to seek justice and the common good.

Let us pray, as we claim the name of Jesus today, that we will in the coming year walk the walk of service that claiming that name calls us to.

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

The Rev. Dr. Deacon Bette Kauffman

 Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph, January 1, 2023

[Year A, Feast of the Holy Name, Numbers 6:22-27; Galatians 4:4-7/Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 2:15-21]

 

Christmas message from The Rev. Alan Akridge, Saint Mark's Episcopal, Brunswick, Ga

[In case it is too cold for you to get out on this Christmas Eve day, here is a message from afar.]

Merry Christmas!

Dear Parish Family:  

Did you read what I read?  In the gospel above, the shepherd's respond strangely to the announcement that the savior of the world, the messiah, had been born.  Their response is peculiar because there's a catch!  They are told that the savior's  nursery is a BARN and his crib is a HAY TROUGH.  Their response is that they "...went with haste..."  

Do you think what I think?  If are like me, then you can admit that at least a small part of you would have scoffed at the announcement that the savior of the universe had been born in the local equivalent of Sterling behind the Friendly Express (nothing against Sterling or Friendly Express)!  

Do you hear what I hear?  But also if you are like me, then you can relate that THIS pattern is exactly how God works.  It seems God is always picking up the little people and turning them into Big People.  Moses was a criminal foster kid from a slave people running from the law.  David was the runt of the litter whose own dad almost didn't acknowledge him, etc. etc.   It almost seems as if God favors the ones that everyone else ignores.  

Do you see what I see?  Still, if you are like me, then you are a bit cynical about the announcement because the world seems too tragically broken to be fixed from a hay trough in no-where'sville.  It just doesn't make sense that a nobody with nothing is going to be able to save us all.   

But, and here's the  Amazing Grace, if you are like me, then you also see the GREAT GOOD NEWS reminder in every December 25th.  

This Good News is that the ultimate proof of God's power is precisely:

·  that even the smallest most vulnerable human

·  from the smallest most oppressed people

·  from a tiny nowhere town

·  who's parents aren't anyone special

Is STILL big enough to beat all the powers of darkness and all the brokenness under heaven and all the hurt that we cause one another.    

Then, amidst all this too-ing and fro-ing (like me) we'd all come to see  exactly what the Shepherd's saw.  

A child, lying in a manger, and saving the whole universe.

Merry Christmas,

Fr. Alan+

 [The Rev. Alan Akridge, Rector, Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Brunswick, Ga]

Deacon Bette's sermon from December 11, 2022, at Christ Episcopal, Saint Joseph

 

Choose Joy

Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph

The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman

Year A, Advent 3

Isaiah 35:1-10; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

 

Today is the 3^rd Sunday of Advent, the “Joy” Sunday. We celebrate this departure from the solemnity of Advent with a pink candle.

But for John the Baptizer in today’s Gospel story, “joy” is most likely not what he is experiencing. He is in prison. His preaching has gotten him there. You will recall from other readings of his story other Advent Sundays that even though he preached hellfire and brimstone to the religious elite of his day and called everyone to repentance, people flocked to him to be baptized—people, including Jesus himself.

At the time of today’s Gospel account, John did not know yet what we know—that he would not leave that prison alive. Nevertheless, I must believe he was anxious, perhaps a bit fearful. I must believe he knew his prospects were not good.

Because.. as he faces an uncertain future, he needs to know one thing—one thing… for certain. And so he sends his followers to ask Jesus for a definitive answer: Are you the one? Or are we to wait for another?

Before we look at Jesus’ answer, we need to consider the nature of joy. We humans have a strong tendency to think of emotions—like joy, happiness, contentment—as things we experience in response to… well, other things. Our lives are going well, so we are content. Our grandchildren are born; we experience joy. Our families gather for the holidays, and we are happy.

Moreover, we come to depend on these other things to bring us joy or happiness or contentment. We look to the world around us and wait for the feelings to happen.

Brothers and sisters, consider the possibility that joy is something we must choose, and we have good reason to choose it—regardless of what’s happening in the world around us.

Here’s how I came to that realization. A number of years ago—probably at least 17 years ago—I went on a mission trip with a small group of Episcopalians to the Dominican Republic. We met a woman missionary there who had arranged for us to work for most of a week cleaning and painting and getting an Episcopal day school ready for the school year.

Toward the end of the week, after we had finished our work for the day, our host took us to tour the community. And she took us to the most utterly poverty-stricken neighborhood I had ever seen, and to this day have ever seen. We drove down dirt streets. Trash was everywhere. Children played in the dirt and trash and weeds in front of houses built of scrap wood, rusty sheet metal, cardboard. Emaciated dogs scavenged for food. Open doorways and windows but no doors, no screens, no window panes.

I was haunted by what I had seen. We finished our work in the next day or two and caught our flight back to the U.S. But I couldn’t get that neighborhood out of my mind. I had not the slightest idea how to help, and I still don’t!

Oddly enough, very shortly after getting home, I was asked to speak at a “praise service” over at St. Thomas’. A group of lay folks were, at that time, meeting Sunday evenings for an informal worship of singing, prayer, and sharing experiences of God in our lives.

And within days of getting back from that mission trip, I was asked to speak at that service. I did not know what to say. I was still haunted by the utter poverty of that neighborhood. It weighed on me. I did not feel like singing. I did not feel like praising God. If anything, I wanted to chew God out for letting that happen—even though I fully understand that God is not responsible for the messes created by human societies.

I did not feel joy. And so, I told the story, and then I said what I am saying to you today: We must choose joy. Joy is not a feeling we get when good things happen, when the stars align, when our children behave and our spouse gives us just what we wanted for Christmas. Joy is a choice we make. Regardless of what is going on in the world, we must choose joy.

And why? Why must we choose joy?

Well, consider that Jesus’ response to John gives us a clue. His answer is classic Hebrew Scripture code: Look at the signs: People are healed. Their eyes and ears are opened. Good news has come to poor people.

In other words, Messiah is here. God is with you.

We choose joy because God is with us in this troubled and troubling world. We choose joy because no mess we humans have ever made is beneath God’s presence. We choose joy because we know that God has never and will never give up on us. We choose joy because we are God’s beloved, and that is enough.

Does that mean we are always going to feel joyful? Of course not. Does choosing joy let us off the hook of caring about a hurting world? Relieve us of responsibility for cleaning up the horrific messes we humans have created? Of course not. I’m not preaching this sermon to let us off the hook!

So here’s where I want to look back at the good news in John the Baptizer’s sermons. He preached repentance in no uncertain terms, and indeed people repented. In Luke’s account, the people then say to John, What should we do?

And John answers: If you have two coats, give one to your neighbor who has none. Share the food you have. He does NOT say, go create world peace. Solve the problem of hunger. Fix the broken political system.

See, it is easy to be overwhelmed by the troubles of the world. It is possible to be frozen in our tracks by seemingly insurmountable problems. It is tempting to do nothing because we know we can’t do everything. Sometimes we decide that we didn’t cause a situation therefore it’s not our job to fix it.

But where is God in that? Where is God in those truly human—but truly joyless responses to a hurting world and to our hurting neighbors? We are Christ’s body in this world. We must be the agents of the good news.

Choosing joy is choosing something deeper than the transitory emotions that come from those external events and situations. It’s remembering who we are and who we belong to—in spite of what is going on around us, and then sharing that good news in whatever ways we, individually and corporately, can. Choosing joy is making God’s love known to our neighbor however we can—remembering what Jesus taught us: That of those who have much, more is expected.

Brothers and sisters, do not sit around waiting for the feels. Choose joy, for the Lord our God is in our midst.

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

December services for Christ Episcopal, Saint Joseph, 2022

The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman sent a note with plans for our December services:

Dec. 11 – 10am with Deacon Bette Kauffman, Morning Prayer & communion

Dec. 18 – 10am with Sam Corson, Morning Prayer

Dec. 21 – 5pm with Fr. Don Smith, Wednesday evening Eucharist

Dec. 24 – 5pm with Fr. Paul Martin, Christmas Eve Eucharist

Dec. 25 – Christmas Day–no service.

The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman's sermon from November, 13 2022

 Where’s God?

I had the great fun and joy of spending Friday with my grandbabies. You might recall that I have two, a boy and a girl, born December 23, 2021. So they are rapidly approaching their first birthday. Jaxson, the boy, is walking. Madison, the girl, was born tiny and spent her first 48 hours in the NICU, so she’s physically a bit behind him.

Nevertheless, the two of them can get into a lot of trouble together already. So… Friday I’m sitting on the couch keeping an eye on them while they travel the living room together, Jaxson walking and Madison right behind with her odd but efficient crawl method.

Now I do not understand fully the fascination that draperies hold for kids, but soon they ended up on the floor with their heads behind the living room drapes that were just long enough to cover their heads and not their bodies. And so…. a game of peekaboo ensured.

I’m sure you know how it goes. I’d call out, “Where’s Jaxon? Where’s Maddie?” And they’d push back the curtain to reveal their faces and I’d say, “There’s Maddie! There’s Jaxson!” and they would giggle, and go back under the curtain for round… umpteen.

A childish game for sure. But this morning I propose that we are a lot like those toddlers when it comes to seeing God and being seen by God. One of the ways we are like them, is that we cover our faces and think we are hiding from God. Well, we aren’t, and at some level we know that. Nevertheless, we keep trying to hide from God. But that’s a different sermon, and I’m not going there this morning.

Here's where I’m going this morning: We wear veils over our faces—fairly thick ones—most of the time. And those veils prevent us from seeing God.

Remember that two weeks ago, I preached here at Christ Church about the story of Zaccheus. I said that he was seen by God and that it transformed his life. I didn’t mention it then, but, in fact, an historian of his time records that Zaccheus went on to become the First Bishop of Caesarea. Pretty remarkable: From despised tax collector to honored Bishop.

I also noted that Zaccheus, as well as the rich young ruler, and truthfully lots of people in the New Testament, met Jesus on the road into Jericho. And then I said, “I think there’s a lesson for us in there somewhere! If church is the only place you are looking for Jesus, you’re not looking very hard!”

Today I will say, if the only place you are finding God is in church, then that veil you wear over your face most of the time is blocking your view.

See, that’s what I think today’s Gospel story is all about: It’s about looking for God in all the wrong places. More accurately, it’s about looking for the limitless, unbounded, living God.. in limited, bounded, mortal places.

God does not need this building. Any more than God needed an elaborate “tabernacle” constructed of fine wood and gilded with gold to be carried across the wilderness by our early ancestors, the Israelites. God did not need the First Temple, built of fine materials by Solomon and decked out in gold and jewels. God did not need the Second Temple, begun by Herod the Great and under construction for 46 years.

Of course, God graciously met the faithful in those temples and continues to meet people of faith in all manner of temple and synagogue and church across the face of this planet. But God does not need these buildings. Every one of them will, one day, crumble to the ground.

We need them. We humans need the buildings. Or at least we think we do!

Because the limitless, unbounded, living God does meet us in these limited, bounded, mortal places. And it is good for us to take a shower, dress up nice, put on our best behavior and come to meet God here on a weekly basis. Good on us for doing that!

The problem comes when we confuse “a house of God,” like this church, with God’s home, which is the universe and everything in it, including us. We are the home of God! How many times does the Bible tell us that? How many ways did Jesus say it? The one I remember best is when he said, “The Kingdom is among and within you.”

So what is the nature of the veil we wear that leads us into the trap of conflating our “houses of God” with the constant and ubiquitous presence of God “out there” and everywhere we turn?

Well, I think part of it is we’re not so sure we want God everywhere out there and with us constantly. Maybe this sermon is a little bit about hiding from God after all! Because if God is everywhere and within me, how can I curse and flip a bird at the guy or gal who’s driving way under the speed limit in the passing lane?

More seriously, if the home of God is the universe, how can I continue a lifestyle that produces the almost 6 pounds of trash per day that is the average per person in the U.S.A. BTW, only about 1.5 pounds of that gets recycled. The rest of it ends up in massive, smelly landfills in God’s living room, and acres of trash clogging God’s—and our—water supply and tons of plastic in the bellies of one of God’s most extraordinary creations—the whale.

In other words, we really prefer to meet God primarily on Sundays when we are scrubbed and dressed nicely and on our best behavior!

I think another thing that contributes to our tendency to seek God here and not out there is fear. Because.. what if we really did see God in the face of all other human beings? How would that change our lives? We would have to give up our most fondly held prejudices, the ones we use to reassure ourselves that we are the “good guys” and those other folks over there who do not behave or think or value as we do are the “bad guys.”

In his letter to the Thesselonians, Paul says that people should work, and if they don’t work, they shouldn’t eat. I don’t have to ask for a show of hands to be pretty sure we all agree with that. But let us not get self-righteous about it, because our very agreement raises a question we would probably all rather avoid.

That question is, if we work so we can eat, why then do we have in the United States about 38.1 million people, that’s 11.8% of us, who are classified as “working poor,” meaning that they work—real jobs, essential jobs—but live below the poverty line. They make daily choices between food for the table and repairing the only vehicle they have to get to work, or between food and medication, or food and paying the electric bill.

The veil we wear over our faces that inhibits our seeing God everywhere, in the Universe and in everything in it, including our fellow humans, protects us from uncomfortable truths. It protects us from having to consider how we might need to change our own lives so to honor God’s creation and treat it justly and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Pulling aside that veil is not child’s play. It takes courage. As Jesus says, it will separate you from family and friends, who do not want to hear about the working poor, or how human behavior is destroying God’s creation at an alarming rate, people who prefer to keep the veil in place.

But there is also joy to be found in lifting the veil. It’s the joy of meeting God at every turn. As Jesus says, the joy of gaining your own soul.

In the name of God, father, son and Holy Spirit, AMEN.

(Year C, Pentecost 23, Malachi 4:1-2a; 2 Thesselonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19)