The Last Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 29B
In the name of God: who was, and who is, and who is to
come. Amen.
I remember growing up, when I would visit my grandparents,
and go to Sunday School classes or Vacation Bible Schools at the little
Southern Baptist Churches where my parents grew up, I always felt a little bit
shamed by my lack of knowledge about the “facts” of the Bible. The expectations of my peers in those
situations was that one should be able to rattle off any number of “things”
about the Bible: all the books in the correct order that they’re printed in the
Bible; all the books in alphabetical order; who wrote each book; where to find
any given book on a moment’s notice, without consulting the table of
contents. And there were “memory verses”
– things that you were supposed to be able to recite at any time: the 10
commandments, in order, of course; the beatitudes; lots of the
“one-liners”… We were expected to know
them, chapter and verse, inside and out – repeating them word for word,
regardless of whether or not we knew what they meant.
Needless to say, I was always at the back of the class. And, like I said, it always left me feeling a
little bit ashamed. That just wasn’t the
focus of the United Methodist Church of my upbringing. We had Sunday School and Vacation Bible
School – but we didn’t do the kind of “drill” exercises that were common with
the Baptists.
Now, all these years later, here I am – a priest, and I
still have to consult the Table of Contents if someone calls on me to find a
passage in Habakkuk. Truth be told, aside
from the 4 Gospels and Acts, the Psalms, the Torrah, and Revelation – I’d be
hard-pressed to find anything in the Bible without checking the instructions.
The assumption that was thrust upon me as a child was,
because I didn’t have the whole thing memorized – or at least the parts that the
Baptist Church told me were important – then I must not be taking the Bible
seriously enough.
While we don’t focus on those kinds of memorization skills
in the Episcopal Church, our patterns of worship show that we do, actually,
take the Bible – and its lessons for us – very seriously. The fact is, if you’d come to church every
Sunday this year, and for the few extra main services that we had on Christmas
Eve and Christmas Day, and the services of Holy Week, and the couple of
funerals we hosted here this year – you would have heard at least 236 Bible
readings in worship over the course of this liturgical year. That’s to say nothing of the Thursday healing
services and the nearly daily Morning Prayer that happens in the chapel each
week. While our focus is different from
some other churches, there is no doubting that we take the Bible seriously in
this church.
That came to mind for me last week as I was reflecting on a
spiritual exercise that we did at the beginning of the Vestry Mutual Ministry
Review last weekend. We were called to
consider where we see ourselves in the stories of the Bible. We asked ourselves, what was some character
in a parable, or in the life of Jesus, or somewhere else in our sacred texts that
resonated with us and our own experiences of life? Where could we find ourselves in this story
we take so seriously?
In reality, that’s some of what I’m trying to do every week
here from this lectern – I’m trying to guide us through a process of seeing
ourselves in the story; of seeing that these stories – no matter how old or
from how far away – still hold truths for us as Christians, even today.
But Pontius Pilate tried to turn that process upside down. “Are you the King of the Jews?”, he asked him. He was trying to figure out how Jesus fit
into his story. It couldn’t have occurred to him to wonder
how he fit into the story of
Jesus. Jesus’ answers could be heard as
sarcastic – as if he were avoiding the question, if that’s how you wanted to hear
them, but I’ve always heard his answers with a tone of patience and
compassion. He wasn’t so much trying to
avoid answering, as he was trying to get Pilate to see the different frame he
represented.
“My kingdom is not from this world.” Our understandings of kingdom and rule and
freedom and punishment, and even death are simply fundamentally different from
one another.
Jesus came, not to find his way into the stories we’ve
written, but to write a new story altogether.
The point of Jesus’ life and ministry was not to help us fit in better,
in the narrative of the world, but to rewrite the narrative in a way that would
help our own lives fit in better with the imagination of God.
Now, as we end another year of reading and hearing and
studying and reflecting, it’s worth taking a step back and asking, where did
you see yourself this year? We keep
going out of our way to encounter these stories because we do believe that
they’re still important. We believe that
we are among those people that Jesus talks about as “belonging to the truth”,
and so we keep listening.
Every Sunday, one of the real gifts I have in serving as
your priest is standing at that altar and leading us through the celebration of
the Holy Eucharist. At the words of
institution, I raise the elements, first the bread on its paten, and then the
wine in its chalice. As I lift that cup
each week, I’m blown away again every time, when I realize that I can see
myself in it, along with the other ministers of communion standing at my sides. I always imagine what it must look like from
the other sides – reflecting each of us, in our own ways from our own positions
and perspectives – but all a part of the common cup; all a part of the common
blessing, and the common story. When we
lift the things of our communion up to God, we’re lifting ourselves up to God,
too.
It's a physical representation of the spiritual truth found
in our worship each week.
I can’t imagine that I’ll ever ask you to memorize chunks of
the Bible. I won’t quiz you or drill you
on how quickly you can find obscure passages.
The fact is, I’d be willing to bet that many (if not most) of you could
beat me in those games. But what I will
ask of you is to take these stories seriously.
To practice seeing yourself in them, until it comes as easily as seeing
yourself in the mirror-finish of the chalice.
As we begin another year, remember that you’re in there, too
– in every passage we read and every story we tell. Whether or not you’ve memorized the words, God has written you in. Amen.
Comments