Embodied Vulnerability

Presentation of Our Lord
Sunday, February 2, 2025
St. John’s Episcopal Church, Ashfield, MA

²² When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, [Mary and Joseph] brought [Jesus] up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord ²³ (as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), ²⁴ and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”
²⁵ Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. ²⁶ It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. ²⁷ Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, ²⁸ Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,
²⁹ “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word;
³⁰ for my eyes have seen your salvation,
³¹ which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
³² a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel.”
³³ And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. ³⁴ Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed ³⁵ so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
³⁶ There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, ³⁷ then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. ³⁸ At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.
³⁹ When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. ⁴⁰ The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him. – Luke 2:22-40

Many of you are probably familiar with the old story that goes around about a Christian who is facing a looming disaster – often the story is about rising floodwaters at his house. He prays to God to be saved. Along comes a car offering to help him evacuate before the roads are cut off. “No,” he replies, “God will save me.” The waters continue to rise and he continues to pray. Leaning out a window he sees a boat go by, and the people in the boat offer to rescue him. Again, “No, God will save me.” The floodwaters reach the roofline and terribly desperate, the man climbs onto his roof, praying all the harder. A helicopter comes by to rescue him. “No! God will save me.” Finally he is consumed by the floodwaters and arrives in heaven asking God, “Why didn’t you save me?” God replies, “What do you mean?! – I sent you a car, a boat, and a helicopter!”

Now usually this story is told as a bit of a mockery of the man who missed God’s practical interventions in favor of waiting for some supernatural fix that is more clearly – in his mind – divine intervention. Those of us who grew up in certain faith traditions, like the Episcopal church among others, that have long had an emphasis on God’s embodied action in the world, might easily fall in the category of those who are smugly judgmental of this silly man caught in the flood.

And yet, I wonder…how many of us have missed moments of God’s saving grace placed right in front of us because it didn’t match our expectations of what God can or should be doing?

What makes the presentation of Jesus at the temple one of my favorite biblical stories is that Simeon and Anna, through the wisdom earned by years of life experience, or years of prayer, some innate sensibility, or some combination of the above, recognize the divine salvation embodied in front of them in a tiny newborn infant. I am struck the by the faith it requires to see God’s salvation fully realized in this moment when very little has been revealed about what lies ahead.

Growing up I imagined that they had been somehow granted a holy vision of what was to come. If not the full picture, then some clear understanding of what Jesus would become, how he would die and be resurrected, and how this incarnation of God would transform the world. As an adult, I think…well, maybe that could be the case.

More and more, though, I am drawn to the dimensions of God’s salvation that are already fully realized just by God inhabiting a vulnerable human body. Not by any means to discount all that is to come and the importance of our being an Easter people. But that we have a God who takes on vulnerability and weakness, a God who joins the weak and disempowered ones, a God who gives priority to the stranger, the widow, the orphan, and the oppressed – that in and of itself is salvation.

I think that’s what Simeon and Anna see. Maybe they are primed because they themselves inhabit bodies that have become more vulnerable with age. Though they carry deep wisdom and a lifetime of prayerfully nourished spiritual depth, they know, too, the fragility of life and the impermanence of being embodied creatures. They recognize that an infant, though full of possibility, is vulnerable just by virtue of being at the other end of the life spectrum. This, this infant who cannot even sit up much less walk or talk or feed himself, this is God’s salvation, now, in this moment. This is holy.

We sit now, as we honestly always have, in a world that defines itself by power over others, by success measured by physical strength and financial wealth. We are in a time when the struggle to be in control outweighs the collective work toward a common purpose. We are in a time when winning is celebrated and losing is mocked. Even as many of us ask what we can do to counter that kind of power, we, too, are deeply steeped in the culture of power and all too often contribute to its misuse.

In the midst of all that God comes to be embodied among us. God is embodied among us in the immigrant who is dismissed because they do not speak the dominant language or do not have the right papers. God is embodied among us in the people whose homes and schools and hospitals have been destroyed and whose loved ones have been killed as nation-states fight for land and resources and power. God is embodied among us in fragile ecosystems already tipped far out of balance and species on the brink of extinction. God is embodied in the very young and very old and the ones society has written off for their illness or for their different way of existing in the world. God is embodied among us in those who have lost their jobs and lost loved ones. Here is a hard one for me – God is embodied in those with whom we vehemently disagree, for they, too, are God’s beloved creations. And dear people of God, I dare say God is embodied here, in you and me, broken people imperfectly seeking to live out our faith and transform the world toward God’s kinship community here on earth.

That is a risky move on God’s part, because all the people I just listed including you and me are vulnerable. Some even more extremely so than others. And God chooses not only to love us all deeply anyway but to be physically present in that vulnerable space with us, in us.

I think as we figure out where our calling is in this moment – in any moment – we would do well to model ourselves on Simeon and Anna, prayerfully looking to discover what God is doing. I do not mean that we ought to be passive and simply pat ourselves on the back for identifying God’s presence in very real suffering. But I do think we do well to approach every situation with their openness to the unexpected presence of God. I suspect that too often God shows up in our lives in ways we miss or dismiss.

I find myself too often convinced I know what God is up to. I have lots of opinions about how the church should meet the needs of the 21^st century. I have opinions about how our society might run better. And those all get in the way at times of my seeing God’s salvation, of recognizing God’s transforming love showing up in my life and the life of the world around me. When I stop and listen, when I honor the humanity of the person before me, when I try to remain open to connection, those are the moments I most often find myself caught up in the work of the Divine. Whatever the circumstance, I long always to pause to recognize the face of God in the person in front of me.

Wherever we find ourselves in that this morning, God is embodied here – in this gathered community and in the bread and wine we share. In the Eucharist we experience again the body of Christ made vulnerable to our human need, broken apart that we might be joined together. It’s that feast that might again open our eyes to the presence of God unexpectedly appearing in our midst.

I share with you in closing the words of a hymn but Lutheran pastor and poet Susan Briehl. In the stanzas she highlights for us that God’s way of being in the world turns things upside down, the ways that God shows up often counter to what we expect – with glory in the ordinary, power in weakness, beauty in that which is despised, wisdom in folly, and ultimately life found in death:

(As the text is copyrighted, I share it here as a video and the text can be viewed here: https://digitalsongsandhymns.com/songs/6547)

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Wicked?

3rd Sunday after Epiphany
January 26, 2025
St. Andrew Episcopal Church, Longmeadow, MA

Worship at St. Andrew was streamed to Facebook here: https://fb.watch/xnYyC1DvNs/

¹ All the people [of Israel] gathered together into the square before the Water Gate. They told the scribe Ezra to bring the book of the law of Moses, which the Lord had given to Israel. ² Accordingly, the priest Ezra brought the law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could hear with understanding. This was on the first day of the seventh month. ³ He read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and the women and those who could understand; and the ears of all the people were attentive to the book of the law. ⁵ And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was standing above all the people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. ⁶ Then Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, “Amen, Amen,” lifting up their hands. Then they bowed their heads and worshiped the Lordwith their faces to the ground. ⁸ So they read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading.
⁹ And Nehemiah, who was the governor, and Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep.” For all the people wept when they heard the words of the law. ¹⁰ Then he said to them, “Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared, for this day is holy to our Lord; and do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” – Nehemiah 8 (selected verses)

¹⁴ Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. ¹⁵ He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.

¹⁶ When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, ¹⁷ and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
¹⁸ “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
¹⁹ to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
²⁰ And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. ²¹ Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” – Luke 4:14-21

My family and I are big fans of the musical and now motion picture Wicked, nominated this week for 10 Oscars. I have always liked it, but a few years ago my daughter really, really got into the music, which we now know by heart in our respective assigned parts. Besides the delight of magic, the wonderful costumes, and well-composed music, there is something absolutely captivating about the story.

In some ways, that because it’s an intentional retelling of an older story. The old Wizard of Oz story has clear good and evil and the wicked witch of the west is the enemy who must be destroyed. The good witch, Dorothy and her crew, and the residents of the land of Oz all join forces and defeat the enemy, sending Dorothy home, getting the heart’s desire of the lion, the tin man, and the scarecrow, and all live happily ever after.

In Wicked, however, though it opens in the context of this rejoicing at the death of the enemy, the whole narrative shifts as we come to understand Elphaba, the so-called wicked witch, as a marginalized outsider who cannot seem to control her passions and her rage at injustice. Over time she tries over and over again to right wrongs from outside the system sometimes with unintended disastrous consequences. And we meet Glinda the so-called good witch who presents as bubbly and shallow, but who underneath has and further develops deep empathy and kindness and tries to fix things from within the halls of power, sometimes also with unintended consequences. The two are forever changed by their unlikely friendship which develops in the face of confronting the Wizard, who, we discover, is just a simple man trying to do good but radically messing things up in the process. The characters are all just so…human.

It’s an saying, but still true – history is written by the victors. Who you see as the hero in the story depends on who you are and where you sit in the narrative. Wicked highlights that in delightful ways, inviting us into different perspectives on the story, different points of view, and ultimately a story about being deeply human.

So, beloved ones, much as I love to talk about Wicked, what I really want to ask is what story do we have to tell as the people of God in this time and place? How will we tell the story of our life with God?

Today we have two scripture stories that are themselves about the story-telling. In the too-rarely quoted book of Nehemiah, the Hebrew people are gathering again in Jerusalem. Decades ago their kingdom was split and ultimately defeated, their temple destroyed, and many of their people sent into exile in a foreign land. They now find a remnant gathering again at what they hope will be the beginning of their rebuilding. They are not gathered to create and action plan and start rebuilding. First they gather to tell their story. They read the books of the law, the Torah, the story of God’s coming again and again with promises and covenants and new life in the face of slavery, exile, destruction, and death. They tell the story of God walking with God’s people. The story of God with us. The story of imperfect people stumbling along the path of faith with a God who never tires of walking with them.

I cannot help but think of the people facing the rebuilding of their whole lives after devastating wildfires in California, after any of our natural disasters, or the smaller scale but no less devastating individual losses that come to our lives. In the face of this destruction I’ve seen people blaming God, blaming government officials, insurance companies, fire prevention methods; arguing about how much is related to climate change. We are looking for a story of fault. We could tell this story as one of right and wrong, good and bad, saved and not. While there are clearly things to learn and things to do differently in the future, I wish instead we could tell the story of God with us, with all of us, in the challenges we face that are beyond any of our capacity to overcome.

Though hardly the same thing, you here at St. Andrew are also facing a rebuilding after a challenging few years of COVID, rebuilding, and the departure of your priest. You are standing at new threshold of what comes next. And part of the question you are being called to ask is how you’ll tell your story? Is it one of heroes and villains? One of winners and losers? Of success or failure? Or is it a story of how God has been with you as you travelled the long, winding, and often difficult journey of faith together as a community? Where have you seen God at work in the midst of hard moments? Where have you experienced God’s grace in this place and out in God’s wonderful world?

That’s the story we have to tell about where we’ve been.

Fast forward several centuries from Ezra and Nehemiah to another congregation gathered to hear the stories of God’s people. The hometown boy turned preacher is prepared to share the word of God. Jesus unrolls the scroll of Isaiah. “Today! Fulfilled in your hearing, good news for the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, the oppressed set free, and here, now, is the year of God’s favor.” He is telling the story of God’s liberation of old, those centuries of stories of God’s people living their lives of faith and telling it in a way that brings it to the present moment and invites them into a new way of living going forward. It’s not a story only of the past, but a story of God working miracles then and there in the presence of Jesus.

I think that is in part what Bishop Mariann Budde of the Diocese of Washington was speaking in her now well-known sermon from this past week’s national prayer service. She called for unity based not in superficial niceties or political posturing but in the dignity of all people, honesty in public and private discourse, and humility to recognize our own fallibility. She quoted Solzhenitsyn, “The line separating good from evil runs not between states, nor between classes, nor between political parties, but right through every human heart.” We are in a time – by which I mean not this week, this month, this year, but this millennium when injustice reigns, where people are pushed to the margins, where people’s lives and livelihoods are at stake. And we can tell a story of heroes and villains – one in which we the tellers of the story are inevitably the heroes and the other people inevitably the villains. We are surely sometimes participants in God’s liberating work, sometimes the ones being set free, and sometimes, too, the ones who oppress others. But what Bishop Budde spoke was the story of God’s call for mercy that resounds not just today but in every age. In all the years to come, part of our story as baptized people of God is to call forth that good news to the poor, release to the captive, and the setting free of the oppressed in ways that allow us to see God’s bringing that to life in our own community.

And so again I turn to you, beloveds of God at St. Andrew, how will you tell the story of the people you are becoming in this moment? Are you people focused on what you once were or where you’ve been? Or are you a people curious to see what new thing God is setting free in your midst? You are a people through whom God has accomplished a great deal in this past year – your church school, your creative arts ministry, your adult formation, your fellowship, your music and worship life, your support of the community through Lydia’s Closet, and so much more. Are you a people who tell the good news not just of a thriving parish but of a place where people encounter a living God who has the power to transform our lives, breath life into our bones, and gather us to resurrection here, now and forever? Because the ministry is not about St. Andrew’s successes or failures, but about experiencing God’s breaking into the life of our community and doing something new.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I fail to tell the story in that way. Sometimes I’m stuck – stuck in a story that is too simple, a story that is ultimately divisive or makes me and my side out to be the hero. Or I despair because I see the ways I fail to live out the values I believe or the liberation I long for or simply just fail to achieve what I intend. Sometimes I’m still in the black-and-white that begins the Wizard of Oz movie or the black-and-white thinking that persists in that story even when technicolor sweeps across the screen. But we are a people of a God who brings a new story to life, one full of beautiful complexity, broken humans swept up into God’s incredible work of liberation for all creation, and the opportunity always to live into new life after death.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Mom, Really?!

2nd Sunday after Epiphany
January 19, 2025
Trinity Episcopal Church, Milford, MA

¹ On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. ² Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. ³ When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” ⁴ And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” ⁵ His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” ⁶ Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. ⁷ Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. ⁸ He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. ⁹ When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom ¹⁰ and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” ¹¹ Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. – John 2:1-11

I know it’s a cold winter weekend, but my mind is on vacation. I’ve been starting to plan a family trip for April school vacation week. Since my father’s death several years ago, my mom has joined my husband and daughter and I for some kind of trip together every year. It’s a wonderful time together, we share the costs, rent a place where we can cook our own food, and visit some interesting destination near or far where all of us can enjoy something fun. I look forward to it every year.

But…if you’ve ever traveled with family, you probably know that no matter how wonderful and how much we look forward to the time, there are inevitably moments of conflict. Whether it’s with a spouse, a child, a parent, a friend – it’s rare that I’ve taken a trip without at least one moment of conflict. Too hungry and irritable about where we’ll eat dinner, judgy about how someone else is packed in a tightly shared space, introverts over-stimulated and extroverts longing for more engagement, or just general bickering when sharing close quarters and there’s lots of togetherness. I’ve noticed that even though my mom and I have a fantastic relationship, talk regularly, and see each other often despite living several hours drive apart, when she’s with us on vacation there are moments where I suddenly revert to being a rebellious 18 year old wanting to make my own way, thank you very much.

So I’m feeling sympathetic to Jesus and to his poor mother as they attend the wedding of some dear family friend at Cana. No doubt Jesus is looking to be there on his own terms as a fully grown adult, despite what must be plenty of connections to people who still see him as the precocious 12-year-old boy who ran around playing among them. They are well into the multi-day celebration when his mother comes running up to him, “Do something! They are out of wine!”

This would be considered a bit of a crisis at many a celebration – not enough of whatever the guests need. But there was a particular culture of hospitality that would bring shame on the couple and the family and even perhaps foreshadow bad luck for the marriage ahead. Mary, of course, knows her son and knows something about the divine presence in, with, and under his humanity. Even so, it is a little unclear the way John relates the story to us just what it is Mary expects Jesus to do.

Besides, Jesus is not ready. Whatever his reasons in the moment, Jesus is suddenly again the rebellious teenager again – “Ugh. Moooommm…. What is that to me and to you?!” And Mary, squelching the anger at his response and channeling her mom energy, turns to the servants and tells them “Do what he tells you.” Jesus, now committed by his mother, has no choice but to come up with a plan on the fly. I imagine with a big sigh, he commands the servants to fill the water jugs. And so happened the first of his signs, done at Cana in Galilee, revealing his glory, and instilling belief in those who witnessed it.

I hope I am not offending anyone’s piety by imagining the scene this way. Please know that I do so with a deep reverence for the full humanity of Jesus as much as the full divinity of Jesus. And because it just feels so deeply relatable to be trapped suddenly back in a pattern with our families that we thought we’d long overcome.

This is what we do, right? We suddenly let out on the ones closest to us the burdens we carry of stress at work or at school, our anxiety about health, our grief about what has been lost, our fears about the future. All of that weighs on us, and sometimes it’s the ones we love the most that get the brunt of our frustration. Perhaps because of that deep love we are suddenly confronted with something in ourselves that we don’t actually want to see. So we blame, lash out, or shut down, we return to old patterns where we push each other’s buttons. We don’t mean to, we don’t – hopefully – set out to hurt anyone. But we do. We’re human. And in this little exchange between Jesus and his mother we see a bit of their closeness of relationship and their humanity.

One of my ongoing challenges as a person of faith is to actually lean in to God with that same kind of deep and abiding trust. To actually fully trust God to be in charge, fully trust God to lead me out of tough spots. That’s a trust that Mary models in this moment. Not in a pious, well-worded prayer or in a well-thought out process of partnering with God in the work of ministry. Just in everyday relationship, one so close she can call him out to be fully himself, close enough that he can bristle a bit about the well-work pattern, close enough that she can keep rolling even when he is brusque in return.

We long for that kind of closeness with God. And perhaps some of us some of the time find that kind of closeness. The kind of closeness with which we can bring our deepest yearnings, fears, hopes, and also just the ordinary stuff of our days. And what a gift that is in those moments to be in relationship with a God of such abundance, a God who transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, who joins us in our celebrations, who desires for us abundance and joy.

But there are times, sometimes much of our lives even as people of faith, when we fail to lean fully into that level of trust. Maybe you find yourself in one of those times now. We are in a time when the world is in turmoil – perhaps you know people devastated by the wildfires in LA, perhaps you know people who have ties to the devastating violence in Israel and Gaza or to violence that happens in cities and towns closer to home. Maybe you are living your own grief at the death of a loved one or at illness and aging that strips away parts of ourselves, or things are clouded by anxiety or depression. Maybe you are simply exhausted from trying to hold things together. And all of us are in a time when churches as institutions are struggling to make ends meet and the future of our ministries requires a different kind of investment than we know what to do with.

While these difficult challenges will sometimes bring us to deeper faith, often they leave us feeling the weight of scarcity, of not enough. The wine has run out. What will we do?

Here, I think, is of the deeply beautiful things about this story: very few people know what happened. The servants, Mary, Jesus, perhaps a few of his brand-new disciples. But nowhere does it indicate that anyone else is in on the mysterious sign. The lowly ones – they are invited to see. But everyone – everyone! – present at the party gets to experience God’s abundance. They aren’t all aware. Many of them will miss, at least for now, the deeper things this sign points to about Jesus and the presence of God in their lives. But they experience the abundance all the same.

So come again to the table of mercy. Experience today God’s abundance poured out for you – the body of Christ the bread of heaven, the blood of Christ the cup of salvation. Bring your deep faith and your wildest doubts. Bring your passionate energy for your faith and your tired and weary souls burdened by sorting out life and ministry. Bring it all to this table, and wherever you are, whoever you are, experience the abundance of God.

It is no magical solution to all your problems. While it may draw you closer into that deep and abiding relationship with Jesus, that also will not magically solve all your problems. But it will call you into God’s abundant life where God comes again and again to be close with you, to be in relationship with you, to love you into new life.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Offering of Gifts

Epiphany (transferred)
January 5, 2024
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, East Longmeadow, MA

Livestream recording: https://www.youtube.com/live/9AlABEqYAko?si=iwrlh5a5Sp6uBnRs

¹ In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, ² asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” ³ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴ and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. ⁵ They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
⁶ ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.’ ”
⁷ Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸ Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” ⁹ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰ When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹ On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. ¹² And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. – Matthew 2:1-12

Perhaps by now you, too, have seen some version of the comic that goes around from time to time. The magi show up to greet the child king they have journeyed long and hard over months of difficult and dangerous terrain to honor. Mary is a little taken aback. The magi present their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which Mary accepts graciously. And in various forms the punch line is a grumble that something like diapers, infant formula, and onesies would have been a little more helpful to Mary.

Of course the gifts are meant to honor a king, show royal privilege. Centuries of interpretive layers have connected the gifts to a foreshadowing of the significance of Jesus’ death, where his body will be anointed and placed in the tomb before the glorious resurrection morning. But the comic points out the kind of incongruity that often marks some of our most beloved scripture accounts.

Here royal priests, astrologers, mystics – people of some kind of status and privilege journey many miles to discover that one they seek is in some humble abode – perhaps some temporary dwelling between the stable of the night of the birth and the couple’s journey back to Nazareth or in flight to Egypt. They discover the star has led them not to the palace where they stop first but to some no-name family with no resources to speak of. Perhaps even more surprisingly they don’t turn around and go home, questioning their star charts and their better judgment, but instead they trust the leading of the star and somehow recognize in this infant something special. They leave gifts of tremendous value and leave it seems, forever changed.

This story always invites so many questions for me, but one recurring question is what gifts I might bright were I in the shoes of the magi. If I were to be drawn by something so mysterious and astounding that I would leave my home for months and offer a significant part of my resources, but didn’t quite know what I would find when I got there, just what would I pack?

This is in fact a fundamental question of our lives. What do we have to offer? How is it that I honor God and neighbor and add value to the world? That’s a core identity question for us. Sometimes, it feels hard to answer. Hard to know if what we’ve done in work, for our families, for our community is enough to make a difference, even though we deeply want to offer something that does.

What would you pack if you were called on a journey to honor an unknown new king? Your best clothing to wear for the occasion? A check from your retirement savings? A lavish gift purchased and wrapped exquisitely? What is appropriate for such a king that gets a star formed at his birth? What gift do you have to honor the one who formed you and made you and sustains you?

I am reminded of a poem that was first shared with me by the bishop who ordained me, Bp. Margaret Payne. The poem is by Billy Collins and it’s about a man recalling having made a lanyard at summer camp to give to his mother:

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Sometimes I feel like that with God and with what I have to meet the needs of the world. What can we possibly offer back to the creator of all things? What is enough? What is appropriate? God is perhaps the kind of recipient that would be glad were we to use our time and resources serving someone in need in lieu of spending money and time on shopping for things. After all, what could we give that God does not have? But even there, how should we do that? How can we serve others in a way that honors their and our common humanity and dignity and works to bring equity and justice and lasting peace? I know that I only, at best, have a small piece to offer in that work.

And yet, here we are, fellow people of God meeting here this morning on the road. We have been called to follow Jesus. Some light has drawn you. What have you brought with you today to offer Jesus? What gift do you have to present?

Maybe you know. Maybe you have discovered that place where your god given gifts and passion meet the world’s need. Maybe you bring administrative skills or capacity to teach others, the gift of making others feel welcome or the gift to see a vision for the way forward. Maybe you bring a skill – carpentry or music. Maybe you have time and willingness to work hard. Maybe you bring joy to others. And maybe you don’t know in this moment what gift you have to share.

But this is the thing about God as a recipient of gifts. God really just wants you, exactly as you are. Wants to see you flourish, see you experience joy, wants to be present with you in hard times. The journey sometimes is long and winding. The encounters put us sometimes in places of risk. The gifts we feel we have don’t always seem to match the needs we face. And yet, God takes our lanyards – the things that seem incomparably small in comparison to the need, and transforms them in to the healing of the world.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Christmas in the Chaos

Christmas Eve
December 24, 2024
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, East Longmeadow, MA

¹ In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ² This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. ³ All went to their own towns to be registered. ⁴ Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. ⁵ He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷ And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
⁸ In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹ Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹ to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” ¹⁶ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. – Luke:2:1-20

It is beautiful, holy chaos, the Christmas story. Noisy. Messy. Chaotic.

Despite our caroling to the contrary, and the images we have cultivated of warm glowing light and gentle music floating on the air around the no-crying baby Jesus, Christmas is always a story of God working in the midst of messiness. We read it every year in the Christmas story itself.

The gospel of Luke puts this story squarely in the middle of political tension, an attempt to count and tax the people while Caesar Augustus and the Romans occupy Judea and Quirinius was governor of Syria. A tense ceasefire that is not what we would call peace. Fear reigns. Those who rule, rule by might, power, and wealth.

In the midst of the tension, a young couple makes a journey. The lodging is full, nowhere to rest their heads. One imagines people’s homes full of friends and family up late celebrating together, or fitfully sleeping in too-close quarters. Mary and Joseph end up in the place where the animals sleep. And every creature was stirring including the mice.

Then Mary gives birth, no quiet process. It is painful, laborious work. It is fraught not just with anticipation but also fear and anxiety, all the more so in the ancient world with no real medical care to speak of should something go awry.

Into this chaotic environment Jesus comes into being. Growing slowly unnoticed by all but Mary whose womb is active and nourishing the growing child, even as they travel to Bethlehem. And then! Jesus is born! And immediately …… well, actually not much happens immediately. Jesus is born and yes, the star. The heavenly choirs appear, but only to a few shepherds. No one else really seems to notice the birth of salvation for all creation. The chaos of the night, the chaos of the whole era continues on, mostly oblivious to what God is up to. The beginning of Jesus’ story, no matter how beloved it has become to us over the century, changes very little at first.

This is so often the nature of God coming into the world. Not a sudden and dramatic entrance. Not thunderclouds and booming heavenly announcements to everyone under the sun. No sweeping solutions or cosmic retribution to right all wrongs. Just quiet birth, heralded to a few of the lowly ones. Birth that will take time to grow. Time to flourish. Time to unfold into something that transforms the world. And even some decades later when Jesus’ story reaches an end on the cross and another new beginning three days later, much of the world has yet to take notice.

Beloved of God, our lives are lived in a messy kind of chaos. Our world is full of violence between nations and between neighbors. We are in a time of partisan political tension. Far too many people live without access to basic needs. Our own lives are filled with twists and turns and transitions that upend our plans and leave us grieving or uncertain. As we gather as a church, with family or friends, or in simple celebrations on our own, we long for Christmas to be a momentary pause from all that chaos. And yet, those moments, too, are often fraught with family tensions, food that doesn’t turn out just right, travel delays, disappointments, and sometimes just ordinariness. The griefs of loved ones lost and opportunities missed come bubbling up for us at the holidays.

Yet God is birthing something new among us. Maybe this Christmas we will be among the blessed ones to be invited to come and see, to notice some new thing that God is beginning. Or perhaps we will be like the multitude on that first Christmas, not yet aware of the new thing God is raising up among our chaotic and troubled lives, not yet aware that God is slowly, quietly, purposefully among us and growing. We remember tonight that aware or not, God is always entering our world in ways that will upend the brokenness of the world and transform our lives toward God’s justice and peace.

I pray this Christmas finds you moments of comfort and joy, blessing and community, moments of excitement and moments of peace. But the chaos around us and within us will continue. This year will bring what it will bring for the world and for each of our unpredictable lives. And in the midst of it all, noticed or not, God will be working new things. God will be bringing new things to birth. God will be in our midst, joining us in the holy chaos and leading us toward the day when God’s peace will reign in all creation.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Travels with Jesus

Reign of Christ Sunday
November 24, 2024
St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, Worcester, MA

³³ Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” ³⁴ Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” ³⁵ Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” ³⁶ Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” ³⁷ Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” – John 18:33-37

One thing I absolutely love is travel. It almost doesn’t matter where – I love getting to know a new place. Even coming from Chicopee here to Worcester, a city I have been to many times, but to you all here at St. Matthew’s for the first time – it’s a new place, a new experience. But wherever it is, I love planning for travel, I love the travel itself – especially if it involves airplanes, and more than anything I love experiencing a new place and a new culture. Being in a new place helps me think differently about the world, see things in a new way. If the language of a place is different, that, too, gives a new perspective. The way in which food is prepared. The natural landscape that so often shapes the culture in interesting ways. All of it is the chance to experience something new, and always I take something I’ve learned from being in a new place and carry it with me when I return home.

I have a long list of places I want to visit and experience and learn from – probably more than I will get to in my lifetime. And today’s gospel reading has caused me to add one more to my list. I sure would like to travel to Jesus’ kingdom. In fact, I’d be glad to emigrate there permanently. But I have checked Google maps and Google flights and found no such destination.

“Of course!” you might say. Jesus tells Pilate – and reminds us – that his kingdom is not of this world. And our confession of faith includes God’s promise that in the end God will resurrect us and all of creation into a new heaven and new earth. But I am anxious to travel. I want go and at least experience this now, even if just for a brief journey. I want to at least visit for a while a place where there is justice and peace among all people and the dignity of every human being and all of creation is honored and respected.

Because we live in a world that is not yet God’s reign of justice, peace, and dignity for all. We live in a world where people rise up against one another with violence. We know of places around the world where war rages – in Palestine, Gaza, Israel, and Lebanon; in Ukraine; in Congo and Sudan; in Myanmar – and so many other places. We know the violence that exists in our own backyard – deaths from gun violence and violence in our neighborhoods. We know the deep divisions in our nation that play out among neighbors, sowing seeds of division. I was reminded this week of the fragility of our lives as several colleagues or their family members were diagnosed with serious illness or were mourning the loss of loved ones. Lord Jesus, your kingdom come! Or at least let us come visit for a respite from a world of pain and grief.

That’s what fascinates me about this interaction with Pilate and Jesus. Yes, this is a tense political moment. Yes, Jesus’ claim of kingship is a threat to empire. Yes, the stakes here are high and violence will be the result – Jesus knows it will be violence against his own body. Pilate knows there will be violence no matter his decision. All of that is true, but when I read this on this Reign of Christ Sunday I can’t help but think about a genuine longing to understand just how we find Christ’s reign on earth.

Jesus makes clear in his conversation with Pilate, that this kingdom is not shaped and won by violence. Earthly kingdoms, large or small, function by some level of military might. If it were a kingdom of the world, Jesus says, his followers would be fighting for him. Instead God’s kingdom emerges in our midst whenever we actively work against violence. When we take whatever strategy is needed as a nation to cause the least harm in order to bring justice and peace. Whenever as individuals we take a pause and honor the person before us instead of speaking harshly or rejecting them. We as a denomination have made efforts to counter a culture of gun violence and to begin working on the long and difficult process of making repair where our church and our nation has caused deep and violent harm. Whenever we choose the way of love over violence, God’s kingdom emerges.

Earthly kingdoms operate with clear boundaries – often won by military might and by overpowering others. They have hierarchies and they have lines that determine who is in and who is out. They define who belongs and who doesn’t. But Jesus’ kingdom is permeable – open to all and at the same time holding all safe. All are welcome. And while each person’s uniqueness and gifts are honored and celebrated, no one person is held up over another. It’s hard to do in our world so shaped by wealth, power, and success. But there are glimpses. Glimpses like offering food freely and without barrier to those in need like you do here at St. Matthew’s. Glimpses like making our doors open to all people. God’s kingdom is emerging here.

And one of the marks of this place that Jesus reigns is that people come and work together for the common good. In fact, many have begun referring to this place of Jesus’ reign as the kin-dom of God. That is, a place where we recognize one another as kin – as closely connected and interdependent people. This is an ethos that some cultures hold better than others, but one that is deeply countercultural to the current American culture. We often fail to see ourselves as people dependent on one another and act in ways that fail to honor our deep bonds. And here at St. Matthew’s you are modeling that in the ways you have held one another together in this transition. You have stepped up to lead Morning Prayer, you have have continued coming together for worship and fellowship and all the important work you do together as the church. The kin-dom of God is breaking into the world in this place!

And yet we know that as amazing as those things are we cannot fully overcome the world full of deep division, power and exploitation, inequality and injustice, pain and suffering, death and grief. Our own efforts, no matter how well-intentioned, no matter how much energy we put behind them, ultimately are not enough. It is only Jesus who can ultimately transform us and this world into a place of wholeness. And he does that by refusing to play Pilate’s games – the games of power, wealth, and violence – and submitting to the violent consequences of doing so. The way of love takes Jesus to the cross and the power of love rises again to lead us all into that place we long for.

I trust in our confession that God will one day resurrect us and all creation into wholeness, but for now we get to be travelers from our world into the kin-dom of Jesus, which is hidden among us at every turn, Jesus breaking into our world and blessing us with the way of love in our midst. We remain citizens of this broken world, but we get to travel all the time to the kin-dom of God where we learn and grow and change from our experiences and bring them back to the world as we know it. So we are invited today to travel to the table, a place where all are welcome and all are fed. And we are sent to carry that gift into our lives and our communities, trusting that Christ goes with us, filling us with love and grace in ways that flow out through us and begin to make the kin-dom of God a reality here and now.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Late-stage Jenga Game

22nd Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 29B)
October 20, 2024
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, East Longmeadow, MA

Recording of worship, including sermon: https://www.youtube.com/live/inK7V35bzyA?si=mQIRI19pKJHuE8w3

³⁵James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to Jesus and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” ³⁶And Jesus said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” ³⁷And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” ³⁸But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” ³⁹They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; ⁴⁰but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”
⁴¹When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. ⁴²So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers are domineering, and their great ones are tyrants over them. ⁴³But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, ⁴⁴and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. ⁴⁵For the Son-of-Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” – Mark 10:35-45

This week, a colleague of mine in community organizing work, Marika Stewart, coined a term to describe the world in which we find ourselves living in these days. She was speaking of the challenges of inequality in our communities that have destabilized our relationships and the strength of our communities. She said we are living in a late-stage Jenga game.

Now, in case it’s been a while since you played, Jenga is a game with a tower of small wooden blocks, layered in crisscrossing layers of three blocks each. Players take turns removing a block from somewhere in the stack and placing it on top. In a late-stage Jenga game, the removal of lower blocks and the transfer of their weight to the top of the tower makes it ready to fall at any moment. Each turn becomes more tense than the last until finally someone topples the whole thing and loses the game.

I can’t help but think of so many things that have destabilized our community. Every tenth of a degree of global warming pulls another block out of the tower and weakens the earth’s capacity to support human life. Every missile sent, every gun fired on another human, every act of violence pulls another block out. Every politician focused on power instead of the health of the community. Every death or loss. Every economic shift. A global pandemic. We are living in a late-stage Jenga game that feels it could topple any moment.

We feel it in the church, too. You know churches that have closed around you. You see that overall church attendance is in decline, budgets are harder to meet, societal support for institutional church has eroded – sometimes because of broken trust and sometimes because of things far beyond our control. I am here in part to get to know you here at St. Mark’s as you enter this time of transition, but I already know you’ve had your own financial challenges, your own loss. You’ve just said goodbye to a pastor much sooner than you anticipated. Do you feel a little unsteady? If you do, you aren’t alone.

I’m aware of some particular global-scale things that are different about our current era, but I’m also not one to suggest this is anything new. In Jesus’ day, they were in their own precarious life. Much of the population lived on the edge of survival. The political situation was tense with the Roman empire in charge by force and uneasy alliances with local leaders. Religious tensions existed as Judaism was evolving and changing as any living religion does. There are hints throughout the gospels of all this happening in and around Jesus’ ministry.

So enter the conversation we witness today between Jesus and his disciples. James and John – can you picture them whispering together as they walk, creating this scheme, arguing about who will voice their request? They approach Jesus: “Um…hey… Jesus? Will you give us what we ask?” And I imagine Jesus sighing deeply. He’s promised to give what is asked in prayer, but he knows this request can’t be good. What they want is to sit at Jesus’ right and left in glory.

Now in hindsight, I think we judge these two pretty harshly. But imagine where they are, what they’re experiencing. The background of their community’s own late stage Jenga game makes them anxious. On top of that, Jesus has been trying over and over again to explain to his closest followers that his own journey is headed to the cross and the grave. They obviously do not want this. And all that anxiety gets channeled, as it so often does into trying to climb up to the top. Their response is to try to pull themselves out of where they are and put themselves on top. When the other disciples hear it they, too, react out of a desire if not to be on top themselves, then at least not to have their peers up there either.

There’s some deep human instinct to at least try to get out on top of the pile when everything falls over. Or maybe we think we really can fix it if we put ourselves in charge alongside Jesus. Whatever the reason, we do it all the time. Our systems push politicians to turn around and campaign for the next election as soon as they’re in office, sometimes at the expense of governing. We try to get ahold of more money or more success or more power, thinking those things will alleviate our fear and uncertainty and anxiety. Sometimes we lash out at those closest to us. We end up putting others down to feel better about ourselves. At church we turn to competing for diminishing members or grasping at tactics we think will drive up attendance and budgets. The thing we fail to realize, myself included, is that in doing this it’s like asking God to pull us out of our place and put us up on top. In a late-stage Jenga game that only serves to weaken the whole community. But we do it anyway.

Jesus’ response challenges that instinct. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Jesus’ own way is through the cross, through love that will not compromise, through open arms that embrace the world into new life. It’s not as so many then and now desire from Jesus to assert power, fix everything, or impose order. It’s to hold us up and call us into community together, to call us back to the kind of leadership that fills in the gaps in the tower, the kind of leadership that seeks not our own success but that of the whole community.

That’s my hope for you in this time of transition and in every moment of being church. That you might seek the way of Jesus and serve one another. Not worried about how to get more people or more money. Not turning on one another. Not reaching for the top. But turning toward one another to deepen your relationships, to serve one another. And to turn that outward to the community and deepen your relationships there, too. It’s no guarantee of success by the world’s standards. I can’t promise you that. But I do know that opening ourselves to one another and supporting one another lends stability to our lives. That’s one of the great gifts of Christian community.

And all of it is undergirded by a God who does exactly that. God seeks relationship with people like James and John who keep getting it wrong. God seeks relationship with us despite all that we do and fail to do. God seeks relationship with the whole world even though we seem to be pretty good at toppling each other over when we get the chance. Jesus doesn’t enter the world to fix it, but to build those relationships with us. Jesus enters our late-stage Jenga game and holds us up, reassuring us that whatever happens we have the love of God surrounding us.

So let us seek to continue building on that firm foundation, knowing that God dwells among us and holds us fast forever.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Do you love me?

Installation of Pr. Susan Williamson
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church, Fairfield, CT
Sunday, September 29, 2024

Worship Recording: https://www.youtube.com/live/v4u6F8d8Ixc?si=kgQkdP5l6NiCkTN2

¹⁵After breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

¹⁶He then asked a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Shepherd my sheep.”

^17-19Then he said it a third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was upset that he asked for the third time, “Do you love me?” so he answered, “Master, you know everything there is to know. You’ve got to know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. – John 21:15-19 (The Message)

I’ve been guiding congregations and pastors through call processes now for four and a half years. And it is always a privilege. Some are longer, and some less long – none are short these days. Some are fraught with worry, and others less so. In some the Holy Spirit seems to glide gracefully through it like a dove, in some the Holy Spirit is more like the Wild Goose in Celtic tradition that squawks and prods and honks until we all finally get it. But it’s holy work, this process of discerning a call together, pastor and congregation.

In a call process we prayerfully enter into conversations that eventually lead to the kind of celebration we have today, the celebration of a new relationship between Pr. Susan Williamson and the people of Our Saviour’s. To get here you had to approach one another with questions. Though we work together to craft some thoughtful questions, we often start on the congregation’s side with honest questions: “Will the new pastor grow the church? Will the new pastor speak equally well to young, old, rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight and everyone in between? Will the new pastor bring innovation without changing anything at all? Will the new pastor know all the things but not be too preachy or academic?” And I want to be clear – I’m speaking generally here, you had a wonderful, faithful call committee – one I very much enjoyed working with and they did easily see beyond these. But we know these questions float in the air in our congregations.

Maybe less well known, pastors are asking the same questions: “Will my gifts be welcomed and my faults forgiven? Will I be able to live comfortably in this community? Will I be able to support myself and find community? Will the congregation invite me in but not cross boundaries? Will this be the place where somehow I can do all the things and meet all the needs and bring in all the people?” Again, I speak in generalities. I have enjoyed my conversations with Pr. Susan as she went through this process with you.

But all of us want to know – will life get better? Will the world find peace? Will I stay healthy and safe? Will my loved ones? Will I find community? Will I thrive?

And we sometimes place the weight of those deep and fundamental questions on relationships that cannot bear the weight of the world. We place them on our spouses, our children, our neighbors, our elected leaders, and very often on our pastors and congregations. I will tell you now that you are not a perfect congregation and that your pastor, wonderful though she is, is not perfect either. You will all smile, chuckle, and nod your heads knowingly. And then you will forget. Because that’s what we do. And you will need to seek forgiveness and reconciliation. In small ways and big ones.

When that happens, maybe you can return to this beautiful moment between Peter and Jesus at the end of the gospel of John. Peter, like most of the disciples, save the few faithful women, fell away when Jesus was crucified. Peter in particular is quoted in his denial of relationship with Jesus. “Who me? A disciple of that guy? Never in a million years!” But now Jesus is resurrected. He has appeared among them. He has commissioned them for mission. He has joined them for breakfast by the sea. He pulls Peter aside. This is a time for a new beginning. Peter has a call in the world to share the good news of Jesus to the ends of the earth. But first both Jesus and Peter need a moment to clear the air, to rebuild trust, to begin the process of forgiveness.

This scene, in a way, is the commissioning of a new pastor, a new missionary, a new way of living out his relationship with Jesus. And he does not ask Peter if he’s a hard worker, if he’s studied his theology, if he’s going to get the most disciples, if he’s going to find proper work/life balance, if he’s going to fix everything. He asks one simple question. “Do you love me?”

This is the fundamental question in the call process. Will this pastor love us? Not in an easy superficial way, but in a way that loves us into being our best selves, loves us into deeper relationship with Jesus. And will this congregation love me? Will they welcome my gifts and support me in my faults? Will they love me into deeper relationship with Jesus? In a few moments Pr. Marjo will ask Pr. Susan to answer some questions. These questions will ask about word and sacraments, means of grace, faithful service, even the constitutions of the ELCA. But at their core is this question: “Will you love your people inside and outside this congregation?”

And then, dear friends, she will turn and ask you to receive her, pray for her, support her, in essence “Will you love her as your pastor?”

None of you will do that perfectly. Love requires trust and forgiveness, honesty and kindness, time and attention. You will need to walk with each other through challenges and conflicts, moments of joy and grief, mystery and wonder. But God is with you. You, all of you, are called to shepherd each other, to love each other, but God is the one who loves you first.

But even at this very special celebration today, let’s not stop at the relationship between pastor and congregation. Because I think this question – “Do you love me?” Is one of the core questions of our lives as human beings. Are we loved for who we are in our full selves in every moment, success or failure? People of God gathered here, that’s the fundamental question that people outside the walls of the institutional church are asking, too. They’re asking it to God, to the world, to the church. They’re asking you, today, every day, Do you love me? What will your response together be to those people seeking knowledge of God’s deep love for them? Will it be a response open enough, flexible enough, curious enough to welcome them in their fullness without expecting them to be just like you in order to fit in? Will it be a response that shines forth God’s unconditional love for them exactly as they are? That’s your work together, all of you – to share that with the world around you.

And it may be Jesus asking the question in today’s reading, but it’s ultimately Jesus who answers our deep question about being loved. In response to our asking again and again and again, “God, do you love us?” Jesus goes literally to hell and back to give us an unequivocal “YES!” in response. That’s the whole arc of Scripture, the whole arc of our lives – God returning again and again to our deep and persistent question with a resounding “YES! I love you.” We fall and fail. Like Peter we deny and run away. And like Peter in so many moments we stumble along doing ministry and making mistakes along the way. And over and over again, God’s resounding response, “YES! I love you!”

Carry that love with you in the years ahead as you do ministry together. I hope you do love one another. It’s God’s command that we do. But it’s also God’s unrelenting love for us that makes it possible – makes this relationship between pastor and people possible, makes our communal life together possible, makes hope possible, makes our very lives possible, this side of heaven and forever after.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Seeking Power

19th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 26B)
September 29, 2024
Christ the King – Epiphany Church, Wilbraham, MA

Worship recording: https://www.youtube.com/live/hfWw_7Xgxtc?si=VSgYFcY2dMwxeiUf

⁴The rabble among them had a strong craving; and the Israelites also wept again, and said, “If only we had meat to eat! ⁵We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; ⁶but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.”
¹⁰Moses heard the people weeping throughout their families, all at the entrances of their tents. Then the Lord became very angry, and Moses was displeased. ¹¹So Moses said to the Lord, “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight, that you lay the burden of all this people on me? ¹²Did I conceive all this people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom, as a nursing woman carries a sucking child,’ to the land that you promised on oath to their ancestors? ¹³Where am I to get meat to give to all this people? For they come weeping to me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ ¹⁴I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me. ¹⁵If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—if I have found favor in your sight—and do not let me see my misery.”
¹⁶So the Lord said to Moses, “Gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be the elders of the people and officers over them; bring them to the tent of meeting, and have them take their place there with you.”
²⁴So Moses went out and told the people the words of the Lord; and he gathered seventy elders of the people, and placed them all around the tent. ²⁵Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke to Moses, and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders; and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied. But they did not do so again.
²⁶Two men remained in the camp, one named Eldad, and the other named Medad, and the spirit rested on them; they were among those registered, but they had not gone out to the tent, and so they prophesied in the camp. ²⁷And a youth ran and told Moses, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” ²⁸And Joshua son of Nun, the assistant of Moses, one of his chosen ones, said, “My lord Moses, stop them!” ²⁹But Moses said to him, “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord’s spirit be given to them all!” – Numbers 11

¹³Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. ¹⁴Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. ¹⁶Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. ¹⁷Elijah was a human being like us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. ¹⁸Then he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain and the earth yielded its harvest.
¹⁹My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, ²⁰you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. – James 5:13-20

³⁸John said to Jesus, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” ³⁹But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. ⁴⁰Whoever is not against us is for us. ⁴¹For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
⁴²“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. ⁴³If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. ⁴⁵And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. ⁴⁷And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the dominion of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, ⁴⁸where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.
⁴⁹“For everyone will be salted with fire. ⁵⁰Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” – Mark 9:38-50

I have a confession. I want to have power. I want to be powerful.

I don’t want to run the world (though I have some ideas about things I’d do differently). I don’t necessarily want a position of authority. I want power in the most basic sense – the ability to take action for a purpose.

Because, I’ll be honest, a lot of days I feel pretty powerless. Maybe you do, too. I watched images of catastrophic flooding across the Southeast in the last two days, knowing that of course I can donate some money and maybe sometime in the future even take a work trip to support long-term rebuilding, but that ultimately I have no real power against the forces of creation that destroyed lives and livelihoods, houses and homes. I have very little power over the global forces driving climate change which makes these devastating storms overall more frequent and more destructive.

I look at the election ahead – the big national election, the local and state elections, too – and I’ll be voting. I hope you will also exercise your baptismal calling to engage in public life in that way this election season – both Lutheran and Episcopalian bishops have urged that. And voting does matter. But I know that the system will still be broken after the election. There is no savior on the ballot anywhere. If your preferred candidate gets elected it will not create heaven on earth. We can keep acting and advocating, organizing and voting, and the world will still be broken.

I look at the people in my life longing for healing from grief, addiction, illness. I look at the church as a whole and long for a stronger witness to Jesus. I look at the inequity around and confront the ways in which I do hold power and fail to exercise in cooperation with the marginalized, and yet I also know that no matter what I do, I cannot fix it all.

So, yeah, I want to be powerful. Maybe you do, too.

I think that desire is at the heart of our readings today. Our gospel reading starts mid conversation – Jesus has already been responding in last week’s gospel to the disciples’ argument about who is the greatest among them – spoiler alert, the first shall be last and the last shall be first. But here again they are all twisted up in a knot because someone is doing a deed of power in God’s name, even though – gasp! – he’s not part of the identified in-group. I get it – they think they’re finally connected to someone who really can actually change things, and they’re going make sure they hold onto that power. Not because they don’t want healing, but because they want to make sure it happens on their watch, with their Jesus, in their way. And they do what people afraid they might be losing their power do – they blame, argue, and set limits. Sound familiar?

The Hebrew people, too. They want to be done with their wilderness wandering, the drudgery of quail and manna day in and day out for years on end. So they do what people who feel powerless do, they complain. Whining: “Moses! Remember the leeks and onion and garlic? We want that again. Fix it! Do something!” They feel powerless so they blame, they grasp at small things they think maybe they can actually control, they forget the reality of their incredible liberation at God’s mighty hand. Sound familiar?

The disciples want power. The Hebrew people want power. We, we want power. Not because we’re bad or evil or ill-intentioned. In fact, it’s often out of a deep desire to care for the world and the people that God has made.

But Jesus, well, Jesus has a different idea. This whole passage falls in the midst of Jesus repeatedly trying to explain to his followers that the future holds not a victory party, but a cross. Jesus has said twice already with one more to come that he will suffer and die and rise again. The ultimate feeling of powerlessness – facing death. They do not want it. They want to keep going as they are, keep healing and teaching and making life better. Death is not part of their plan, at least not anytime soon, at least not the way Jesus is talking about it.

Here’s the thing though, the cross is at the center of our story as God’s people. It is, in fact, God’s most powerful moment. Power in letting go. Power committed to love rather than violence. Power in meeting the suffering where they are in a fully embodied way. Like the disciples, like the Hebrews, I’m not sure that’s what I actually want.

We have a God who has the power to create worlds from the formless void. We have a God who commands heaven and earth. And that God wields power not by force or domination, not by exerting power over. But God wields power by sharing it. Sharing it with the angels – I had to get that in there somewhere since today is the commemoration of Michael and All Angels. And, most importantly, sharing it with us. Sharing it, apparently, not just with the in group but in ways that we can’t even imagine or contain. God’s power multiplies not by making more things happen but by welcoming more people into the sharing of that power.

But that leaves us, welcomed into God’s upside down kind of power, but still living in a broken and hurting world. It leaves me, at least, still feeling powerless. And that’s what keeps me in Christian community. For all the challenges of the church as an institution, it’s a place where we gather week after week to experience the power of God at work among us and remember that we are not alone.

The strange thing about this power that God shares is that we see it better in community. Moses didn’t have all it took to lead the people – it took 70 elders, plus a few more doing deeds of power in the camp on their own. Jesus didn’t do it alone but with a band of followers – not just the 12 disciples, but crowds, and always the faithful women who remain to very end when others fall away. We are reminded today in our scriptures, too, to pray. And I do believe prayer is powerful. It doesn’t always give us what we want, but it does connect us again to the source of power, to God, and to one another.

And that’s what gets me through the days when I feel powerless – knowing I am not alone. That the god of life has come to meet me, to meet all of us, in the depths of our hardest moments, and in our joys, too. And that God shares that healing power of life in us and through us. Thank you, church, for being part of the way God shows up in this world – for me, for each other, for the community, and for all the world in need.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Let the Children Lead

18th Sunday after Pentecost/Lectionary 25B
September 22, 2024
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Monroe, CT

³⁰[Jesus and the disciples went on] and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; ³¹for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son-of-Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” ³²But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
³³Then they came to Capernaum; and when Jesus was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” ³⁴But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. ³⁵He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” ³⁶Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ³⁷“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” – Mark 9:30-37

Everywhere I go – every congregation – at least one person in the course of my work with them and usually many people ask, “how do we get more children to our church?” I could give some best practices around developmentally appropriate faith formation, hospitality for young people in worship, the importance of prioritizing inter-generational relationships – all of which is great, but not likely in and of themselves to bring hordes of young people to your doors.

I could describe the changing age demographics of our country, the challenges that families with young children face today that drain time, money, and energy, and the ways in which the communities many of our churches sit in have priced out many young families. – All of which might be true but ultimately unhelpful.

Instead, I ask why? Usually the answer is about the adults’ anxiety. They want the church to continue, to pass on their legacy of faith to a new generation in order for their way of life to be preserved for the future. There is a remembering of a time when things seemed easier for many of our predominantly white and middle class Lutheran churches and that time was also marked by large Sunday schools. We think we will save the church if we figure out the kid problem. I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t a deep concern for the value of faith and the desire to share that with everyone including young people. But, ultimately, none of those are reasons that resonate with young people themselves or with most of their parents.

So when Jesus brings a little child into the center of his conversation with the disciples as kind of an object lesson, I wonder if all of those things rattle around in the background of our minds. Just what does Jesus mean by this. Just how are we supposed to welcome such children and in doing so welcome Christ himself?

He does this in the midst of some pretty heavy adult-level stuff. The prediction of betrayal, suffering, and death. It’s stuff the disciples themselves clearly can’t handle. Mark tells us: “They did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.” In lieu of asking questions, exploring this rich and powerful message that ultimately will live at the core of their and our lives of faith, they do what people do when they are trying to ignore the proverbial element in the room – they argue about who is the greatest.

Kids and adults alike can relate to that – who is the most powerful, the smartest, the richest, the most athletic. Which kid gets to be line leader today? Who gets to be prom king and queen? Which country has the biggest military? Which politician has the most power? Which company has the best bottom line? Which church has the most attendance?

That’s familiar to us. And in times of anxiety, it gets worse. When, like the disciples, we hear or experience something that threatens us and our way of life, we are likely to try to avoid it and live out that anxiety in other ways. Instead of diving into the hard stuff, we turn to what we know, trying to define ourselves as part of the grand order of things, trying to determine whether we are in fact more powerful than someone else.

I think that’s where we find ourselves as a country these days. We’ve been through a lot of rapid changes. The economy is up, down, and sideways with more rapid than ever cycles of boom and bust. We came through a global pandemic, which I am convinced we haven’t fully unpacked emotionally. And we are in a time when institutions we have relied on, like the church but not only the church, are transforming into something very different. Too often, I don’t understand. And I’m too afraid to ask.

And here we are, as we avoid the deep questions and the deep anxiety, in a world fighting about greatness. Fighting with bullets and missiles, fighting with angry words and lies meant to harm, fighting with neighbors and co workers and fellow church members and family members and strangers online. We fight it out in this national election we are experiencing right now.

Into the midst of this argument, Jesus welcomes the child and invites us to do the same. Now I’m a parent. I’m not Pollyanna about kids – I love kids – my own and kids at large, but like adults they are complex, they have their own feelings, their own will, their own faults. Jesus doesn’t bring the child into their midst to cancel out the hard stuff and make everything sunshine and rainbows. I think he does it for a least one of a few possible reasons.

One is that children have an incredible capacity for imagination. At least at younger ages they float easily between reality and fantasy with no worry about the boundary between them. They are open to imagining delightful, strange, and sometimes rather clever ideas that adults too easily dismiss based on so-called reason. Perhaps Jesus is telling the disciples, telling us, that it’s time to see beyond the realities we think are set. They are reactive because they do not want Jesus to suffer and die. They know suffering and they know death. It is awful. And final. Jesus isn’t Pollyanna about any of that, but he does have a bigger vision. He is inviting them to imagine something that in their adult brains makes no sense and cannot be. Imagine resurrection.

Two is that children are often not afraid to ask hard questions. They do not accept that things just are – they want to know why?! And how?! They dive in and explore without the need to write up findings or come to a firm conclusion. And while sometimes those questions are about interesting little corners of the world, sometimes they are also about profound realities of life and death. Perhaps Jesus is inviting the disciples to stop squashing their questions and dive into possibilities. Admit what they don’t know and ask for guidance and help. Ponder mystery rather than easy answers. Wonder why we argue about position and who is first vs. last.

And children are mostly pretty good at trying new things. It doesn’t mean they always dive right in. Maybe it’s that they have to. Learning to walk, learning to talk, learning to share, learning to ride a bike, learning to care for others, learning, learning, learning – all the time something new is coming at them. Have you ever watched a child learn to walk? They have no fear or shame around falling down, not getting it right. They simply try again, try something different, see what happens next. The disciples, like many of us adults, are sometimes so stuck in our patterns, so used to the ways of the world, that we begin to fear change, fear new things, fear what sounds like it could be bad. No one wants to hear Jesus talk about the cross, but it’s also the only way we get to resurrection.

There are a lot more lessons we can learn from kids. I actually think we would all benefit from having more kids in our congregations – not because we have something we need to teach them or pass on to them or because we want them to be the future for us, but because they have something to teach us about who God is. That’s what Jesus means when he says that whoever welcomes one of the children welcomes him, welcomes God. Not perfection, not nice easy answers, but teachers about the way of God. People who help lead us to the cross and ultimately to resurrection.

As this congregation looks to the future, you have some important decisions to make. You have ministry to do. And there are a lot of ways to do that ministry. As you do that important work ahead, may you welcome the child-like spirit of curiosity, imagination, and willingness to try something new without worrying about failure. Because God is here in our midst. But God’s call may not always be what we think it is at first, and often isn’t exactly the call we want. But it is a call to accompany the God of life through every challenge ahead in order to discover new life more abundant than we can imagine.

-Pastor Steven Wilco