What I was expecting

Mark 11:1-11
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Mark 14:1-15:47

What was I expecting?  What was I expecting, when I ran into the field and cut branches from a tree to carry in the procession?  What was I expecting, when I shouted “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!?”  I don’t know…I didn’t have a clear picture, just a feeling of excitement.  Excitement was in the air.  Pilgrims were streaming into the city for the Passover, to celebrate our redemption of from slavery.  We’d heard the rumors about Jesus of Nazareth, “a man,” they said, “like the prophets of old.  A man who preached God’s Kingdom.”

 “He is coming to Jerusalem”, they said, “They saw him pass through Jericho—he’s coming, today.”

The feeling was like it had been at the Jordan, when we went out to see John.  It was like we’d finally come to a turning point.  John baptized us and told us to repent of our sins because someone was coming who was greater than him.  And when John was killed, people started asking more and more urgently “Who?”  Then we started to hear the rumors from Galilee: “He heals the sick, and there is no demon he can’t master.  They said he gave a blind man his sight, that he even raises the dead.”  And then they said he’s coming here, to Jerusalem.  And he did.

I guess I just got caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment.  Then I saw him riding, on that donkey—it looked like a joke, to be honest with you.  And the people with him—what a bunch of rednecks!  Half of them were women!  What was he thinking?  But there he went, bold as brass, right into the temple.   And then he did--nothing.  Just looked around a little and then left again.  What was I expecting?—more than that!

But I don’t think anyone was expecting what happened on Monday.  I still can’t believe that he got away with it.  It’s been a long time since anyone saw action like that in the temple, what with the tables knocked over and seats knocked down.  Everyone saying “who does he think he is?” and moaning about their lost business.  Obviously the higher-ups were none too pleased about it, either.  But I could see then why people were impressed with him.  That was stone cold crazy, and I could hardly wait to see what he did next!

On Tuesday, I got to the temple as early as I could, and he was already there, drawing a big crowd.  And he was dealing.  The chief priests and the scribes and the Pharisees kept interrupting and asking him questions, trying to find a chink in his armor, and every time he just took them apart.  But it wasn’t like he was just ripping on them to show them who was the top dog.  Everything he said made so much sense.  Listening to him you started to see things in a different way, like the things that you thought you already knew you didn’t really know at all.  It was like when you’re having a dream where you’re being chased and you’re totally caught up in it and afraid you’re going to die or something and then you wake up and you knowe that it’s just a dream and you’re back in real life and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

And these people who you’ve been taught to respect like their word is law—I mean big shots, chief priests, elders, who are on the council and have big houses up on the hill—you start to see that deep down they’re really afraid and everything they say is calculated—every word like a weapon to defend them and their position and to beat down anyone that tries to say anything different.  They’d talk about God and Moses but then Jesus would answer them and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were just making stuff up, and what were they really after.  But with him you always felt like he was just giving you the straight dope.

So I wasn’t that surprised when I my cousin came over on Friday morning, just as we were waking up, and said that he’d been arrested.  I wasn’t happy about it.  I thought he’d at least put up a fight.  He should have asked for volunteers when he was teaching in the temple and hundreds of people were there hanging on his every word.  I would have stepped up.  All my friends would have, too.  We could have protected him, or smuggled him out of the city.  I heard he didn’t even try to get away, just waited for them like a stupid sheep.

Anyway, my cousin’s mother is a cook at the High Priest’s house and he told me that she said that they’d taken him to the Gentile governor to have him executed.  So we headed over there to see what was going on.  As we got close there was a big crowd coming up the street.  They were talking about how Pilate (that’s the governor) likes to release a prisoner at the Passover to show what a good guy he is, and they were all going there to get someone out.  When we got to the square outside the fortress the governor was there on his seat with Jesus in front of him with his hands bound, and the chief priests were going at him, accusing him of stirring up rebellion and plotting to destroy the temple and blaspheming God and all kind of crimes.  So then Pilate turned to him and asked him what answer he had to all the charges they were making.

All eyes were on him.  And there was this silence.  I remember thinking—“here it comes!”  I looked around at the chief priests and the elders and the governor and his officers and I thought “Now I get it--he planned it all, they’re all playing into his hand and now he’s going to spring his trap.”  I don’t know what I was expecting, but he just stood there.  Completely still.  And then the governor’s face kind of twitched, and he shifted in his chair, and suddenly the people around me were pressing forward and yelling about releasing a prisoner and I don’t really remember what happened after that except someone started shouting the name “Barabbas” and pretty soon everyone was chanting “Barabbas, Barabbas, Barabbas!”

But all I could think about was how betrayed I felt.  What was I expecting?  I guess when I heard him teaching in the temple I felt like, for the first time in my life, I had a part to play.  You know how in all the old stories it seems like God’s plan works through the underdog—Moses with his speech problem, and David, the youngest of all Jesse’s sons, Rahab the prostitute and Amos the herdsman?  For a couple of days it had felt like I was in one of those stories, that I wasn’t meant to spend my whole life just being pushed around by the decisions that other, more important people make.  I felt like I knew just as much about who  God is, and what God wants, as any priest or scribe, maybe more.

But when I saw Jesus standing there, not even trying to defend himself, letting them just walk all over him, I knew I’d been wrong.  I knew that whoever God is, he doesn’t have time for people like me.  I knew that all those old stories are just fairy tales, and that in the real world it is the big shots who matter, and they will do whatever they have to do to keep it that way.  And the flame in my heart, the hope that he put there, turned to hate.  And when the crowd started shouting “Crucify him! Crucify him!” my fist was in the air.  My voice was shouting as loud as any of them. 

So what do I expect?  Nothing.  I don’t expect anything at all.    

Laborers to the Harvest

Isaiah 6:1‑8

Ephesians 4:7,11‑16

Matthew 9:35‑38 

 A couple of weeks ago I was meeting with Mack to plan today’s service and I complained to him in a joking kind of way about our Bishop’s timing.   Less than three months ago, he had scheduled his biennial visitation to St. John’s for two weeks after Christmas, and now we’re having this ordination two weeks before Easter.  Mack laughed and said it was an indication of the confidence our Bishop has in St. John’s, Petaluma.  Which is no doubt true, so on behalf of all the people of the parish I want to thank Bishop Beisner for the compliment.   

And because Mack doesn’t have the opportunity do so in this liturgy, I want to say a word of thanks on his behalf, as well as my own, to all the people of St. John’s who helped to prepare for this occasion—I never cease to be amazed at the way this group of people works together to accomplish beautiful things for the love of God and neighbor.  I also want to thank everyone who traveled to be here, Mack’s family and friends, clergy of the Diocese of Northern California and elsewhere in the Episcopal Church—it is powerful testimony to our unity in Christ and his grace to reconcile and make new that we are all here together in this place today. 

And as much as the scheduling of this service may have been inconvenient, (which, in truth, was not very much), it is also most fitting.  Because, although there are brass candlesticks and flowers adorning the altar, and the church is decked in red, and not purple, we are still in the season of Lent.  We are still in that season of the church year when we learn again to walk humbly with our God.  We are still in that time when we learn that to be born anew into the freedom of limitless love, we have to cross the threshold of powerlessness and surrender.  And as much as today is a moment of resurrection in Mack’s life, in the life of St. John’s, Petaluma and the Episcopal Church, it is also a Lenten moment. 

Today is a feast of victory over prejudice and exclusion.  It is a day to celebrate the triumph of determination and patience, hope and courage and faith.  And it is also a day to remember the price that was paid to get us to this moment.  Today we celebrate and affirm a vocation to the priesthood that almost didn’t happen.  We do so in a congregation that almost died.  It sounds stark when you put it like that, but sometimes when we experience things that we would rather avoid, gifts of power come to us.  There’s something about such experiences that can strip away our illusions and leave us with a clearer vision of what’s going on and what we’re supposed to be doing.   The Lenten stories about what led Mack to give up on his call to the priesthood, and about what happened at St. John’s, Petaluma in 2006 and the years that followed, are integral to the Easter story of how they both got back on their feet.

And what makes this such a powerful story, what is going to make Mack such a transformative priest in the church, is the way these things happened together.  The vision that brought Mack to St. John’s is the same vision that reawakened his vocation to the priesthood.  It the same vision that is rebuilding this congregation from a half-dozen people meeting in Betty and Joe Petrillo’s living room.  It is a vision of God. 

The God of this vision is not content to sit on a throne in heaven and be fanned by the wings of the seraphim.  This God is seeking a people.  To have a vision of this God is to face a problem more daunting than homophobia, more challenging than schism.  To see this God is to be thrust into a difficulty harder to overcome than the loss of a church building.  It is enough to make you cry out, “Woe is me!  I am a person of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips.”  Because the vision of God that called St. John’s, Petaluma back to life, the same vision that called Mack back to the priesthood, is a vision that demands a response.  To see this God is to be sent, to be sent to renew God’s people. 

As that handful of Episcopalians became too big for a living room and celebrated its first public service on Easter Sunday five years ago, a new people began to gather.  They came seeking the vision, and soon enough, they received it.   And before they knew it, they were sent.  Some were sent to be Senior and Junior Wardens, others, like Jeremy, to be Treasurer.  They were sent as Choir Leaders and Organists and Altar Guild Directors.  They were sent to start a Food Pantry and Taizé services and Labyrinth Walks.  They were sent to a Godly Play Sunday School, and an Estate and Stuff Sale.  And it was really inevitable, when you think about it, that one of them would be sent to be a priest.  Because that is how true vocations to the priesthood happen.  A priest is sent because a people are gathering in response to a vision of God.

There is an old commercial dish sanitizer in the kitchen here at St. John’s, and when I first came here, Mack and Jeremy were the only people in the parish who knew how to operate it.  Whenever we had a fellowship event we had to be sure Mack and Jeremy were coming before we got out the ceramic plates and metal flatware.  They knew that the machine really is not that difficult to operate and anyone could do it if they could just overcome their fear of it, but they were always good-humored about it.  They were always happy to serve.  Well, last fall I received a sign that the Spirit was leading Mack deeper into the mystery of his vocation, when I heard he was teaching some other folks how to operate the dish-sanitizer.  If you hang around to the end of the luncheon that follows this service, you may even see them in action.  And here’s the thing—Mack would have been happy to teach them all along.  But it finally happened when some people were ready to learn.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has a vision of God.  He’s going around Galilee in all the towns and villages, preaching about it.  And who wants to hear what Jesus has to say?  Who starts gathering around him?  The sick, the blind, the mute, lepers, the demon-possessed, the tax-collectors and prostitutes, all the people who are so beaten-down and burned-out by injustice and false promises that they’re not even trying to be good anymore.  And Jesus looks around at all this misery and what does he see?  An abundant harvest.   Fields full of fat, white, ears of perfect ripe grain.  A rich spiritual harvest of people without illusions, without a vested interest in the idols of status quo.  People who are done waiting for some future deliverance, people who are ready for God.

In the villages of Galilee in Jesus’ time, bringing in the harvest is everyone’s work.  All other concerns are put aside and everyone pitches in to bring in the ripened crops before rain or hail or locusts, blight or crows or wildfire can destroy them.  You help me on my farm and when my crop is in, we go over to yours.  Anyone who isn’t actually out in the fields reaping or binding sheaves or carrying them to the threshing floor is making food for the harvesters or doing their chories, or tending the children, helping out in some way.  So when Jesus instructs his disciples to pray the Lord to send laborers into his harvest, it’s not about God lighting a fire under the butts of the lazy.  It’s about the vision of the harvest.  Pray that God will help you see the abundant harvest of spiritual opportunity that is all around you in the suffering of your community.  Pray that more people will see that now is the time.  

Mack, somewhere out there is another congregation that needs you now more than we do.  Somewhere God is giving that people a vision of the harvest.  They are praying that the Lord will send laborers into his harvest, and as they pray it is dawning on them that the laborers are them.  And where such a people are, God will send a priest, and though nobody but She knows it yet, that priest will be you.  We are not in a hurry for that day, but we know that it will come.  And because we know how you were called, we know you will be sent, not as an answer to their prayer, but as one who sustains them in praying it.  You will feed them with the bread of the harvest that they long for, the harvest that is already ripe in Christ’s vision of the Kingdom.  And they will feed you, in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine here today.  It is a good road that has brought you here, my brother.  It is a good road you are walking.  It is a good road that lies ahead.  May God bless you and keep you on that road.  AMEN.