The Best Party of All

Here's a link to the readings for this week.

Gather around the table,

you who are hungry and healing.

Gather around the bread and wine, you fellows and kindred.

Gather shoulder to shoulder, you weary travelers,

with those who have crossed your path on this journey

As you raise your glasses,

may you give honor to all who surround you, for everyone who partakes in this meal is a masterpiece of creation.

And may the Spirit of God— who teaches us the delights of true communion

come join us.

~~Liturgies for Wholeness

 💛

“You will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” Jesus’ teaching is especially poignant this week as our hearts are tender and our thoughts are of Kathleen Huffman, who passed earlier this week. Ancient Jewish tradition is known for its lavish banquet imagery. And can’t we just imagine dear Kathleen at the best party of all?

One of the hardest things to accept about death is that we are left here to wonder, “What now?” How do we carry on faithfully when our hearts are heavy? Thankfully, Luke’s Gospel offers some exquisite wisdom. And we owe a debt of gratitude to Luke and the Pharisees for allowing us a glimpse into their time with Jesus, who seems to rock their eschatological world. Eschatology is the study of endings of many kinds, including death, resurrection, the end times, and the Kingdom of God.

And while none of this might sound much like a party to you, the Pharisees had their ideas about endings, and I imagine they must have been quite curious about Jesus’ thoughts on the matter. This is not the first time Luke’s Jesus dines with the Pharisees. 

There was the dinner hosted by Simon the Pharisee during which the unnamed woman wiped Jesus’ feet with her hair. At this gathering, Jesus forgives the woman, and a shocked Simon receives an earful of truth.

“Who is this Jesus who forgives sins?” the Pharisees wonder.

Then, there was the dinner party where Jesus neglects to wash up before eating and, noticing their response, sees it as an opportunity to reprimand the religious leaders for caring a little too much about outward appearances. 

And because, you know, third time’s a charm, there’s today’s dinner where Jesus scrutinizes some of the dinner guests' problematic behavior. 

Jesus’ imperatives about humility (take the lowest seat) and inclusion (invite the poor, the lame, the blind…) are quite specific. (Specific as some of the Jewish rules about pulling your kid or your ox out of a ditch on the Sabbath.) 

The way I see it, Jesus seems to be asking three things of the religious leaders: To pay closer attention to what’s going on right in front of them, to think a little more outside the box, and to stay focused on the most important thing – the kingdom of God. 

As the guest of honor, Jesus is personable and passionate, and never seems to disappoint, even though he throws down some pretty hardcore truth. Can you just imagine Jesus at your dinner party?

On the menu: That dish you’re most confident about – maybe a chicken and rice casserole – with a simple salad and a crusty loaf of French bread. You set a beautiful table. The lighting is perfect. Just the right music plays softly in the background. Your seating chart ensures lively and interesting conversation. No introverts sitting together. And there will be no political discussion! You leave nothing to chance by preemptively organizing bodies impeccably.

And just as everyone is about to be seated, your final guest arrives, a little late and a little dusty, but smiling his warm and friendly smile — and ravenous. Jesus is always down for a meal and, without waiting for you to steer him in the direction of his seat of honor, he plops himself in the nearest chair. In a flurry that resembles a game of musical chairs, your guests vie to sit near the charismatic Christ. 

So much for seating assignments. 

Jesus offers a blessing, and, as he gobbles down your yummy casserole, he is not at all shy about reaching for seconds or soaking up every last bit of your casserole with torn crusts of bread. He engages each person in conversation. He tells the most amazing stories. Laughter fills the room, and everyone seems relaxed and happy.

As your guests move from the table for coffee and dessert, it occurs to you that you may have just thrown a dinner party for the ages; one your guests will surely never forget. And it’s all because of Jesus, the coolest, most awesome guest ever. 

Just then, you notice a distinct shift in the energy. From the corner of your eye, you spot some guests huddled together with Jesus. Their conversation seems to be taking a political turn. Nooooo! With great trepidation, you inch closer. Sweat beads form on your forehead, and you feel a little flushed. You begin to wonder if your epic party is a bust.

And then Jesus announces, “The kingdom of God is among you.” Then he turns, thanks you for your hospitality, and quietly leaves the party. 

Another classic Jesus Mic drop. It’s the kingdom, stupid. (Jesus would not say stupid.) It’s been here all along. Don’t you get it?

Endings of all kinds can be hard. 

So, what do we do now? We carry on. We can throw dinner parties. We’ve got that one down, St. Mark’s. We continue reaching out, wherever we see a need. We stay present to signs of God’s kingdom that cares about love now, as Father Chris said in his sermon last week.

This week, I came across a local community forum discussion started by the desperate mother of a child with special needs. In the post, she publicly lamented that her child had been regularly excluded from certain school activities because she was differently abled. Thankfully, she found community in this social media platform. Other parents chimed in with similarly heartbreaking stories. The discussion was surprisingly civil and compassionate. These parents are just seeking solutions. They dream of a community where their children feel they belong. 

This week, I also learned about The Longest Table. It’s an initiative of the Howard County Library System, designed to combat social isolation and loneliness while fostering a sense of community. Suggested conversation starters and common discussion topics encourage participants to get to know their neighbors around a massive dinner table. Since its inception in New York City several years ago, The Longest Table has become so popular organizers here in Howard County will take it outdoors on October 4 of this year! Sounds a lot like kingdom activity to me, and it’s right down the street!

Trappist monk and one of the founders of the contemporary contemplative prayer movement, Thomas Keating, of blessed memory, suggests two more ways we might encounter the kingdom of God. The first way is through suffering – not highly recommended, but effective. Suffering can break us open, humbling us just enough to be receptive.

The other way, according to Keating, is through prayer and practice – by “going into our room, closing the door, and praying to the Father in secret,” as Matthew writes in his Gospel. Regular contemplative prayer can help us identify what Keating calls “our emotional programs for happiness.” These are the unconscious ways we try to meet our need for safety, affection and esteem, power and control. Awareness can help free us from unhealthy patterns and open us to God’s kingdom (like little children).

“Paradox is the only basket large enough to hold truth:”
― Rev. Robert Farrar Capon

The kingdom of God, at first glance, might seem exclusive – but in truth it is radically inclusive. It doesn’t cost a cent. But it does have a cost. For Jesus, God’s kingdom on earth (as in heaven) is the most important thing, and yet, remarkably, it’s not a thing at all. 

In our grief, we may find solace in a more future-oriented banquet motif. It might comfort us in our sorrow, as in the 23^rd Psalm (You prepare a table before me) or Isaiah 25:6 (the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast). We might also seek the kingdom here and now, as we carry on together our kingdom work of love, as Kathleen would certainly expect us to do. Amen.

Contemplative Outreach of Maryland

This is NOT My Sermon for August 31, 2025

This is NOT my sermon.

…at all. 

But I do see so much in our Gospel passage this week that is spot on. I’ll bet you do too.

People caring way too much about status, power, and influence…

Guilty.

I mean, the fact that we even have the term “influencer.” Ever think about that?

Weird. 

I might sound old. Do I sound old??

Why does it take a tragedy like the one in Minnesota yesterday to force us to get real with one another? Kids should be safe in their schools. In their churches. In their streets. Period.

Another "city united in grief." Another candlelight vigil. $%^&!@#

Pardon my French.

One of the other readings we’re using at St. Mark’s this week is from the book of Sirach, a lesser-known wisdom text. It opens like this:

The beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord;
the heart has withdrawn from its Maker.

For the beginning of pride is sin,
and the one who clings to it pours out abominations.

Ya think?

 

Pretty sure I will not use this one, but it certainly resonates with me this week. 

Join us on Sunday at 8:15 or 10. In the meantime, I'll be behind this giant leaf if you need me.

 

              Thanks for listening,

               cc+💛

Every Little Thing's Gonna Be Alright

 Here is a link to the lectionary readings for this week.

Almost nothing that makes any difference can be proved. I can't prove friendship.

If I tried to put friendship to the test, somehow the test itself would queer the friendship. So it is with the goodness of God.

~~Frederick Buechner💛

I love that Luke’s Jesus uses the imagery of a thief breaking in. It’s classic Jesus, flipping the script, scrambling our brains, helping us be more open to the incomprehensible mystery of God.

Luke is a clever one. He commands our attention by stacking together seemingly disparate messages. For example, last week, we met a wealthy individual who felt compelled to build bigger barns to store his abundant produce. Then he finds out he has just one day to live. Isn’t it ironic - don’t you think?

That challenging story was sandwiched between two other mild-by-comparison teachings on faith.

This week, our stack has two main themes: Don’t worry. But be ready. At first glance, they seem oddly unrelated. But maybe not so much.

Remember the classic episode of I Love Lucy in which Ricky, Fred, and Ethel are preparing for when Lucy will leave for the hospital to give birth to the couple’s first child? Committed to staying calm and steady in the moment, Ricky directs a rehearsal with his friends, timing each movement down to the second. Ethel will call the doctor, Fred will get Lucy’s suitcase, and Ricky will make sure his wife and precious cargo get safely into a cab. They complete one more run-through to Ricky’s great satisfaction. Predictably, at that very moment, Lucy breaks in, a pained expression on her face. “Ricky, this is it,” she quietly announces. In that moment, all their planning flies out the window as bodies slam into bodies and chaos ensues. It’s hilarious. Amidst all the drama, the three nearly leave the apartment without Lucy. 

I challenge you to watch this clip with a straight face.

Don’t worry, be ready is the good news pairing we hear from Luke today. Not exactly the Bobby McFerrin hit, Don’t Worry Be Happy. But close. 

More to the point might be Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds. 

You know it, sing it with me: “Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing’s gonna be alright.”

In the passage just prior to the Gospel reading, not included in our lectionary, Jesus offers the disciples some examples of God’s faithfulness. Good reasons not to worry; birds that are fed, lilies that are clothed. Perhaps Luke places this passage here to encourage first-century Christians under Roman occupation to keep the faith. 

For the disciples who had dropped everything to travel to Jerusalem with Jesus, for first-century Christians, and certainly for us today, the world gives us ample reason to worry. We can consider lilies all day long and still toss and turn at night.

What’s a Jesus follower to do? Luke’s Jesus lays it out for us. Sell some stuff. Give things away. Rosemary Quill did that, her daughter told me when they brought her back here to St. Mark’s last month. As she knew her physical life was nearing its end, Rosemary gave things away. She simplified. She allowed her family and friends to serve her. Her family seemed moved and genuinely grateful for the graceful way Rosemary prepared for her death. It was the ultimate act of love. And faith. 

We get a lovely definition of faith in the Epistle to the Hebrews this morning. “Faith, the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Although we skip over some of these verses, the author of Hebrews gives examples of faith from the Hebrew scriptures. This can be helpful for us when our own faith waivers – to look back, to remember when God has been faithful to us in our lives. Even as we say the creed, Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor suggests, we can bolster wavering faith by acknowledging the faith our ancestors have handed down to us. They may not have been perfect, but their faith was hard won.

The Genesis passage is rich. Abram broods over his life. “What’s this all about if I leave here with nothing to show for it?”

 God shows him the stars. “Go ahead, try to count them. So many will be your descendants, so vast, your legacy.”

Abram believed in God, and God believed in Abram. God believes in us, too. Yet still we worry.

Some of us have expressed anxiety about where we will gather for worship during our reconstruction. Some of us are worried we might not survive the “wilderness” time away from this building. While this is a legitimate concern, I am not worried. We will need to lean into all those qualities of discipleship we have been exploring for the past several weeks: qualities like flexibility, persistence, courage, mercy, focus, and trust. We got this.

I wonder, do we trust God as much as God seems to trust us?

How do we cultivate faith that prepares us for God to break in – regardless of where we find ourselves? I think we simply need to get out of the way. To let God flow through us. Which doesn’t ordinarily happen when we’re anxious or fearful.

Not only that, protracted fear and worry can be hard on our physical and mental health. Prayer and Meditation can help. As can singing together in community, a walk in nature, a belly laugh, a chat with a friend, or gazing up at the stars contemplating the vastness of creation. (The Perseid Meteor Shower peaks this week!)

 It might also be helpful to regularly remind one another:

It was by faith that this community, including some beloved souls who are no longer with us, envisioned our future children and grandchildren returning here for worship and fellowship, being baptized here, married, and buried. 

By faith, we imagined new spaces for learning, praying, making music, and gathering in exciting new ways. 

By faith, we saw ourselves serving people of all ages, colors, and backgrounds. We imagined an active, growing, flourishing community. And here we are on the cusp of exciting change…

Despite our faith, the pairing of the Genesis story with Luke’s pericope seems to present a bit of a rub. A warning “breaks in” when I encounter the word slave. It’s jarring, right? That word should command our attention. It should, especially in light of the atrocity of so many bodies trafficked in this country and elsewhere. In the ancient world, slaves would keep watch for potential intruders. In Genesis, Abram is concerned that a slave in his household will inherit his estate. 

If we consider Abram’s starry legacy, this gets interesting. Abram believes God’s promise of descendants, as many as the stars, and yet, spoiler alert, Abram doesn’t wait for God. Abram takes matters into his own hands, and his first son is born to a slave. (Isn’t that ironic.) 

Sadly, alongside Abram’s impressive paternity, his legacy would also include abuse of power and the heinous institution of slavery. 

 But here’s the brilliant, subversive thing about the Gospel: Jesus completely flips things, making slaves of those of us who do wait for God to fulfill God’s promises. Slaves with no apparent worldly power – only power that comes from God.  

Which appeals to you more?

In light of this and last week’s Gospel (the foolish rich guy), it might seem worrisome that we are preparing to tear down – to build something bigger. But I’m not worried. I think we’re clear about where our treasure lies and how much is expected of us. Those to whom much is given, much is to be expected.

“Little flock,” you, who are so generous, so rich toward God, you to whom much has been entrusted, you who wisely discern the responsibility before you…If you weren’t just a little bit worried, I’d be worried. 

Still, try your best not to worry. Keep calm and carry on. But do keep your lamps lit, because we never know when God will break in. 

Amen.

Here’s a link to my Spotify playlist for this sermon.

 

This is NOT my Sermon for August 10, 2025

Perhaps because this Gospel passage was on my mind, I wasn’t so surprised when Jesus “broke in” the other day as I was driving along westbound Route 50. While traveling at about 60 miles an hour, I approach an eighteen-wheeler. I generally keep a safe distance between me and big trucks on the highway, so I don’t immediately notice that it is an Anderson Windows truck. Then their slogan catches my eye. On the back of the truck, and in even bigger, bolder letters on the side as I pass on the left, are the words: LOVE THE LIFE YOU SEE. 

Despite our many worries and disappointments, perhaps the secret to contentment in this life is loving precisely what is right in front of us. Thank you, Anderson Windows.

Then, over in the center lane, as I ponder this wisdom, another, smaller truck pulls up next to me and begins to pass me on the left. Catching a quick glimpse of the back of this utility van, I see “Follow me” …to some plumbing company, I think. 

Jesus? That you?

Two songs are on my playlist for this week’s sermon based on this week’s lectionary readings. The first is Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. You know the one…” Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing’s gonna be alright.” I’m pretty sure Jesus and Bob Marley are buds up there in heaven. 

“Do not be afraid, little flock,” Jesus says to his students in our Gospel this week, after teaching them to contemplate lilies and sparrows and such. Detach from all the silly worries of the world and don’t worry…bout a thing. 

They (whomever they are) always say we should avoid conversations about religion, but I met a guy the other evening at dinner with Rob, and we did talk about religion, and the world did not end. He was Jewish and a literature and drama teacher at a local private school. Needless to say, we had a lot to talk about. He offered me a couple of sermon ideas, including a fascinating article about the Vatican observatory and a beautiful novel by Samantha Harvey.

Enjoying a relaxing dinner out is awesome. After all Jesus instructs his disciples to relax. But then he tells them to be ready for action. Lamps lit. Full-dress right dress.

Not prepared for battle, though. Prepare to be served. Like a welcoming maître d' who says, "Your table is ready. Come right this way," our server is none other than the God of the cosmos, greeting us at our own door to share an abundance of good things.

The second song I’ve been listening to is from One Republic. Counting Stars is practically the story of Abraham, who is given a vision of his legacy as he looks up at the vast, diverse varieties of lights in the heavens. The reading from Genesis coincides with the Perseid Meteor shower, which is visible in the early morning skies from July to mid-August. I am obsessed with this kind of spectacle and plan to spend at least some time under the stars, marveling at God’s celestial wonders.
.

Lately, I been, I been losin' sleep 
Dreamin' about the things that we could be 
Baby, I been, I been prayin' hard 
Said, "No more countin' dollars, we'll be countin' stars" (ooh, ooh) 
Lately, I been, I been losin' sleep (ooh, ooh) 
Dreamin' about the things that we could be (ooh, ooh) 
But, baby, I been, I been prayin' hard (ooh, ooh) 
Said, "No more countin' dollars, we'll be, we'll be countin' stars" (ooh, ooh)

Still not entirely sure where this sermon is heading, but I will always welcome your suggestions.