If You Choose....
The Rev. Amy Morehous
Epiphany 6, Year B
February 12, 2012
I'm not sure I’ve ever told you why David and I became Episcopal. We both grew up in different Methodist churches, but we must have made our way here somehow, right? Well, we’re Episcopal because we ran out of gas. (I'd like to say that's metaphorical, but it definitely isn't.) After moving back to Knoxville, we visited every Methodist church in town, but none of them were quite right. Frustrated, we finally decided to try another denomination. We decided to come here because we lived not too far away at the time.
It was a hot summer day, and we were running a little low on gas, and a bit short on time. Rather than stop and get gas, and risk walking into a new place late, we thought we’d get gas on the way home. The service was nice, the music was beautiful and absolutely no one spoke to us. Not too unusual a first reception in the Episcopal church.
We returned to our car to head back home, but when we turned the key, nothing happened. In the heat, what little gas we had left had vaporized in the tank. We had no choice but to go back into a very new place, and ask for help. We could not have been more embarrassed and humiliated.
Thankfully, a very kind person at the desk in the office lived in our same condo complex, and came to our rescue. And we came back again, because people had been so kind to us on a day when we needed a bit of kindness.
We weren’t lepers, but we sure felt like it. David and I are Episcopalians because we made ourselves vulnerable, even though it was terrifying at the time. And someone reached out to help us.
After I was ordained, David and I visited Memphis for a friend’s wedding. It happened to be the same weekend that Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast, and the city was full of people who were refugees, many of them driven out of Louisiana and Mississippi by the storm. It was one of the most surreal weekends of my life - the contrast between the happy occasion we were there to celebrate, and the people staying in the hotel who had lost everything was impossible to ignore. Sunday morning, in the midst of all the aftermath of Katrina, reeling from the pictures of New Orleans we saw on the news, we visited a lovely downtown church. The church was recruiting people to serve in the rotating meals they were offering to refugees, and I was very proud to be Episcopalian. Then we went up for communion. As he usually does, Dave went to intinct his bread in the cup. That’s a very Episcopal, very fancy word - we like fancy, obscure words in the Episcopal church. It means "dip". As he did, the Eucharistic minister hissed “No, no!, Too messy!" at him, and then yanked the cup away from him, and moved on down the line. I don’t think I’ve ever been more shocked.
This past Friday at Diocesan Convention our new Bishop gave his first Bishops’ address. I’m sure it will be available next week on the diocesan Web site, and I would encourage you to seek it out, and listen to it. The theme this year was Seek and Serve Christ in all Persons, and in his address, the Bishop reminded us to be especially mindful of our visitors. He reminded us that most people who visit for the first time are here because they are in a period of transition in their lives, sometimes even of crisis. New job, new city, new baby, new illness, new moment of need. I know that was true for Dave and I. And it can be very intimidating to come into an Episcopal church for the first time, particularly if you are not from a liturgical background. I remember that Dave was tremendously frustrated by going back and forth between the prayer book and hymnal, because we weren’t used to that. He said, shuffling from one book to another, "What’s wrong with these people that they can’t put it all together in one thing?”
In the gospel today, and in the OT, we see two men in very similar circumstances, asking the same question of someone in authority. In the Gospel, a leper humbles himself before Christ, and is honest but humble about what he needs, about his illness and his need for healing. “If you choose, you can make me clean.” “I DO choose,” Jesus says, and the man is healed. Not only is he healed, but he once again able to take his place in the community. He goes off to the priest to be declared clean, to return to a life he had lost and he tells everyone about his life-changing experience, despite Jesus’ instructions to the contrary, and crowds flock to Jesus and the disciples. People come to him from every quarter, and a community begins to grow.
I love the story of Naaman, and I’ve preached on it before. Naaman the powerful and mighty man is also humbled by this same painful and debilitating disease. It has overtaken his life, and he goes in search of what he needs to give him healing. He doesn’t much like the reception he gets at Elisha’s house - Elisha doesn’t even go out to him. He sends a servant, instead, and Naaman is furious. But his servants persuade him to do as he’s told. He makes himself vulnerable - he admits that he has an infirmity, that he needs help...he humbles himself, and he is healed.
Both stories are stories of people seeking redemption, healing and a return to community through faith. People who make themselves vulnerable in order to be made whole. The healed leper, whose name we don’t even know, spread the word about the healing to be found in Christ. We don’t get to read it, but the passage from 2nd Kings goes on to tell us how Naaman returns to Elisha after his healing and says, "I now know that your God is the true God, and I will worship him all of my days.” Now it doesn’t say that Naaman stuck around and became a pledging member...but he is transformed so that he is not just healed - he is whole - both men are more than they were before.
Here at Ascension, have we created a safe place for people to be vulnerable? Are we willing to welcome those who are in need of healing, those who have run out of gas those who are bold enough to take a chance and come to us? Are we treating everyone as we would treat Christ if he appeared on our doorstep? If a modern-day leper came to us, sat down in the pew beside you today, what would be your reaction? Are we going even further and going outside these walls, and inviting people of all walks of life to come here, and be a part of our community, to find a space to make whole their broken and wounded places?
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the kind of congregation that pulls the chalice away from someone who’s reaching for it, saying "No, no, way too messy!" In my experience life IS messy. It’s joyful, and it’s painful, and it’s frightening, and it’s rewarding and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s amazing. It is full of change, and disorder, and more than a bit of chaos.
“Change” can be a disturbing word for us here. We don’t always like it. Change can be frightening. Change can create disorder, and we don’t always appreciate a little creative disorder here. One of the most common fears of people who are new to our community is that they will create disorder of some kind. Their children will make some noise, or they will do the wrong thing, or do the right thing at the wrong time. Sometimes our desire to do the right thing all the time - the right gestures, the right behaviour - our desire for order and stability - can create unspoken barriers that push people away, can keep them from finding a comfortable place with us. Our form might be perfectly correct. We might be doing everything right, but we will have pushed away the very people who need us the most.
We’ve made a great strides in welcoming the guests who come through our doors - and we are a growing and vibrant place because of it. So let’s go further, and think of ways to provide a safe place not only for each of us, but for all the seeking and vulnerable people who walk through our doors. Or let’s be really bold, and think outside of this actual box, and go beyond the doors to invite people to join into the community of faith with us.
If that sounds too intimidating, if it sounds suspiciously like evangelism, then I would ask you to think back to the person or people who welcomed you here for the first time. Who were you, then? Perhaps you have been here since you were a child - even an infant. What are you doing to welcome the smallest of people among us? Perhaps you came as a youth...or a new family, with a small child of your own. Perhaps you were invited by someone else. In all those cases, wonderful! To whom have you extended the same grace? Perhaps you yourself were in a vulnerable and hurting place. I hope you have found healing in those places, and I hope you feel encouraged to reach out and do the same for someone else.
We know what that means, right? Well, first it means if you go out to your car on this cold morning, and it doesn’t start...congratulations, I’m your ride home! But it also means that we are all called to make ourselves vulnerable - to step out of our comfort zones, and do something just little different.
Let us be willing to welcome a healthy amount of change and disorder, to be a bit uncomfortable in order to grow. And by grow, I don’t mean numbers or size. I mean grow individually and as a group to be more like Christ. If we are willing to do that, we will grow into a larger community, because we will be the people Christ calls us to be - in here, and out there. We will be hands of healing and hope in a world in need of both - we will be Seeking and Serving Christ in All People.
If you choose, you can make me clean.
I DO choose.
Amen.
Epiphany 6, Year B
February 12, 2012
I'm not sure I’ve ever told you why David and I became Episcopal. We both grew up in different Methodist churches, but we must have made our way here somehow, right? Well, we’re Episcopal because we ran out of gas. (I'd like to say that's metaphorical, but it definitely isn't.) After moving back to Knoxville, we visited every Methodist church in town, but none of them were quite right. Frustrated, we finally decided to try another denomination. We decided to come here because we lived not too far away at the time.
It was a hot summer day, and we were running a little low on gas, and a bit short on time. Rather than stop and get gas, and risk walking into a new place late, we thought we’d get gas on the way home. The service was nice, the music was beautiful and absolutely no one spoke to us. Not too unusual a first reception in the Episcopal church.
We returned to our car to head back home, but when we turned the key, nothing happened. In the heat, what little gas we had left had vaporized in the tank. We had no choice but to go back into a very new place, and ask for help. We could not have been more embarrassed and humiliated.
Thankfully, a very kind person at the desk in the office lived in our same condo complex, and came to our rescue. And we came back again, because people had been so kind to us on a day when we needed a bit of kindness.
We weren’t lepers, but we sure felt like it. David and I are Episcopalians because we made ourselves vulnerable, even though it was terrifying at the time. And someone reached out to help us.
After I was ordained, David and I visited Memphis for a friend’s wedding. It happened to be the same weekend that Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast, and the city was full of people who were refugees, many of them driven out of Louisiana and Mississippi by the storm. It was one of the most surreal weekends of my life - the contrast between the happy occasion we were there to celebrate, and the people staying in the hotel who had lost everything was impossible to ignore. Sunday morning, in the midst of all the aftermath of Katrina, reeling from the pictures of New Orleans we saw on the news, we visited a lovely downtown church. The church was recruiting people to serve in the rotating meals they were offering to refugees, and I was very proud to be Episcopalian. Then we went up for communion. As he usually does, Dave went to intinct his bread in the cup. That’s a very Episcopal, very fancy word - we like fancy, obscure words in the Episcopal church. It means "dip". As he did, the Eucharistic minister hissed “No, no!, Too messy!" at him, and then yanked the cup away from him, and moved on down the line. I don’t think I’ve ever been more shocked.
This past Friday at Diocesan Convention our new Bishop gave his first Bishops’ address. I’m sure it will be available next week on the diocesan Web site, and I would encourage you to seek it out, and listen to it. The theme this year was Seek and Serve Christ in all Persons, and in his address, the Bishop reminded us to be especially mindful of our visitors. He reminded us that most people who visit for the first time are here because they are in a period of transition in their lives, sometimes even of crisis. New job, new city, new baby, new illness, new moment of need. I know that was true for Dave and I. And it can be very intimidating to come into an Episcopal church for the first time, particularly if you are not from a liturgical background. I remember that Dave was tremendously frustrated by going back and forth between the prayer book and hymnal, because we weren’t used to that. He said, shuffling from one book to another, "What’s wrong with these people that they can’t put it all together in one thing?”
In the gospel today, and in the OT, we see two men in very similar circumstances, asking the same question of someone in authority. In the Gospel, a leper humbles himself before Christ, and is honest but humble about what he needs, about his illness and his need for healing. “If you choose, you can make me clean.” “I DO choose,” Jesus says, and the man is healed. Not only is he healed, but he once again able to take his place in the community. He goes off to the priest to be declared clean, to return to a life he had lost and he tells everyone about his life-changing experience, despite Jesus’ instructions to the contrary, and crowds flock to Jesus and the disciples. People come to him from every quarter, and a community begins to grow.
I love the story of Naaman, and I’ve preached on it before. Naaman the powerful and mighty man is also humbled by this same painful and debilitating disease. It has overtaken his life, and he goes in search of what he needs to give him healing. He doesn’t much like the reception he gets at Elisha’s house - Elisha doesn’t even go out to him. He sends a servant, instead, and Naaman is furious. But his servants persuade him to do as he’s told. He makes himself vulnerable - he admits that he has an infirmity, that he needs help...he humbles himself, and he is healed.
Both stories are stories of people seeking redemption, healing and a return to community through faith. People who make themselves vulnerable in order to be made whole. The healed leper, whose name we don’t even know, spread the word about the healing to be found in Christ. We don’t get to read it, but the passage from 2nd Kings goes on to tell us how Naaman returns to Elisha after his healing and says, "I now know that your God is the true God, and I will worship him all of my days.” Now it doesn’t say that Naaman stuck around and became a pledging member...but he is transformed so that he is not just healed - he is whole - both men are more than they were before.
Here at Ascension, have we created a safe place for people to be vulnerable? Are we willing to welcome those who are in need of healing, those who have run out of gas those who are bold enough to take a chance and come to us? Are we treating everyone as we would treat Christ if he appeared on our doorstep? If a modern-day leper came to us, sat down in the pew beside you today, what would be your reaction? Are we going even further and going outside these walls, and inviting people of all walks of life to come here, and be a part of our community, to find a space to make whole their broken and wounded places?
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the kind of congregation that pulls the chalice away from someone who’s reaching for it, saying "No, no, way too messy!" In my experience life IS messy. It’s joyful, and it’s painful, and it’s frightening, and it’s rewarding and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s amazing. It is full of change, and disorder, and more than a bit of chaos.
“Change” can be a disturbing word for us here. We don’t always like it. Change can be frightening. Change can create disorder, and we don’t always appreciate a little creative disorder here. One of the most common fears of people who are new to our community is that they will create disorder of some kind. Their children will make some noise, or they will do the wrong thing, or do the right thing at the wrong time. Sometimes our desire to do the right thing all the time - the right gestures, the right behaviour - our desire for order and stability - can create unspoken barriers that push people away, can keep them from finding a comfortable place with us. Our form might be perfectly correct. We might be doing everything right, but we will have pushed away the very people who need us the most.
We’ve made a great strides in welcoming the guests who come through our doors - and we are a growing and vibrant place because of it. So let’s go further, and think of ways to provide a safe place not only for each of us, but for all the seeking and vulnerable people who walk through our doors. Or let’s be really bold, and think outside of this actual box, and go beyond the doors to invite people to join into the community of faith with us.
If that sounds too intimidating, if it sounds suspiciously like evangelism, then I would ask you to think back to the person or people who welcomed you here for the first time. Who were you, then? Perhaps you have been here since you were a child - even an infant. What are you doing to welcome the smallest of people among us? Perhaps you came as a youth...or a new family, with a small child of your own. Perhaps you were invited by someone else. In all those cases, wonderful! To whom have you extended the same grace? Perhaps you yourself were in a vulnerable and hurting place. I hope you have found healing in those places, and I hope you feel encouraged to reach out and do the same for someone else.
We know what that means, right? Well, first it means if you go out to your car on this cold morning, and it doesn’t start...congratulations, I’m your ride home! But it also means that we are all called to make ourselves vulnerable - to step out of our comfort zones, and do something just little different.
Let us be willing to welcome a healthy amount of change and disorder, to be a bit uncomfortable in order to grow. And by grow, I don’t mean numbers or size. I mean grow individually and as a group to be more like Christ. If we are willing to do that, we will grow into a larger community, because we will be the people Christ calls us to be - in here, and out there. We will be hands of healing and hope in a world in need of both - we will be Seeking and Serving Christ in All People.
If you choose, you can make me clean.
I DO choose.
Amen.
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