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| Rev. Howard Bowlin |
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 15
August 17, 2008
The Unfailing God (Romans 11:13-15, 29-32)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
There have been countless times when I have had conversations with church members and the subject of the nature of God
gets raised. We will talk about people’s understanding of God. They share thoughts such as "God is love," and "God is
all-knowing," and "God is the ultimate reality."
Probably one of the most common of these statements, however, is "God is all-powerful." If I were to ask for a show of
hands here this morning of those who believe that statement, I’m sure that most hands would be raised–my own among
them.
We want to believe, sometimes I think we have to believe, that theological statement. We believe that there isn’t
anything God cannot do.
There are times in bible study groups when we come across a curious trio of verses in the Second Letter to Timothy. They
read, "The saying is sure: If we have died with [Christ], we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with
him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, [God] remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself."1
God remains faithful–because he cannot deny himself. Does this mean that there is, after all, something God cannot
do? That is, be unfaithful to that which he has create and redeemed?
Well, over the years this question has produced some spirited discussions. And, while the argument may strike you along
the lines of "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin," it’s one worth pondering.
Does this mean that there is, after all, something God cannot do? The possibility that the answer might just be "yes" is
not as bad as it might at first seem. The question is part of what Saint Paul is arguing with in today’s epistle reading.
Our verses continue his argument that Paul began in last week’s reading. He is dealing with the problem of the Jewish
people of his time’s rejection of Jesus as messiah. Paul stated emphatically in the verses we heard last Sunday that,
because they had rejected Jesus, they appeared to be without salvation.
Paul himself was a Jew, as was Jesus, and the rejection that he speaks of cost him a great deal of personal anguish. That
was brought out very clearly in his painful words that we heard last week.
Today he carries on his theological argument, speaking to the gentile Christians at Rome. Since he has taken on the vocation
of apostle to the gentiles, he reminds them that he remains a Jew. He still cares about and for his own people. And he sees
his success in his ministry to the gentiles as God’s way of making the Jews jealous so that they too will accept Jesus
as messiah.
All well and good as an argument for a theology course. But what does this convoluted and grammatically complex reasoning
have to do with us–gentiles living 2,000 years later and half a world away?
The point is in the concept of God’s complete . . . endless . . . unfailing . . . faithfulness. Paul reassures his
fellow Jews that, although they are guilty of rejecting Jesus, God will still remain faithful to them. The covenant that God
established with them at the time of the Old Testament patriarchs is irrevocable.
The point of all this for us is that God never turns away from us. That simply is not the nature of God. Our acceptance
of Christ, whether in a spontaneous moment of conversion, or over a lifetime of spiritual seeking and growth, is permanent.
It is for ever. God will never turn away from us.
1. 2 Timothy 2:11-13, New Revised Standard Version.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 14
August 10, 2008
We’re All in This Together
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
As we continue our traversal of old versions of the Book of Common Prayer with the 1552 book, you may have noticed
the following rubric in the worship book this morning, it comes at the top of page 6, immediately following the sermon: "After
such sermon, homily, or exhortation, the Curate shall declare unto the people whether there be any holy days or fasting days
in the week following . . ." I’m going to observe that rubric today, not where it is in the booklet, but right now—in
the sermon.
There are six such days this week, an unusually rich group of the saints of the church. And I find it interesting that
two of the six not born at the time that our spiritual fore-bearers worshiped from the 1552 Book of Common Prayer.
Today, August 10, the church calendar commemorates Laurence, Deacon, and Martyr at Rome, who was put to death in 258 A.D.
During the persecution by the Roman emperor Valerian, the local ". . . prefect demanded information from [Laurence] about
the Church’s treasures. Laurence, in reply, assembled the sick and poor to whom, as archdeacon, he had distributed the
Church’s relief funds, and presented them to the prefect, saying, ‘These are the treasures of the Church.’
Laurence is believed to have been roasted alive on a gridiron."1
On Monday, August 11, we commemorate Clare, Abbess at Assisi, who was moved to enter religious life after hearing a sermon
by the very same St. Francis for whom this church is named. She founded a convent in Assisi which she led for forty years.
On her deathbed in 1253, she was heard to say: "Go forth in peace, for you have followed the good road. Go forth without fear,
for he that created you has sanctified you, has always protected you, and loves you as a mother. Blessed be God, for having
created me."2
Then, on Tuesday the 12th, we have one of the more modern saints, Florence Nightingale, Nurse and Social Reformer.
Nightingale, a devout Anglican, served as a nurse in the Crimean War in the mid-1850s. After the war, she founded a school
for nursing at St. Thomas Hospital in London. In addition she worked tirelessly, and in spite of poor health, to the betterment
of public health, especially sanitary conditions that we take for granted today. By the time of her death in 1910 ". . . her
reputation as a healer and holy person had assumed mythical proportions, and she is honored throughout the world as the founder
of the modern profession of nursing."3
Wednesday the 13th sees us remember Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down, Connor, and Dromore. Taylor was one of the
great theologians of the Church of England in the 17th Century. Despite suffering persecution at the hands of the
Puritans following the execution of King Charles I, he remained a man of great prayer and devotion. He died in 1667.4
August 14 sees us commemorate another modern saint of the faith: Jonathan Myrick Daniels, Seminarian and Witness for Civil
Rights. Daniels was a seminarian at was then called Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. During the civil
rights marches of the 1960s, he traveled to Alabama to join in one of the marches. On August 14, 1965, he was jailed in Haynesville,
Alabama, for having joined a picket line. He ". . . and his companions were unexpectedly released. Aware that they were in
danger, four of them walked to a small store. As [a] sixteen-year-old [black girl] reached the top step of the entrance, a[n
unemployed highway worker] with a gun appeared, cursing her. Jonathan pulled her to one side to shield her from the unexpected
threats. As a result, he was killed by a blast from the 12-gauge gun."5
Even if you’ve never heard of any of these folks, I know you’re familiar with the person that the church commemorates
on the 15th: Saint Mary the Virgin, Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ.6 I trust that I don’t need
to say anything more about her!
O.K., so why have I spent this time mentioning these folks?
I’m reminded of a conversation that I observed years ago when I was in seminary. I was in a seminar studying Eastern
Orthodox theology. The professor was a Serbian Orthodox priest. One day, we were discussing the development of the Nicene
Creed—a statement of faith that arose in what we would today call the "Eastern Church."
One of my classmates raised his hand and said, "Dr. Webster, what are you supposed to do when you come to the parts of
the creed that you don’t believe?" The rest of us looked around for somewhere to hide.
Dr. Webster simply replied, "We stand and say the creed."
"No, seriously," said my classmate. "What do you when you come to the parts of the creed that you don’t believe?"
Dr. Webster repeated, "We stand and say the creed."
My classmate pressed ahead (he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer!): "No, I don't think that you understand. What
do you do when you come to the parts of the creed that you don’t believe?"
"No, young man, I don’t think that you understand," said the professor. "It’s not your creed.
It’s our creed. It was our creed in 325 A.D. It was our creed in 1000 A.D. It is our creed
today. It does not matter whether you (individual) believe any or all of it. God doesn’t care what you think
about God has revealed to his Church through Scripture and the lives and work of his saints. We didn’t make
it up this morning; we received it from those who have gone before us in the faith. We stand and say the creed."
So, we have stood and said the creed. We have received it and all the other parts of our tradition, including all
of these other editions of our Book of Common Prayer, from our forebears in the faith—people like Laurence, Clare, Florence
Nightingale, Jeremy Taylor, Jonathan Daniels, and Mary, Mother of our Lord.
Commemorating the saints reminds us that we are in this together and that God doesn’t want lone rangers. It’s
a pity that there are not saints for every day in the year, because frankly friends, we need the reminder.
1. Lesser Feasts and Fast 2000 (New York: Church Publishing, 2001—hereafter LFF), 322.
2. LFF, 324.
3. LFF, 326.
4. LFF, 328.
5. LFF, 330.
6. LFF, 333.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Twelfth Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 13
August 3, 2008
Give Ye Them to Eat (Matthew 14:13-21)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
"A little girl was sitting on the steps of a large cathedral that was newly built. A man who was passing by paused for
a moment to admire the beautiful architecture. He was surprised to hear the little girl speak up. She said, 'Do you like it?'
'Yes, I think it is very beautiful,' the man answered. 'I'm glad you like it,' replied the little girl, 'because I helped
build it.' The man smiled and said, 'You are awfully small to have had a part in the construction of such a large building.
Tell me, what did you do?' The little girl proudly announced, "My daddy is a bricklayer. He worked on this church; and every
day he worked, I brought him his lunch."1
The story is more than just a wistful little tale. The little girl was right; she had helped to build the cathedral. Her
story reminds us that it takes all sorts of people working together to achieve a goal or purpose in life. Take the story related
in today's Gospel lesson, for example. Jesus has just received word that his cousin, John the Baptist, has been executed by
Herod Agrippa. Jesus withdraws for some quiet time in the wilderness, surely a place where he can be alone for a while. The
Gospel record does not furnish us with an explanation. Perhaps Jesus wishes to grieve. Perhaps he is what we today would call
"stressed out." Whatever the reason for his action, Jesus receives no peace and quiet.
The crowds hear that he is close by in the wilderness and they come looking for him. The day is hot and dry. The people
become tired, hungry, and thirsty. Any parent who ever has stood in line at an amusement park with their children on a hot
July afternoon may have some idea of the kinds of noises and emotions that were present in the wilderness that day! Jesus'
disciples come to him with a somewhat less than noble suggestion. "Send them away! Let them walk back into town and buy their
own food and drink. We didn't invite them out here anyway!"
This ragtag group of Jesus' most intimate companions is a collection of individuals whose backgrounds may charitably be
described as "diverse." There are professional fishermen, a tax collector, a thief, and others whose careers are totally unimportant
to the writers of the Gospel accounts. And yet, these are the very individuals to whom Jesus responds with the words, "They
need not go away; you give them something to eat."
Jesus wants them to share in his mission with him, not just sit back and expect him to do everything for them. Moreover,
he expects them to work together as one body. Jesus recognizes that the unity that he desires all his followers to achieve
does not exclude diversity. Unity need not mean uniformity. Even less does it mean a boring sameness of personality, gifts,
and skills. What if, God forbid, everyone in this room were exactly like me? There would be "x" number of middle-aged white
males, retired from careers in the Marine Corps, pursuing a second vocation an Episcopal priest, bald & bearded, married
more than thirty-two years, and with a twenty-one year-old daughter. Now, I am quite fond of me, but that would be a bit much!
My brothers and sisters, we too are a diverse lot and we are the followers of Jesus Christ. Remember the image of the cathedral
in the story of the little girl and the man. It took a lot of building material, a lot of money, and a lot of people to build
the cathedral. All of those elements were essential to its completion. Even the smallest offering was indispensable. I imagine
that if the little girl had not brought her father his lunch every day he would have found something else to eat and laid
his bricks anyway. However, I choose to believe that neither he nor his daughter would have had it any other way. Working
together for the building of something, whether it is a structure or a relationship, can be a source of great satisfaction
and rejoicing.
The gifts that we bring to each other and to this church community are diverse in nature. No gift, no talent that we offer
is insignificant. In the Gospel story what is offered to Jesus seems like very little, five loaves and two fish. Yet, Jesus
needed them, he blessed them, and he used them: five little loaves and two little fish. Jesus needs our loaves and fish too,
whatever they may be. He will bless them and us, and he will use us, whatever it is that we offer.
We shortly will gather at the Lord's table to be fed with the sacrament of bread and wine. We are gathering primarily in
response to our Lord's commandment to remember his last meal with these same disciples. But we also ought to remember all
the meals that Christ ate with them and with the other countless and anonymous persons who followed him during his earthly
pilgrimage, those people who are so very much like us. When you come to receive the sacrament take time to reflect on the
loaves and fish that you can offer to Jesus. Jesus needs them. Jesus will bless them. Jesus will use them.
1. Celebration, January 22, 1989.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 10, Year A
July 13, 2008
On Living the Christian Faith (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
I must confess to a certain literary prejudice. I don’t like reading the works of Ernest Hemingway. I realize that
he remains popular among many people. I know that he won the Nobel prize for literature. I understand that he wrote in a specific
time in history, and in a literary style that captured that time in prose.
I just don’t like it . . . except for one story.
In his novelette of 1952, The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway gives us a parable about one man’s struggle with
the natural world. In this story, Santiago, an old Cuban fisherman, has been rowing his boat for 84 days into the Gulf Stream
in search of marlin. At long last he hooks a huge fish which tows his boat all afternoon and night and into the next day.
Santiago at last harpoons the fish but it is too large to fit into the boat.
The old fisherman lashes the marlin to the side of his boat and begins to make his way back to port. As he is sailing home,
sharks attack the boat and begin to eat the marlin. Santiago attempts to fend off the sharks with a knife that he has tied
to the tiller of the boat. It is of no avail, for when he at last reaches port all that is left of the marlin is its skeleton.
Nevertheless, Santiago remains proud, even in the face of what may appear to be his defeat. As he collapses into his shack,
the other fishermen gather around, marveling at the size of his catch. Santiago has taken what he has been given by God, his
skill as a fisherman, and used it to the best of his ability.
To each is given, according to her or his own ability. Each and every one of us has been given gifts, abilities,
and talents by God. The Book of Common Prayer makes clear how we are called to exercise those gifts and talents in action.
We read there that the ministers of the Church are: "lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons" (in that order).1
Each of these four categories is in turn further defined. Each begins with the simple statement that their ministry "is
to represent Christ and his Church" in the world. Furthermore, we read that we are "to bear witness to [Christ] wherever [we]
may be; and, according to the gifts given [us], to carry on Christ’'s work of reconciliation in the world. .
. ." Finally, we read that the duty of all Christians is "to come together week by week for corporate worship; and
to work, pray, and give for the spread of the kingdom of God."
Sometimes, however, we may question whether we have been given anything of value to share. Perhaps we are aware that we
have been given a gift from God but it does not seem to be of equal value with those talents that others may have. For whatever
reason, we may find it difficult to go forth from this place and represent Christ and his Church in the world. And yet, it
can and must be done.
I cannot help but think of a certain person whenever I reflect on our call as Christians. She was a person I met during
the summer of 1990 while I was serving as a chaplain at St. Elizabeth’s Mental Hospital in Washington, D.C. I met there
a patient whom I will call Mrs. Green. She was 67 years old and had lived at St. Elizabeth’s and its satellite facilities
for more than 40 years.
Mrs. Green was diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia and clinical depression. She carried all of her worldly goods about
with her in a plastic grocery bag. Among other things, included in her bag were a pocket comb, a copy of People Magazine,
a portable "Walkman" radio, and a red-and-yellow kazoo (her most prized possession). Anyone who did not know her might look
at her and say that she had nothing of any material value whatsoever.
I was assigned to the geriatric ward where Mrs. Green lived. The psychiatric staff had determined that she was well enough
to return to the community. They asked me to work with her to prepare her for that return. When I began to talk with Mrs.
Green, she made it quite clear that she was unalterably opposed to leaving St. Elizabeth’s. As I worked with her in
therapy and watched her in chapel services it became clear why she did not want to leave. She knew what her ministry
was and what she was going to do with it. It was to stay at St. Elizabeth’s and be a light of reconciliation to
the other patients and staff, bearing witness to Christ wherever she may be.
Her ministry was in her gift of music, in the singing of hymns with the other patients, and in playing her beloved kazoo!
Chapel services in mental hospitals are often noisy and, sometimes chaotic affairs. People talk and move around a lot. But
when Mrs. Green launched into Amazing Grace on the kazoo, all noise ceased completely! No one talked–everyone
listened.
In her prayers, I never heard her once offer a prayer except to ask for guidance for her doctors and nurses or to pray
for those of her friends at St. Elizabeth’s who had died, and for those patients still there. She never once prayed
for anything for herself.
She followed the example of Christ’s "self-giving love" better than anyone else that I had ever met. Mrs. Green did
all of this with joy and was a reasonably happy human being. She took what she has been given and, according to her ability,
put it into action.
That is what we too are called upon to do as part of our baptism into the Body of Christ. We can all do it with God’s
help and the help of each other.
Today’s Gospel lesson of the Parable of the Sower reminds us that the Word of God falls on all sorts of ears. It
is heard by many different sorts of ears and responded to with different degrees of commitment. We hear God’s Word in
many different settings, including those persons with whom we come into contact daily. Remembering the examples of Santiago
in the Hemingway story and Mrs. Green, let us rejoice that we each have been given our own gifts and talents by God. What
we are is God's gift to us; what we do with our lives is our gift to God.
As we approach the Lord’s Table to be nourished with the Sacrament of his Body and Blood, let us take stock of our
talents and give thanks to God, their source. And then, as we offer our Prayer of Thanksgiving to our Father in heaven, we
will be ready for God to "send us out to do the work that [God] has given us to do, to love and serve [God] as faithful witnesses
of Christ our Lord," each one us, according to our own ability.
________________________
1. Page 855f.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9, Year A
Curtis Baggett, Lay Preacher
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67; Romans 7:15-26a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Our Old Testament lesson for today is the story of Isaac’s choosing of Rebekah as a life-long mate,
and the story is scattered with evidence that the Gospel of Success— sometimes known as The Gospel of Prosperity—has
been with us for a very long time. In the very beginning of the story for today, Abraham’s servant boasts to Rebekah
that "The Lord has greatly blessed Abraham, made him wealthy, and gave him flocks and herds, silver and gold, male and female
slaves, camels and donkeys." In today’s terms, God has blessed Abraham with great bank accounts and investment portfolios,
well equipped cars and multiple seasonal homes, exquisite travel and powerful friends, fine race horses and well bred dogs.
The list of blessings could go on and on.
The implication in the scripture and today is that God loves Abraham—and by extension, ME—just
a little more than He loves so many others. Others who are struggling to pay their bills, others who are driving older cars
that might have unsafe old tires on them, others who have no mailbox in front of their cardboard box homes. Indeed, God has
showered His blessings upon us all in the form of many things and comforts and conveniences, and it is really easy
to get a smug little feeling deep inside that God is showing His preferential love for those of us who have arrived at self-sufficiency
and stature in society. Maybe the glass is not always full for us, but it is full enough to think sortof subconsciously that
there is plenty for me and therefore there might not be enough of God to go around similarly to every walking, breathing soul
on the planet.
Let’s face it—everyone here today is in this same boat. We HAVE been blessed immensely with opportunities
and self-satisfying experiences and influence in our work and in our community. It’s easy to think that God is our puppet
master and also on OUR SIDE. And when things don’t go to our liking, somehow God is withholding a blessing and substituting
a hardship in its place.
As Americans, we are in somewhat of a double jeopardy in this Success Gospel. We have been handed an enormous
set of freedoms. We have been given opportunity after opportunity to live comfortably and effectively—in whatever we
choose to do with our lives. The way has been paved for us to take advantage of every possible success. How much more freedom
can anyone stand?
What’s more, we get anxious about losing what we have, and we strain ourselves and our resources to
hold on to this thing we call success, whatever success might mean to each individual.
So we tend to hold onto our lives and our successes with a tighter grasp. We tend to be like the monkey who
stuck his hand in the cookie jar—he could not retract his hand because he simply would not release the cookies from
his fist, making his hand too big to retrieve through the mouth of the jar.
We want to possess more and be more and show more and receive more. And before
we know it, we discover that instead of owning these things, we are OWNED BY THEM.
There is no more blessed nation on this earth than our beloved USA. We are all beneficiaries of the commitments
and sacrifices our ancestors gave to shaping this great nation into what we have today. We have just celebrated a grand demonstration
of patriotism in the Fourth of July, reminding us of our heritage of blessings, reminding us that we didn’t get here
on our own, and these freedoms are ours to cherish but not to possess selfishly at the expense of others.
But somewhere deep down, we have this nagging sense that we are at crossed purposes with what Jesus taught
us.
As Americans, we are trained to take care of our business and provide for our families as well as we possible
can. As Christians, we are trained to serve others before ourselves.
As Americans, we are taught that profit is a good and worthy motive. As Christians, we are taught that sacrifice
is the pathway to satisfaction.
As Americans, we are inclined to expect good things in life, to use our resources wisely and keep our bank
accounts sufficient for emergencies. As Christians, we are inclined to let go of worldly goods and depend on God’s providential
hand.
As Americans, we are products of a sometimes broken but usually effective system of justice that we all depend
on for security and equal treatment. As Christians, we are products of a redeeming God who loves us without reservation, a
God whose mercy is on a higher plane than any courtroom can produce.
It’s a difficult conundrum, this being an American and being a Christian at the same time. Like Paul
said in the reading from Romans today, (if I may paraphrase a bit) we know deep down that God loves us a lot, but not more
than anyone else; yet we want more and more of God’.s provisional stuff to reign down upon us and our loved ones. We
know that we SHOULD think God’s thoughts of love and mercy and kindness and forgiveness, but we just can’t make
ourselves depend on those qualities that we cannot see or feel or touch or use for our own successes. In short, we know what
we OUGHT to do, but we simply cannot make ourselves do it consistently.
Reconciling this ongoing spiritual tension between what we ought to do and ought to think and what we really
do and think is a relentless battle. Just about the time we are ready to give up and give in to more self-centeredness, we
are heartened by the Gospel reading for today. (Not the Gospel of Success, not the Gospel of Prosperity, but
the Gospel of grace and redemption.) And Matthew writes:
"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke
upon you, and learn from ME; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find REST FOR YOUR SOULS. For my yoke is easy,
and my burden is light."
Just when we get caught up in taking care of ourselves and preserving our lives and caring more for the blessings
than the blesser, we are invited to take a deep breath and relax in God’s unfathomable love, to renew our confidence
in God’s way of thinking, to give up being in charge of all the things and the stuff that complicate our American
success-filled lives, and to let God inspire and change us to love serving others, to put ourselves at risk if necessary
for the benefit of the helpless, to let our thoughts be God’s thoughts.
So how do we do this, this allowing God to inspire and change us? The Apostle Paul tells us that we can’t
earn God’s favor. But what if we at St. Francis were to:
Memorize and meditate on what we heard at the beginning of this service, perhaps at the breakfast table in
the morning [let me read this for us all again —Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from
you no secrets are hid. Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of you Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love
you, and worthily magnify your Holy Name.];
Spend some quiet time every day so God can speak to us and we can hear God encourage us;
Attend worship services regularly so we can develop and practice God’s vocabulary —words like
"forgiveness" and "redemption" and "mercy" and "grace"—words that feed the heart;
Pray that God would fill our hearts with His will and His thoughts, that He would show us new ways to become
open to His leading?
We might just find that permanent satisfaction comes when we align our motives and aspirations with God, rather than pursuing
all the successes we can possibly muster. If nothing else, we are promised by Jesus that we will not only find purpose but
also rest for our weary souls that struggle every day with how to be successful without being controlled by our successes.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7, Year A
June 22, 2008
Keeping Secrets (Genesis 21:8-21; Matthew 10:24-39)
Howard B. Bowlin+
". . . nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What
I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who
kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell."1 Well now,
that’s certainly a cheery note on which to begin a summer sermon.
"Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known." I wonder
how that verse in particular strikes you? Think about it for a minute. "Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered,
and nothing secret that will not become known." What do you think about that?
The first thoughts that came to me as I began to reflect on this morning’s gospel reading were fueled
by the Collect for Purity from our Book of Common Prayer: "Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and
from you no secrets are hid . . ."2 From you—"you" is God—no secrets are hid.
Those words are as familiar to us, as near to us, as the last celebration of the Holy Eucharist that we attended.
They are mandatory in Rite I, optional in Rite II, but I never omit them. We need to be reminded that no matter how good a
job we think we are doing at keeping secrets, God knows.
I’m also no so sure that, deep down, we like that idea. On the one hand, television tells us that "inquiring
minds want to know." So we are treated to an endless availability of exposed images of people’s secrets—if we
are willing to watch. (Dr. Phil anyone?)
Do you remember the story about the unveiling of the identity of one of the early 1970's most mysterious
secrets and how it caught our attention briefly? I’m talking about the unveiling of a man by the name of Mark Felt as
the famous (infamous?) "Deep Throat" of Watergate fame.
Seeing the Mark Felt story took me back—as may have done you—to the days of Watergate and the last months of
the Nixon presidency. Gail and I were living in Washington, D.C. at the time. The Washington Post was our daily newspaper.
In Washington, national news is local news. There was no escaping it: "What was the truth? Who said what to whom? Who was
the source? What were the answers to the government’s secrets?" We wanted to know!But there are some things that we
don’t want revealed, don’t we. I don’t know about you but I’m concerned about all the personal information
that gets gathered by various organizations, including the government, and stored . . . somewhere. Every now and then we hear
of one of these "somewheres" being hacked into and millions of people’s personal credit information becoming vulnerable
to misuse. It happened to Gail and me a couple of years ago when the Veterans Administration had one of these security breaches.
We both received the obligatory "We’re from the government and we’re here to help you" letters. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight
. . .
So-called "identity theft" is on the rise. I had a colleague in New York to whom that happened. She was fairly
lucky–it took her only a number of months to get the mess straightened out. Today it takes much longer, I’m told.
There is just some information that we want to remain secret forever.
But no, Jesus says, "Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become
known."
Privacy did not exist in the ancient village life of Jesus day.3 One of the major occupations
of the time was "minding everyone else’s business." Village children were taught by their parents to spy out the secrets
of other families in the village while keeping the secrets of their own family intact. In that society, if people did not
know what others were up to, they assumed that they were up to no good. They thought that the others must be plotting something
harmful to everyone else in the village.
Many of us today hear those words and think, were they all paranoid? It surely sounds that way our modern
ears. But that was characteristic of the culture into which Jesus was born and raised.
Life in such a world surely was oppressive. The secrecy fed on itself and people resorted to even more secrecy
and deception in order to gain some breathing room. Given the prevalence of this secrecy and deception in the culture, how
could anyone trust and believe another person?
Well, people resorted to all kinds of strategies to convince others that they were telling the truth. One
of the most common was to call God as witness that they were indeed telling the truth. We still do that today, don’t
we?
Jesus taught another way, one which is commended to us in this morning’s gospel reading. In another
place in the gospel, when Jesus says to his disciples "Bring the little children to me," he not just being kind and lovable.
He is saying, "Bring the little spies to me. I have nothing to hide. I have no secrets."
God knows. "Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known."
In putting this teaching into action, I will admit that there is some danger. I spent an academic year a
while back learning to apply a psychological theory to congregational life. There was a group of eight of us studying together
with a highly credentialed authority in the field.
Each month of the class, two of us would present a case study based on an actual situation. Names were changed,
of course, to preserve confidentiality. Almost always, in the course of our analyzing the case, we discovered an old "secret."
And, always, someone would ask the question, "How much of this should we share with the people involved?"
The mentor would scratch his head and say, "The man4 who developed the program to apply the psychological
theory to churches would say, ‘Tell them everything. There are no such things as good secrets.’ But we’ve
ample evidence that is not always good advice."
So, in this light-and-bright summer sermon, I’d like to be able to give you clear-cut guidance and
a neat set of rules for secrets as to "where, when, and with whom" but I cannot. All I know is what Jesus says in this reading:
"Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known."
Think of your secrets. How will you react to God’s revelation of all secrets? What will you do about it now?
1. Matthew 10:26b-28.
2. Page 355.
3. Following the exegesis of John J. Pilch in New Proclamation Year A, 2005: Easter through Pentecost (Minneapolis:
Fortress, 2005), 117f.
4. Rabbi Edwin Friedman in his book Generation to Generation.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 6, Year A
June 15, 2008
Too Much to Do (Matthew 9:35—10:8)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
The topic for today is "trying to do too much." At one time, it might have seemed as if this was a particularly
appropriate sermon theme for Father’s Day. After all, at some time in the no-so-distant past, "fathers" were seen as
the overworked, over-stressed partner in marriages. Now we all know that this was always a fallacy. Moms were just as liable
to the stresses of parenting as fathers—in many cases, even more so. And we also know that as more and more women have
entered the career-outside-the-home world, moms are just as susceptible to stress related diseases and emotional pressure
as any father. So, today, a sermon titled Too Much to Do is for everyone.
When I contemplate this malady that seems to get exponentially worse with every passing year, I remember
an experience that I had several years ago while making a hospital visit back in Bloomington, Illinois. I was standing outside
a patient’s room in a hallway at St. Joseph’s Hospital. An acquaintance of mine came out of the room next door.
Now I knew that the man was a surgeon. As a matter of fact, he is one of the most well-known, most respected
heart surgeons in the Midwest. He’s also a very public spirited citizen. Every year, he and his partner traveled to
poor countries around the world to offer free heart surgery. Personally, I liked the guy and we shared some interesting times
together in one of the local Rotary Clubs.
But what I noticed first that day was the big bandage on his forehead. We shook hands; I smiled and pointed
to the bandage and said, "What happened?"
He laughed sheepishly and answered, "A rain storm, too big a hurry, a car door, my head, nine stitches."
Well, it sounded worth pursuing further so we talked some more. My friend told me the whole, gruesome story
which I won’t repeat. But he ended his discourse by saying, "I’m too busy. I’ve got to slow down." And I
thought, "Good sermon material."
I said, "Gee, I think I’ll preach about that sometime." He replied, "Good for you. Please use me as
a bad example." Well, let me ask you, how often do you get that kind of honesty? Which caused me to like the good surgeon
even more.
Speaking of "too busy," let’s take a look at the event reported in this morning’s gospel lesson.
Here we find Jesus giving his disciples some specific instructions. Jesus sends his apostles out with instructions to preach
and teach. At this point in Jesus’ public ministry, there were only twelve. It surely seems to me that there was a great
deal to accomplish. It was the old, old story: too much to do, too few hands to do it, and too little time. Sound familiar?
Likewise, in our individual lives, there can be too much to do, too few hands to do it, and too little time.
I wonder, however, whether the question is one of priority rather than quantity. I think that’s what
Jesus is attempting to get across here in his instructions to the twelve.
Each of us is called to do something for others. For some of us, it may be something that we can offer based
on our vocation. One of the things I remember from my time in the dioceses of Washington and Virginia was an outreach ministry
called Samaritan Ministries. The mission statement of this group had nothing to do with doling out money. What it tried to
do was to assist people in becoming self-sufficient.
In order to accomplish that goal, member churches recruited congregants who had specific skills and asked
them to donate some time every month. For example, a banker donated four hours a month to help someone who had never had a
checking account learn to write checks, keep track of the check register, and balance it at the end of every month.
Another person, who was a retired teacher gave four hours each month teaching others how to be teachers’
aides. Other persons, dozens of them, every month did similar things in order that the homeless and others on society’s
margins could learn to take care of themselves.
In one way or another, each of us is to give something of our self for the good of others, doing so with
no intent to gain financially. In one of his writings, Ralph Waldo Emerson asks, "How do you measure success?" In his answer
he lists the following traits: "To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether
by a redeemed social condition or a job well done."1
So far, so good. . . . But, sometimes we reach our limit. The most devout among us will undoubtedly have
times when we can do no more, even when the latest demand is eminently deserving. I get a lot of requests for public, civic
help. The diocese asks a lot of its clergy. I once explained to someone that in my former diocese there fewer than fifty congregations,
and not many more clergy. When I served a church in the Diocese of Virginia there were more than two hundred congregations
and seven hundred clergy.
But both dioceses had approximately the same number of committees—many required by canon law. You do
the math—too much to do, too few hands to do it, and too little time. So the point is, sometimes one just has to say
"no." Guess what? It’s not the end of the world!
Sometimes we complain about the person who always says, "Let George do it." Well, sometimes it’s OK
to "let George do it." Sometimes, if I always do it, George will never learn to help out.
Of course this is no more true of us clergy than everyone else. My point is that the thinner we spread our
resources, whether money, time, or talent, the less effective we are at anything. Better to select one or a few worthy undertakings,
and then support them with heartfelt enthusiasm.
But as my daughter used to say when she was little and wanted something, "here’s the deal." Everybody
needs to do just that: select one or a few worthy undertakings, and then support them with heartfelt enthusiasm. I understand
that we all are torn in many different directions by all sorts of claims on our time, our talent, our treasure, and our attention.
At the same time, let us also remember some words from the Offertory in our service of Holy Eucharist: "But do not neglect
to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God."2 So this morning, please take
another prayerful look at those sign-up sheets in the foyer and "do good and to share what you have."
Yes, it’s true. We experience a lot of tension in the world and in the church. So much to do, so many
choices to make. The call that Jesus gave to the twelve was full of tension. Yes, they were called upon to preach, teach,
heal, witness, and other sorts of things. And, yes, they were so very few. It was indeed a seemingly impossible task that
he set before them: too much work, too few people, and not enough time.
So it is with us at times. We know the work is important. We know the work of spreading the good news has
an urgency about it these days that we haven’t felt in a very long time. Sometimes, we may have to say "no," if only
for a little while.
But Jesus promised to be with his disciples always, "even to the end of the age." Take up a shovel. Take
up a pen. Take up teaching materials. Take up a relationship with a troubled child.
But also take heart. Jesus’ promise to be with them always is for us as well.
_____________________
1. The Preacher’s Illustration Service, 2197.
2. Book of Common Prayer, 377 (quoting Hebrews 13:15, 16).
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, Proper 5
June 8, 2008Just as I Am (Matthew 9:9-13)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
Anthony de Mello tells of a man who took great pride in his lawn. Despite all of his care, despite all his
study of proper growing technique, despite his spending thousands of dollars on chemicals, tools, and machinery, the man still
found himself gazing at a large crop of dandelions. He tried everything he knew to get rid of them. Still, they plagued him.
Finally, he wrote to the United States Department of Agriculture. He listed all the things he had tried to
get rid of the dandelions. Then he asked, "What shall I do next?"
In due course, the USDA’s reply came: "We suggest you learn to love them."1
I’d like to believe that’s a true story. I’d also like to believe that Jesus would have
approved of the advice. Today’s gospel lesson reminds me of that story. For in this lesson we find Jesus surrounded
by the "dandelions" of humanity. And in it, he has much to teach us about responding to those who may be different from us.
When one is the rector of a church named "St. Matthew’s," as I was for nearly ten years, one becomes
very familiar with this particular story about Jesus. This is a gospel lesson that is read there at least once each and every
year. It should be familiar to a church named for Matthew, but it should be even more familiar to everyone who tries to follow
Jesus. For in it much of Jesus’ teaching about one’s relationship with the neighbor (and that’s just about
everybody) is found in these few verses.
Remember the setting: Jesus comes across a man named Matthew sitting at a seat in the tax office. Strike
one: Jewish tax collectors were hated by everyone—Jew and Roman. They levied taxes for the local ruler. They were allowed
to keep a percentage of what they collected—so the more they collected the more they kept. Nothing that was carried
by caravans from inland to the Mediterranean Ocean escaped their grasping fingers.
Jesus invites the man to "Follow me," which he does. In return, Matthew invites Jesus and the other disciples
to dinner in his house. There are others of the same stripe in attendance: more tax collectors and other, generic, "sinners."
Strike two: one sinner was bad enough. But all these? "Never, Jesus. NEVER."
So those who, by the self-righteous standards of the community, look on in horror, ask "Why does your master
associate with this riffraff?" Strike three is upon us as Jesus replies: "Those who are well have no need of a physician,
but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call
not the righteous but sinners."
A couple of Bible trivia points to keep in mind as we reflect on what Jesus is teaching here. "Those who
are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick."F. W. Beare, in his commentary on Matthew’s Gospel, notes
that "The figure of the physician, whose whole profession is to care for the sick, not the healthy, is found in Greek anecdotes
. . . When [an ancient Greek physician once] was criticized for keeping company with evil men, he replied: ‘Physicians
too are commonly found associating with the sick, but they do not catch the fever.’ . . . Sinners are the first concern
of Jesus, as the sick are the concern of the physician."2
Second, "Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’" Jesus throws at his
detractors words from their very own Holy Scripture. The phrase "Go and learn" is an idiom that rabbinical teachers used to
introduce important lessons to their students. It’s a signal to "listen up."
"I desire mercy, not sacrifice" is a direct quotation from the Old Testament prophet Hosea3. Hosea
preached at a time in the nation’s history when the people had once again fallen away from worshiping the one true God.
They were still going through the ritual of the sacrificial system—but it was all empty rhetoric and gestures.
F. W. Beare again notes: "Hosea has protested that the offering of sacrifices prescribed by the Law is no
substitute for the response of the heart in fidelity to God. The words of Hosea are now applied to a different situation [by
Jesus]. . . . [T]he Pharisees are confident in the sufficiency of faithful, even meticulous, observance of the provisions
of the Law; and among these they lay stress on the laws of purity. They were careful to keep themselves unspotted by association
with ‘sinners’. [Jesus invites them] to ‘go and learn’ all that is involved in the oracle of Hosea.
. . . [They will learn] a basic understanding of the will of God for his people that goes far beyond the mere fulfilment of
legal requirements and regulations. The ‘mercy’ . . . desired by God calls for the welcome of the sinner, and
his restoration to fellowship."4
Which brings us to that point where we often find ourselves when in Jesus’ presence: "So what?" Ancient
rabbinical teachings? Who cares? The desert ramblings of a goofy prophet? So what.
The "so what" is that Jesus loves us just as we are. I don’t have to change in order for Jesus to love
me. That’s the wonderful, if inexplicable, thing about God’s grace and Jesus’ love: we can’t earn
it; we don’t deserve it; we can’t even unearn it. It’s God’s and Jesus’ to give. And they do—in
immeasurable abundance.
And, sometimes I do wonder what God thinks of our blundering around trying to understand God’s actions
in our lives. It’s like the story many years ago of a black man in southern Illinois where I grew up who tried to join
a white church, but he was quickly made to understand that his kind was not wanted there. Distraught, he went for a long walk
and the Lord appeared to him. "What’s wrong, my friend?" asked the Lord. "I wanted to go to that church over there,"
the man replied, "but they wouldn’t let me in." And the Lord replied to the black man: "Oh, yes, I know what you mean.
I haven’t been able to get in there for years."
No, we don’t have to change in order for Jesus to love us. The title of the old hymn sums it up well:
"Just as I Am." You see, Jesus’ love can work a strange and wonderful effect on us. Jesus simply said, "Come, follow
me." He didn’t demand that Matthew, or Simon Peter, or James and John, or any of the others change. He doesn’t
demand that we change.
Now, I know that we live in a time when there is a lot of "black and white" thinking. If you say "yes," to
this then you must mean "no" to that–with no allowance for "grey" areas. So I want to make it clear that when I say
that God doesn’t demand that we change, that doesn’t mean that God doesn’t want us to change hurtful behavior.
It simply means that grace doesn’t require it. That can be puzzling and confusing sometimes. But what we are offered
when we choose to follow Jesus is the opportunity to change–we are invited o change.
Perhaps it’s just that we don’t quite like some things about ourselves we used to take for granted.
Perhaps we want to be better.
Anthony de Mello offers this reflection on change: "I was a neurotic for years. I was anxious and depressed
and selfish. Everyone kept telling me to change. I resented them, yet I agreed with them, and I wanted to change, but simply
couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. What hurt the most was that, like the others, my wife kept insisting that I change.
So I felt powerless and trapped. Then, one day, she said to me, ‘Don’t change. I love you just as you are.’
"Those words were music to my ears: ‘Don’t change. Don’t change. Don’t change . .
. I love you as you are.’ I relaxed. I came alive. And suddenly, I changed! Now I know that I couldn’t really
change until I found someone who would love me whether I changed or not. IS THIS HOW YOU LOVE ME, GOD?"5
Is this how you love me, God? What do you think?
1. The Song of the Bird (Image Book), adapted The Preacher's Illustration Sourcebook, 2340.
2. San Francisco: Harper & Row (1981), 226-7.
3. Hosea 6:6.
4. Ibid., 228, emphasis added.
5. Quoted in TPIS, 222.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, Proper 4
June 1, 2008
Life with a True Foundation (Matthew 7:21-29)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
Recent news stories have recently reminded me of the truism that God’s understanding of forgiveness,
reformation of life, motivation for change, and new life are often different from the world’s understanding. This is
an area that one is supposed to study in seminary. As a matter of fact, when I took the General Ordination Examinations prior
to ordination, one of the questions addressed the issue. It ran something like this:
One day, the parish treasurer comes into your office in quite a state. He blurts out that he has regularly
been embezzling money from the bank where he is an employee. The amount has reached $500,000. The guilt has become so great
that he is no longer able to bear it. He asks for forgiveness and absolution—and that you not tell anyone, including
anyone at church. In an answer not to exceed one thousand words, write your response.
How would you respond? For the record, the correct answer included the following parts: First, do the sacerdotal
ministry of a priest—certainly hear the man’s confession. After receiving his pledge to turn himself in (that’s
the "act of contrition"), grant absolution. Offer to accompany the man to the civil authorities and support him with your
prayers and presence throughout his legal journey. Call a special vestry meeting to inform the parish leadership of the issue
and call for the election of a new parish treasurer. Change the locks, issue new passwords on the financial software, obtain
new signature cards for the parish bank accounts, and so on.
The answer illustrates the difference between God’s understanding and the world’s. Nothing is
beyond God’s forgiveness when forgiveness is sought. However, there are negative consequences to bad decisions and choices.
Crime, for example, demands restitution and punishment.
The parable that Jesus tells in this morning’s gospel reading has something to teach us about the consequences
of good and bad conduct. And, unlike many of his parables, there doesn’t appear to be any ambiguity here. One either
builds on sand and suffers the consequences, or one builds on rock and is secure. Let’s accentuate the positive this
morning and look at what a life looks like that is built on rock.
First, there is personal integrity. I think that we can agree that a reputation for integrity is essential
for a happy, productive life. Once it’s gone, it is doubtful if it can ever be completely regained. Whatever God might
think about one’s moral conduct, employers and friends may always have a feeling of doubt lodged in their memory.
"J. W. Hamilton told a story about a wealthy man who, toward the end of his years, was going on a long vacation.
He called in his assistant, a man who had worked with him for many years. He told the assistant that while he was away, he
wanted that man to oversee the construction of a new home in which he proposed to live his declining years. He made a large
sum of money available and ordered that everything be done first-rate. Then he left.
"The assistant, heretofore a responsible manager, began to do some thinking. He never felt he had been paid
adequately. Here was a chance to make a nice profit for himself and his boss would never know. He hired the cheapest contractor
for the building of the house. He bought shoddy materials, hired the least expensive workers and, in every way, saw to the
building of a cheaply constructed house. He was, thereby, able to reap a large profit.
"The boss returned. He called the assistant in and asked if the house was completed. That man said yes, it
was. Then the old man said this: ‘You have been my good friend for years. I have had you build this home for yourself.
It is my final gift. I was never able to pay you adequately in the early years but now I want to repay you with this house.
I didn’t tell you this for fear you would try to cut costs for my sake. The place is yours.’"1 The
boss found out what happened, and never again trusted the man.
Then, too, good personal relationships are essential for happiness. Good personal relationships require trust,
mutuality, caring. Can you imagine a life which we would consider "built on rock" which did not include a circle of friends
one can rely on, and to whom one is willing to give oneself in the relationships? Anyone who has gone through an extended
illness and was surrounded by signs of genuine love from people they care about understands this. How can anyone be truly
happy without that? But to have a friend you have to be a friend.
Finally, a clear conscience increases in value as we age. I discover as I look back upon my life that awards
and accolades, whether from years ago in my military career, or those I have received in ordained ministry, mean far less
than the quiet belief that I try to be faithful to my true beliefs.
E. Carter McGriff tells the story of a time when he was "a member of a Junior Chamber of Commerce group which
brought in the old Harlem Globetrotters professional basketball team, with people like Meadowlark Lemon, as a community fund-raiser.
On the night of the game, [he says], we took jobs at the local gym to oversee the event with its large local crowd. A friend
and I were assigned exit doors on opposite sides of the arena. We were to keep people from sneaking in without tickets. My
friend, Mil Illich, was from Yugoslavia, where, as a teenager, he had served with Tito in the mountains, against the Germans
at the end of World War II.
"Unfortunately, the doors Mil and I were to guard were out of sight of the playing floor. When the game began,
not wanting to miss the action, I left the door I was to guard and went in to watch the action. Later, when the game was over,
I asked Mil how he liked the Globetrotters. He informed me he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen them because he was
guarding a door out of view of the game. I realized he had remained at his post. I had not. An unimportant occasion, one might
say. Yes. But that man taught me a lesson in faithfulness. He had said he would guard that door and he had not failed. I had.
Jesus said, "He who is faithful in little is faithful in much.’ I had failed. But I learned an important lesson from
a man who had learned in a larger arena where lives were at stake that when you say you’ll do something, friends have
a right to expect you to do it."2
All of us are far from perfection to be sure, but we still must live with the private knowledge of who we really are. Within
the circle which really counts—family, true friends, self—it’s that knowledge which constitutes the rock
on which a life is built. What about answering to God for all of this? Jesus said if we have done our best, we have nothing
to fear from God.
1. Quoted by E. Carter McGriff, Lectionary Preaching Workshop, Series A.
2. Idem.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Second Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 3, Year A
May 25, 2008
A Grateful and Fulfilling Life (Matthew 7:21-29)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
A Money magazine article told of the life of a woman who saved 80% of everything that she earned, investing
it all in the stock market, and turned it into a $22 million fortune fifty years later. The article was titled "How She Turned
$5,000 into $22 Million" with the subtitle, "And how you might too . . . " As one reads the article, however, it raises real
questions about how this woman made her fortune and whether the cost was worth it.
She was alienated from her family and was without friends. She eked out a life of destitution and indigence,
even as her fortune swelled. She would walk to work in the rain rather than spend the bus fare. She limited herself to a few
dollars a week on groceries and wore the same old coat and hat season after season. Her clothing became tattered and threadbare
but none of that mattered; the bottom line on her brokerage account was what she gave her life for.
The author of this magazine article on how to invest your money even concluded that there must be more to
life than the bottom line of your net worth statement. He wrote: "As intelligent as [she] was, she failed miserably on this
one. She died without one real friend; she didn't get even one phone call during her last five years of life." Her broker
concluded: "A big day for her was walking down to the Merrill Lynch vault near Wall Street to visit her stock certificates.
She did that a lot."
How many of us would consider that a grateful and fulfilling life? Or how about this one? Former Senator
Fritz Hollings of South Carolina writes of a letter that he received from one of his constituents: "A veteran came back from
the Korean War and went to college on the GI Bill; bought his house with an FHA loan; saw his kids born in a VA hospital;
started a hardware business with Small Business Association loans and advice; got his electricity from the Tennessee Valley
Authority and, later, his water from an EPA project. His parents were retired to a farm on Social Security, a farm on which
they got their electricity from the Rural Electrification Agency and their soil testing through the United States Department
of Agriculture.
"When his father became very ill, the family was saved from financial disaster by Medicare, and a life was
saved with a drug developed through National Institutes of Health research. His kids participated in the school lunch program,
learned physics and math in high school from teachers retrained in a National Science Foundation program, and were able to
go to college through guaranteed student loans.
"He drove his car to work every day on the interstate and moored his boat in a channel dredged by the Army
Corps of Engineers. When floods hit his town, he took Amtrak to Washington, D.C. to apply for disaster relief, and, awaiting
his meeting, he spent part of his day visiting the Smithsonian Institution (free admission) and the Washington Monument (also
free admission).
"And then—after all that was said and done—he sat down one day and wrote Senator Hollings an
angry letter demanding that the federal government get of his back, and he complained about paying taxes for all "those programs"
created for ungrateful people who were getting a free ride."
Obsession with material things, complaining about the ingratitude of others: not a particularly pretty place
to begin a homily titled "A Grateful and Fulfilling Life." I wonder that if we think that if we feel grateful in our hearts,
we have done all that is necessary. At least according to our Lord’s words in today’s reading from Saint Matthew’s
Gospel, this is not so. Returning thanks must be expressed through doing and giving.
Jesus said, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your
body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds
of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more
valuable than they? . . . But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."
Jesus calls our attention to the beauty of God’s creation. One of the things that I personally love
about St. Francis of Assisi Episcopal Church is the grounds. They are absolutely gorgeous—and I want to thank Lucy Austin
and whoever helps her for the wonderful job that they do. I’ve talked to people in the community who find out that I’m
serving here and they invariably say, "Oh, yes, that church with the beautiful landscaping." But let’s remember, Jesus
tells us that all this is a gift from God. God created it and said, "It is good."
And we could say, "I’m grateful for this beauty. But, what’s your point?" Yes, it is true; God
created the flowers and the birds, and a whole host of others things and beings. But then God created humanity and said, "This
is very good." (Remember that from last week’s Old Testament reading?) God did not say that about any other part of
his creation. "This is very good." And Jesus knew that; for he said, "Are you not much more valuable than all of this?"
God has richly blessed us—more than the birds of the air, more than the lilies of the fields, than
anything else. And because God has blessed us more, because God holds us in a higher place in creation, because God loves
us more—when God came to earth God did not appear as a bird, or as a lily, but as a tiny babe—a human being just
like you and me. And I think that God expects more from us—more than from the birds, more than from the flowers.
Gratitude, thanksgiving, can be such a potential positive force in our lives. Wouldn’t we rather side
with the old Yiddish proverb that says, "If we thanked God for the good things, there wouldn’t be time to weep over
the bad?" Sure we would!
But, I have to say that there is a "so what" to this business of gratitude. This is why a "grateful" life
becomes a "fulfilling" life. That is because Jesus invites us to do something with what he has given us. Dr. Robert Anthony
reminds us of the "so what" when he writes:
"I’m sure you remember the tragic story of the ‘Titanic,’ but I wonder if you know the
story of the ‘California,’ which is so closely related to the story of the Titanic?
"You will remember that back in 1912, Great Britain sent her greatest steamship, the White Star liner Titanic,
across the Atlantic Ocean. The Titanic was the largest ship that had ever been built up to that time, and it was claimed that
it was completely unsinkable; yet halfway across the Atlantic, the ship hit a submerged iceberg and sank very rapidly. Of
the 2,000 passengers aboard, 1,517 lives were lost. There was, of course, a tremendous outcry about this tragic loss of human
lives, and a great investigation was conducted. The causes were found to include excessive speed on the part of the boat,
insufficient and ineffectively manned lifeboats, but above all, lack of information about icebergs. As a result, the International
Iceberg Patrol was formed, and stringent safety rules were brought into being. That investigation also yielded another very
strange bit of information that very few of us know about.
"At the same time that the Titanic went down, just 30 miles away, was another ship, the California! Now this
was before the days of very efficient radio communications, and radio operators were few and far between. That night, the
one and only radio operator on the California had closed down his board at 10:30 and had gone to bed. An hour later, the Titanic’s
operator was sending our frantic ‘SOS" pleas, but the wireless set on the California was closed, and deaf to those pleas
for help. The Titanic actually sank while another ship, which could have reached her side in less than one hour, went sailing
on her way, totally unaware of the tragedy. This is the greater tragedy: the fact that help was available and somebody could
have helped, but was unaware that help was needed!"
One of the things I noticed about the folks at St. Francis in the two short months that I have been here
is that you are a gathering of really sharp people. I know that you’re way ahead of me on this. You saw this one coming
a mile off and eight minutes ago. But let me state the obvious anyway.
As you sail on the sea of life, somebody’s life is going to run up on some sort of iceberg. Somebody, sooner than
later, is going to be in great difficulty and in that difficulty, he or she is going to cry out. That is the "so what" of
gratitude: taking time to listen for the "SOS" of the other human ships passing over the sea of life—then reaching out
and responding to that cry of need. That is one measure of a truly fulfilling life.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The First Sunday after Pentecost: TRINITY SUNDAY, Year A
May 18, 2008Are We like God? (Genesis 1:1—2:3)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
What is the story in the Bible that is most familiar to you? And, let me interject while you’re thinking,
I’m talking "big picture" here. I’m not thinking about individual events in Jesus’ life—much as we
like and know the miracle stories, for example. Not Moses leading the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, or Jonah and
the whale either. Those, too, are quite familiar.
No, think "big picture." Probably in some minds is the "Jesus Event." Birth, life, passion, death, resurrection—when
it comes to the "big picture," it’s hard to top that one. Surely, it must be the most familiar.
But I wonder when you were memorizing Bible verses in Sunday School, in whatever era that might have been,
if you remember how another of the more familiar stories starts out. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth
. . ." There have been dozens of translations of the Bible over the last five hundred years. We can hear now all sorts of
nuances of translation and meaning in these many versions. But that is one verse that remains fairly constant in all of them:
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth . . ."
The whole story of creation, as the Bible relates it, speaks of the nature of God. The story also speaks
of the nature and purpose of human beings. We continue to hear much today about what it means to be created in the image and
likeness of God. Man in the image of God. Woman in the image of God. What does it mean?
Does it mean that we have God-like qualities? I read the newspaper and watch the evening news and I wonder
sometimes. What I do think is that we were intended, from the beginning of creation, to follow, as best we are able, the image
of godliness that God has set before us. And when we were hopelessly lost in human understanding of what it was that God had
in mind, God gave us Jesus as the perfect exemplar of his divine design.
So, then, what does this thrice-familiar story in the front of the Bible speak to us on this Trinity Sunday
when we contemplate the mystery of God’s very being?
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth . . ." First of all, we ourselves are to try to create.
God has equipped each of us with talents, with emotional and intellectual faculties of a particular sort, and with physical
capabilities. We are to use those accordingly, doing something which contributes to the good of others, something which leaves
this world a little better than we found it. How well we do is not to be judged by what we contribute, but by what we contribute
based on what we were capable of contributing.
G. K. Chesterton uses the metaphor of a daisies and a child and parent to illustrate the point. "If you throw
a child up in the air and then bounce the child off your knee, there is every chance that the child will shout, ‘Do
it again!’ And if you do it again, you will probably get the same response. In all likelihood, each time you toss the
child in the air, the laughter will become more uncontrolled.
"Twenty times later, the child, never tiring of the fun, can be counted on to be overwhelmed with near hysteria
while still shouting, ‘Do it again!’
"So it is with God," Chesterton wrote. "In the beginning, God may have created one daisy, and something within
him spontaneously whispered, ‘Do it again!’ And daisy number two came into being. And once again God said, ‘Do
it again!’ And then there was a third, and then a fourth, and then a fifth daisy. And so God went on creating daisies.
Until after a hundred billion trillion daisies, the great Almighty Creator who spun the galaxies into space and created all
the animals, that same God is still creating daisies, and with childlike glee, still saying, ‘Do it again!’"1
Second, "And God saw that it was good." We are to try to be good. Some people define God in terms of "goodness,"
did you know that? Sometimes people who have trouble with the concept of "God" spell it with two "o’s" and try to be
it. (Think about it!) That’s not a bad example to follow.
The ancient Greek philosopher, Plato, talked a great deal about humanity’s goal. In one of his writings,
he asks us to imagine life as a big triangle. He tells us to arrange along the base of that triangle all the things in life
that we regard as important. Then, he suggests moving those things up the triangle toward the apex.
As we proceed upward, the base gets smaller, so that we will need to dispose of more and more things as we
proceed toward the apex. We will drop off the things of lesser importance, and we will cling to the things that we consider
to be of greater importance. Finally, when we reach the top of the triangle—the apex—there is room for one thing
only. Plato says that we will have to ask ourselves, "What is the most important thing in my life, above all else?"2
Jesus taught that it was God, to be good and holy as God is.
Third, note God’s love for what he creates. God brings forth living creatures of every species, including
God’s ultimate creation—human beings. Scripture tells us that God "blesses them." "God saw everything that he
had made, and indeed, it was very good."
Yes, note God’s love for what he creates. We are to try to give love as God loves. I don’t know
about you, but there are a few people in this world whom I don’t like. Yes, there are a few. I don’t like people
who abuse others, especially children. To me, it’s one of the worst of all crimes and if I were really God, there would
be a special place for people like that. Fortunately for such people, I’m not God.
The love of which I speak here, however, is not a matter of how we feel toward other people. It’s a
matter of how we treat other people. It seems to me that Jesus teaches that God’s will is for us to treat others with
unfailing kindness. Some of may remember Roman Catholic Bishop Fulton Sheen. He was very popular in the 40s, 50s, and 60s,
both on television and in print. Sheen once said that there are three characteristics of a true Christian: Kindness, kindness,
and kindness. There’s much to be said for that.
During the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln was accused by his detractors of being too kind and courteous toward
his opponents. They said, "It’s your duty to destroy them." Lincoln replied, "Do I not destroy my enemies when I make
them my friends?"3
A poem by John Boyle O’Reilly sums it all up:
1TPIS, 2223.
2TPIS, 2237.
3IS, 0977.
"‘What is real good?’
I ask in musing mood.
Order, said the law court;
knowledge, said the school;
Truth, said the wise man;
Pleasure, said the fool;
Love, said the maiden;
Beauty, said the page;
Freedom, said the dreamer;
Home, said the sage;
Fame, said the soldier;
Equity, said the seer;
Spoke my heart full sadly:
‘The answer is not here.’
Then within my bosom
Softly this I heard:
‘Each heart holds the secret;
Kindness is the word.’"4
It’s a thrice-familiar story, this beginning to the record of God’s relationship with all that he created,
that he later redeemed, and that he sustains even today. We are called to continue in sharing God’s creative activity,
in trying to be good as God is good, and to give love as God loves.
4Christian Reader (9/80), 9.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI EPISCOPAL CHURCH
OOLTEWAH, TENNESSEE
The Day of Pentecost: Whitsunday, Year A
May 11, 2008
The Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:3b-13)
Howard Bruce Bowlin+
The ancient Greek fabulist, Aesop, tells of the time the mouth quarreled with the stomach,
saying "It’s not fair that I have to give you all the food." The stomach, however, was already unhappy with the nether
regions of the body because that’s where all the food really went.
Then the hand got in the act, complaining "I get the food, only to give it to the mouth.
It’s all so unfair." When the feet heard this, they immediately raised a cry, saying "I quit. I walk all over the place,
getting food for the hands, only to see it all given to the mouth. I quit."
So, they all quit, and it wasn’t long before they were all sick.
That’s not a bad image, or fable to keep in mind on this Day of Pentecost when we celebrate the
"birthday of the Church." For isn’t that image, "body," one we employ in describing the Church: the "Body of Christ?"The
Church is a "body," which calls to mind the coordination of the many parts of our own bodies in order to successfully accomplish
a task. I’m not a golfer, but I have several friends and relatives who love the game. I’ve listened to them talk
about successful golfing. They say things like: "Keep your head down. Keep your left arm straight. Gently bend your knees,
keeping your weight evenly balanced. Use your right arm to draw the club back" —and so it goes. If you mess up even
one of those seemingly endless rules, that ball is going somewhere quite different from what you had in mind.
On a certain level, the same is true of the church, although the analogy really fails
because the church does, thank God, allow for humanity—many mistakes—and yet, the Church still works.
The reading from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians that we have heard
read reminds us of some crucial pieces of the organism that we call the Church. First off, the Church needs a variety of people.
It takes all kinds. We need to be patient with people who are different from us.
I remember a November Sunday in 1998, by at the church from which I retired. It was the
Bishop’s "Homecoming"—the first Confirmation service since I became it’s Rector. It was a time following
a great conflict in that congregation. My predecessor had been removed and deposed by the bishop. Law suits were flying in
all directions. The congregation had dwindled in numbers. People were angry and hurt.
The bishop and I were in
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