Sermon for August 18, 2019 - Proper 15C - The Rev'd Jeffrey W. Mello
Proper 15 – Year C -- August 18, 2019
Preached at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Brookline, MA
The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello
Jeremiah 23:23-29; Psalm 82; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56
May only God’s words be spoken. May only God’s words be heard.
It was ten years ago on this same Sunday in August when I stepped into this pulpit for the very first time.
It is hard to believe that ten years have passed. And sometimes I can’t believe it’s only been ten years. So much has happened in this decade; for me, for my family, for you and your families, and for us as a community.
Ten years ago this week, I was registering my son to enter third grade at the Pierce School. This Friday, Paul and I will bring him to move into his dorm at college.
Ten years ago, Andy was the only current member of the staff here.
Ten years ago, I had never been rector of a parish. I had never overseen a Capital Campaign. I had never baptized the baby of a couple I had married.
Ten years ago the world was a very different place. I was a very different person; a very different priest. And you were a different community.
Many people have come through this place in the ten years we have been in ministry together. Many new faces are now established ones. And some faces that were established have moved on; to other communities, or home to live with God.
I didn’t realize it back in 2009, but this place -- St. Paul’s -- will always be, no matter how long I am here or where I go next -- this place will always be the place where my family grew up.
For our son, it will always be home. It will be the place that saw us through challenging times. It will be the place that held us through Paul’s illness, and comforted us when my dad and, now, when Paul’s mom died.
Most of all, it will be the place that taught me how to be the Priest God called me to be.
And so I want to say thank you. And I want to tell you, again, how much I love you.
I’m grateful for your support. For the notes you write thanking me for simply doing what I love. For calling me to be one of the first people to meet your new baby, or the first one to be with you at the death of a loved one.
I want to thank you for seeking my counsel, or asking me to participate in your walk with God. I want to thank you for your trust, for your stories and for your prayers.
But this morning I want, especially, to thank you for your challenges. I want to thank you for the times you said, “no” or asked “why?” I am grateful, now, for the meetings I left frustrated or confused.
Thank you for the many, many ways you’ve indulged me and my ideas. Thank you for the times you were angry with me and you told me so.
Thank you for choosing to walk in those formidable red doors, and then coming back. Thank you for sacrificing whatever else it is you could be doing this morning to be here.
These past ten years have taught me what it means to dwell in Good News of Jesus Christ.
I know that this morning’s Gospel reading doesn’t, at first glance, sound like Good News; capital G, capital N.
Jesus says, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” Well, isn’t that warm and fuzzy!
The priest and rector I was ten years ago might not have understood this as good news, either. But I do now.
A professor of mine in seminary, the legendary Rev. Canon Ed Rodman used to, in his blessing, pray that we might know the Peace of Christ that is no peace.
The Peace that Jesus calls us to is not easy peace; it is not mere silence. We know this to be true, I think, but it goes against many of our cultural norms to avoid rocking the boat, to avoid conflict at all costs, to make things difficult or complicated. It challenges our desire to be liked above else.
Jesus knows that, if God’s dream for the world is ever really going to be realized, it will mean we will have to sacrifice our worship of being liked, of being compliant on the altar of being just.
Ten years ago, I wanted desperately to be liked by you. And I desperately wanted you to know of your likeability; as individuals and as a community. I worked to avoid rocking the boat, and I protected you from knowing when you were rocking mine.
This isn’t to say, of course, that the early years were a tip toe through the tulips. It’s just, back then, the conflict I created was, more often than not, simply mistakes I made.
This bizarre prediction Jesus makes about families turning against each other is a prediction many of us are seeing come true around our own family tables.
The old adage about not talking religion and politics at the Thanksgiving table seems now to be born of a time when we could afford to put those things aside for the sake of a “peaceful” meal.
But those days are long gone, if they ever were real to begin with. Chances are, if you avoid talking politics and religion, it’s because you can afford to.
Jesus’ words of division come after his words of passion for the Dream of God. Jesus says, "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!”
Those are words with which I deeply resonate at this point in my ministry, and for this time in our shared life as a community.
How I wish the fire for justice, mercy and reconciliation were already kindled in this world! What a hope I have for everyone to understand their belovedness before God, and to understand each others’ equal belovedness. Truly, I think that’s the only thing that will stop another El Paso, or Dayton, or Ferguson or Standing Rock or Gaza or Rwanda.
It is the only thing that will work. The Good News is, that it is our specialty. The time for “no politics at the table” even this one, this altar -- is gone.
We might disagree about how to realize God’s Dream, but avoiding the disagreement is only deferring the Dream, with human lives being diminished and lost with every eye roll and shrug of the shoulders, with every “that’s just Uncle Harry, it’s just what he knows.” Well, Uncle Harry grew up with a rotary phone, and manages to stay on top of his Facebook account pretty well.
It is a deep privilege to stand here, in front of you, at the start of my second decade. The words of Jesus sound like the words, perhaps, of a young eager ordinand -- something I’d expect Isaac to say, and expect him to.
But Jesus’ plea is mine. Because that’s what you have taught me. This is the moment for which we have done everything over these past ten years together.
Now is the time to kindle the fire, to speak truth to power, to risk uncomfortable silence, to decline the invitation to keep conversation at the table, even this one -- especially this one, polite at the expense of just.
In whatever time we have left together, you and me, let’s us proclaim the Good News, capital G, capital N. Let us preach the Peace of Christ that is no Peace. Let us embrace the words of the prophet Jeremiah who said, “Is not my word like fire, says the Lord, and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?”
Let us, together, work to break the rock of racism into pieces. Let us break the rock of white supremacy into pieces. The rock of oppression and tyranny of greed and fear into pieces.
Speaking God’s Word, the truth of God’s love, let us break the rocks of this world and of our lives into pieces. Let us allow God’s Word to break our hearts open, even into pieces that we might discover the beautiful reality that waits for us when we do.
AMEN.
© 2019 The Rev’d Jeffrey W. Mello