sermon preached
at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
by the
Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector
The
Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany, February 17, 2019
Instagram:
it’s a scrolling set of photos that we 21st-century humans put on
the internet to try to impress one another. Good Shepherd is on Instagram, and
Nicholas Johnson and I have been posting occasional photos of good things
happening in the life of our congregation.
On
Instagram, you can tag any photo you like with what’s called a hashtag. The
other day I searched for the hashtag “blessed.” Instagram displays over 100million photos marked “blessed.” As I looked down the page, I couldn’t help but
notice how happy all these people look. And attractive. And well off. They’re
showing off tight abs at the gym. They’re vacationing in beautiful places.
They’re the parents of shiny happy children. Indeed, “blessed” seems to be, in
Instagram-speak, the most common descriptor for people who appear to have life all figured out—at least for the moment of that
snapshot.
We use
“blessed” a lot in everyday conversation. Tragedy narrowly misses us and we
comment, “God sure has blessed me!” We inherit a huge windfall and say, “Well,
that was a blessing!” We gather our whole family together for a big
Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings, or we go on an international cruise
with our loved ones, and we say, “I sure am blessed.” We live a stylish life
spent with loyal friends and fun times in beautiful places, and we Instagram
it: “hashtag-blessed.”
Well, Jesus
put it best, didn’t he? “Blessed are the rich … blessed are the well fed …
blessed are the cheerful … blessed are those everyone looks up to.”
Except he
didn’t say any of those things. As you just heard, Jesus says precisely the
opposite.
Blessed are
those who beg for change or sleep on church floors. Blessed are those whose weekend
bellies look forward to their taxpayer-funded school lunches. Blessed are those
whose spouses have died and left them alone. Blessed are those who have been
kidnapped at the American border … and their parents. Blessed are those who
shoulder up their burdens on aching backs for another day of hard labor when
they’d always hoped to be retired by now. Blessed are those who are assaulted because
of their clothing or skin color. Blessed are those whose businesses fail
because a big snowstorm damaged their property, drove away customers, and
tipped them over the edge into insolvency.
And what
about those who are enjoying that Thanksgiving dinner with all their relatives
gathered around? Those who live in big houses with views of the water? Those
who socked away a lot of money early on and now have lots of options? Those who
are greatly admired in their communities for all the good work they have done?
Woe to them,
says Jesus. Woe to them!
(Hey, look,
I don’t make this stuff up. Jesus said it, and we claim to follow him. I’m just
here to relay what the man says. What do you want? And I’m in the same boat
with you. What gives, Jesus?)
Well, first
off, and this is important: I know people who fit into both categories: those
Jesus says are blessed, and those Jesus says “woe” to. Chances are you have identified
with both categories simultaneously and may even do so this morning. The world
isn’t cleanly bisected into the “blessed” and the “cursed,” any more than
there’s such a thing as “good guys” and “bad guys.” Even when Jesus talks about
the rich and camels through the eyes of needles, he assures us that all things
are possible with God. Anyway, only you know which category fits you better
today. God help me, so do I.
But you see
the problem, right? If those who are happy and healthy and radiant are
“blessed,” what does that say about those who are suffering? So it’s clear that
we’ve gotten all mixed up about what it means to be “blessed” in the first
place. I think blessing has less to do with comfort and more to do with
practice.
When I was
10 I began learning to play the cornet, and I took to it right away. I enjoyed
practicing, but I was such a natural that I didn’t need to practice all that
much; I could still shine. A couple years later I asked my parents to sign me
up for piano lessons. Those were much harder and demanded more practice than I
wanted to give, so instead of working harder at practicing the piano, I quit.
But those two situations have something in common: I had a choice to practice
or not. And my parents had a choice: they could afford to rent me a cornet and to pay for my piano lessons. We
weren’t rich, but we definitely weren’t the blessed poor that Jesus talks
about.
So stick
with me here … not all practice is a matter of choice. When your children are
hungry, you don’t get to quit. If you can find someone willing to hire you, you
take on the practice of a second job.
When your children
are in danger, you don’t get to quit. If the danger is bad enough, you’ll take
them and flee to a place you pray will be safer. You take on the practice of
pilgrimage, hoping to find a new life as you place survival above fear.
When your
loved one dies, you don’t get to quit. You have no choice but to grieve. You
can let it destroy you, or you can take on the difficult practice of mourning.
Jesus tells
us that people in such situations are already close to God, because all of their
practices are born of necessity. When we cannot provide for ourselves, we can
only ask God to help. And that lack, says Jesus, is a blessed state, rather
than the comfort we long for. When you’re poor, hungry, weeping, despised:
well, you have no choice but to practice trust in God. There’s nothing else
left to do. But when you’re rich, well-fed, laughing, and admired, well, you
will probably fall into the trap of believing you built that all by yourself. I
know I do. It’s not that God doesn’t want us to be happy and healthy. But Jesus
warns us that when we get too comfortable it puts us in danger, because it puts
other people in danger from us.
A college
student once told me that as a child he used to go to church with his
grandmother, and he had loved those times. But he stopped going. “Why?” I
asked. “What about your grandmother’s church doesn’t fit you anymore?”
He thought
for a moment. “Oh, it still fits,” he said. “I’m still a Christian, for sure.
It’s just that I don’t need church anymore.”
Go easy on
the guy. Nobody ever told him that Christianity is not a solo sport, or that
he’ll need a community when pain and hardship finally land in his lap. In the
meantime, woe to this student in all his comfort! He’s missing out—and others
are missing out on him.
For those of
us who in this moment are living more comfortable lives—and I am most certainly
one of these—where does our hope lie? It lies in community and in practice. When
we have more money, more time, more energy than we need, directing it toward
community will strengthen us for the hard times that will inevitably come our
way. And it’ll help keep us from unthinkingly victimizing others with our privilege.
But for the
comfortable, the burden of choice is on us. Christianity is a funny religion—nobody’s
going to force us to practice. If we were Muslims, we’d be practicing the Five
Pillars of Islam: faith, prayer, charity, fasting, and pilgrimage. You can’t be
a Muslim without them, and I do appreciate the earnestness and rigor that comes
with Islam. Christianity has practices too, of course, including all of the
above. We just don’t decree that any of them are absolutely required for you to
continue being a Christian.
Yet if the
church isn’t at least offering opportunities to practice, then we’re not doing
our job. (And yes, I mean “us,” as in “everyone here,” not just “the clergy.”) So
we do offer such opportunities. And beginning in a few weeks, we’ll offer a
specific opportunity at Good Shepherd. I want to invite all of you to come practice
our upcoming formation series, “The Way of Love: Practices for a Jesus-Centered
Life.” It’ll be held at 9:00 each week beginning March 10—and yes, there will
be childcare! We’ll break into small groups to learn together about seven
different categories of Christian practice, summed up in seven easy-to-remember
words: Turn, Learn, Pray, Worship, Bless, Go, Rest. I hope that those of us who
take on this weekly practice of a slightly busier Sunday morning will come away
with new practices, with rooted trust, and with deepened friendships.
On Saturday,
April 6, we’ll have an extra session that will specifically be
intergenerational, and we’ll share it with the families whose children are
preparing for baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter. On that day we’ll be an
entire church family learning about these practices together.
Please
pre-register, because we want to be intentional about dividing people into
smaller learning groups. The form is on the back of your service leaflet. Or
you can register online through the link in our weekly email.
When we
practice, individually and together, our faith grows. When we practice, we
don’t settle for the comfort of easy answers or unearned confidence. Belief in
God is trust in God, and trust takes practice. Let’s practice together. And
then, when hardships come along—and they will—we’ll be better suited to bless
God and one another.
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