October 19th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

Who are we in the gospel story? Are we the unfeeling judge who turns deaf ears to cries of injustice? Are we the earthly disciples of God who hear them ringing in our ears and must act? I know which one I want to be, which of the two, we aspire to be. But on this Sunday after Thanksgiving, which one are we, really? Consider this scenario: a tent appears in your neighborhood park. Someone sleeping in the woods as the weather turns cold. How do we respond? Do we call the police so they can move that person along? Do we take a chance and see who owns the tent? Do we whine to our dog-walking friends about the lack of resources? Winter is coming. Do we hear the cry of injustice? Or this: right now, while our eyes are focused on the unjust invasion on Ukraine, East Africa is experiencing the worst drought in four decades, and millions of people are starving, or on the verge of it. The forecast suggests no reprieve – a fifth season of drought is expected. Millions of heads of livestock have died, crops have withered, children are not going to school. According to The Washington Post, desperate families are reportedly marrying off their 9-year-old daughters for a dowry that puts a little food on the table. In Somalia, the UN has predicted a famine will be declared by the end of the year, and the problem isn’t much better in a number of other sub-Saharan countries. Today is World Food Day. Who are we? The judge who drowns out the cries for help with his good life? Or disciples of God who hear and try to answer? What can we do? The answer isn’t an easy one – but then, the gospel isn’t easy to follow. Africa is far away; and homelessness is complicated – and well, our lives are busy too, with their own sets of problems. But don’t misunderstand that gospel. We hear the story of the widow who represents the most vulnerable and voiceless in society. She is seeking what is only her due – justice and fairness – and being ignored for so long. Maybe eventually, the judge gets around to doing something about it – I mean, she just won’t go away. But by then, the injustice has likely worn a permanent crease in her life and become so much worse than it would have been if help had come early. That is not how God works, the gospel promises. God steps up. God intervenes. God hears our calls and hops to it. But again you might ask: show me when God hopped to my problem. When God actively did something to help my family or cure my complaint. Show me that and then we’ll talk. Is this who we are? People who wait for a miracle, for “a sign,” for someone else to solve the problem? I don’t think that’s in the gospel. I don’t think it says anywhere: go back to trying to solve Wordle, and let God take care of everything. In fact, I am pretty sure the gospel says: you’re called to be my disciples on earth. So who are we? We are the presence of God. Not in one way. Not in a perfect, all-problems-solved kind of way. But in a doing-our-best-out-of -hope-and-kindness kind of way. When we care for a friend who has been given a terrible diagnosis, we are the presence of God. When we drive a truckload of supplies halfway across the country to bring food and chainsaw oil to hurricane survivors, we are the presence of God. When we go home, having seen that tent in the woods, and we don’t call the police, but instead donate to Shepherds of Good Hope, we are the presence of God. When we advocate for our government to send more foreign aid to Africa, and fill the shelves of our food banks here, we are the presence of God. Timothy reminds us of the hard facts: gospel-bearers must be persistent, in good times and bad. They must convince, rebuke, and encourage. They will be ignored – their own calls for justice will not be heard. There will never be enough – not enough time, not enough money, not enough action. And yet…who are we? When God seeks, will God find faith on earth? Are we that faithful? Or will we be waiting for someone else to take care of things, because the problem is too big, too daunting, too much trouble? Do not be made complacent by the gospel this morning, for it is not a call that God will yet take care of everything. The gospel is actually a reminder that God has already taken care of everything – for God has taught us and inspired and empowered us to be the faithful on earth. We have what we need. We are what is needed. The psalmist says this morning: “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come?/ My help comes from the Lord.” And the Lord, he writes,” will watch over our going out and our coming in from this time and for evermore.” God is watching over the comings and goings of the faithful on earth. We have our instructions. Who are we? Amen.

October 16th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse Who are we in the gospel story? Are we the unfeeling judge who turns deaf ears to cries of injustice? Are we the earthly disciples of God who hear them ringing in our ears and must act? I know which one I want to be, which of the two, we aspire to be. But on this Sunday after Thanksgiving, which one are we, really? Consider this scenario: a tent appears in your neighborhood park. Someone sleeping in the woods as the weather turns cold. How do we respond? Do we call the police so they can move that person along? Do we take a chance and see who owns the tent? Do we whine to our dog-walking friends about the lack of resources? Winter is coming. Do we hear the cry of injustice? Or this: right now, while our eyes are focused on the unjust invasion on Ukraine, East Africa is experiencing the worst drought in four decades, and millions of people are starving, or on the verge of it. The forecast suggests no reprieve – a fifth season of drought is expected. Millions of heads of livestock have died, crops have withered, children are not going to school. According to The Washington Post, desperate families are reportedly marrying off their 9-year-old daughters for a dowry that puts a little food on the table. In Somalia, the UN has predicted a famine will be declared by the end of the year, and the problem isn’t much better in a number of other sub-Saharan countries. Today is World Food Day. Who are we? The judge who drowns out the cries for help with his good life? Or disciples of God who hear and try to answer? What can we do? The answer isn’t an easy one – but then, the gospel isn’t easy to follow. Africa is far away; and homelessness is complicated – and well, our lives are busy too, with their own sets of problems. But don’t misunderstand that gospel. We hear the story of the widow who represents the most vulnerable and voiceless in society. She is seeking what is only her due – justice and fairness – and being ignored for so long. Maybe eventually, the judge gets around to doing something about it – I mean, she just won’t go away. But by then, the injustice has likely worn a permanent crease in her life and become so much worse than it would have been if help had come early. That is not how God works, the gospel promises. God steps up. God intervenes. God hears our calls and hops to it. But again you might ask: show me when God hopped to my problem. When God actively did something to help my family or cure my complaint. Show me that and then we’ll talk. Is this who we are? People who wait for a miracle, for “a sign,” for someone else to solve the problem? I don’t think that’s in the gospel. I don’t think it says anywhere: go back to trying to solve Wordle, and let God take care of everything. In fact, I am pretty sure the gospel says: you’re called to be my disciples on earth. So who are we? We are the presence of God. Not in one way. Not in a perfect, all-problems-solved kind of way. But in a doing-our-best-out-of -hope-and-kindness kind of way. When we care for a friend who has been given a terrible diagnosis, we are the presence of God. When we drive a truckload of supplies halfway across the country to bring food and chainsaw oil to hurricane survivors, we are the presence of God. When we go home, having seen that tent in the woods, and we don’t call the police, but instead donate to Shepherds of Good Hope, we are the presence of God. When we advocate for our government to send more foreign aid to Africa, and fill the shelves of our food banks here, we are the presence of God. Timothy reminds us of the hard facts: gospel-bearers must be persistent, in good times and bad. They must convince, rebuke, and encourage. They will be ignored – their own calls for justice will not be heard. There will never be enough – not enough time, not enough money, not enough action. And yet…who are we? When God seeks, will God find faith on earth? Are we that faithful? Or will we be waiting for someone else to take care of things, because the problem is too big, too daunting, too much trouble? Do not be made complacent by the gospel this morning, for it is not a call that God will yet take care of everything. The gospel is actually a reminder that God has already taken care of everything – for God has taught us and inspired and empowered us to be the faithful on earth. We have what we need. We are what is needed. The psalmist says this morning: “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come?/ My help comes from the Lord.” And the Lord, he writes,” will watch over our going out and our coming in from this time and for evermore.” God is watching over the comings and goings of the faithful on earth. We have our instructions. Who are we? Amen

October 9th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse The act of being grateful makes us feel better. We know this. It reminds us to appreciate what we have, to focus on those around us. It helps us become comfortable in our own skin. Gratitude requires us truly to see the world around us as a gift. It lessens the energy we put into envy, into striving in unhealthy ways. So, in a way, it’s odd that sociologists have taken to studying it, to prove the value of it. For example, one study found that people who express more gratitude were likely more generous, more agreeable. People who kept a gratitude journal – and wrote every day a list of things for which they were thankful – reported better well-being and optimism. They even, apparently, exercised more. Gratitude is linked to positive mental health. It correlates positively with spirituality. When psychologists sit down to treat people who are depressed or anxious, getting them to shift their thoughts to feeling grateful for what they have is one of the key steps in therapy. What are you thankful for? Do you contemplate this regularly? Do you have a ritual that reminds you to give thanks? At every mealtime, do you say grace? The evidence is clear: when we do, we are all healthier for it. The thing about gratitude is it works in direct contradiction to materialism. It is an antidote for our craving for more, for our natural inclination to rank ourselves above others. The advice that Jesus gives in our gospel is profound. He is teaching us a lesson of faith, yes. But it is also a valuable recipe for happiness. Do not covet the food that perishes but rather the food that lasts to the end of your days, Jesus cautions the disciples. For it is the “bread of God which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” The food that Jesus speaks of is not just what we put on our table at dinner time; it includes all those material items which we desire. The bread of God is not a pile of do-gooder platitudes. It is a gift, for which we do not need to strive, which sits there, waiting for us to choose to open it. It is a gift that teaches us to seek out love and not gold; to have presence in the moment rather than always chasing the future; to live as one fulfilled, rather than never feeling full. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” Jesus promises. “Whoever comes to me will never be thirsty.” Can we learn to incarnate those words if we find gratitude difficult? I think we tend to underestimate the power of our inner voice prompted by God to change our thoughts, to shift our perceptions. What if we woke each morning, and said to ourselves – not, how shall I get ahead today? – but how shall I show how grateful I am for what I already have? What if we stopped asking ourselves: how can I justify my place in the world, but instead asked, how can I use the place where I stand to do real good? In our second lesson, we are given an elegant passage to remind us of what that would look like: “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is commendable – if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think of these things.” The truth is, if we fill our thoughts in this way, we won’t have much room for anything else. We are, indeed, living off the Bread of God. Now, some might say, what is honorable and true for one person is not necessarily so for another. I would say they are wrong. We are individuals, that is true; our stories are unique, our beliefs may differ. But at the core, the Bread of God is what it is. It does not make up facts to suit bigotry or racism or homophobia or sexism. It does not argue for exclusion. It does not cozy up to those who would use their power over others. It does not fling around insults. And yet so much of the posture is fed by a lack of gratitude, a failure to be thankful, and a tendency to see what one lacks as something that has been stolen away by another person. We are all served the Bread of God. But if we cannot say thanks for that, we will not be filled by it. I have been sitting with people, listening to their stories, for 25 years. Stories of grief and regret, anger and envy, pride and success. And I can tell you, that in the end, the people who have been most content, who have seemed to shine with an inner light of peace, and who have been the most giving, the most loved by their families, are the ones who could so easily speak about the things that made them feel thankful. I sat with a man last Sunday night who was having a 9-hour surgery then next day for a very aggressive kind of cancer. He asked me to come the night before his surgery because he knew he needed the Bread of Life before he closed his eyes. He ended our visit with a thanksgiving for the gift of communion. I have sat with legions of people who expressed the same kind of gratitude living in situations that called for lament. Were they always that way? I doubt it. Did gratitude flow from them naturally? I don’t think so. They worked to see the better side of a situation, the good in a difficult loved one, and the bounty on every table. They were filled by the bread of life. In the end, on this Thanksgiving weekend, let us remember this lesson, the secret to happiness that Jesus offers to us this moment: Wake each day, and fall asleep each night, remembering what we are thankful for. Amen.