Wool

Sermon from November 20, 2011
(Last Pentecost – Year A)
Matthew 25: 31-46
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

I don’t want to be an old goat.
I would rather be a sheep.

Yet it can be hard to tell a goat from a sheep.
Goats and sheep have a lot of the same genetic makeup.
Goats and sheep are both grazing animals.
Goats and sheep are both accustomed to being herded by shepherds or goat herders across mountainous terrain.

I have distant cousins who live in Brackettville, in west Texas.
These country cousins are ranchers, ranchers who raise both sheep and goats.

When I was a boy, my family of city slickers from Houston traveled out to Brackettville.
At the time of our visit to the country, it was sheep shearing time on the ranch.
And after their extreme haircut, it became difficult for this city boy to tell the difference between a sheep and a goat.
For without their thick coat of wool, a sheep can look an awful lot like a goat.

Yet Jesus sits between the sheep and the goats.
In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus proclaims:
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.
And he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats to his left.”

Jesus goes on to teach us that the sheep are those who practice a life of service to others.
The sheep are those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, and visit prisoners.
Sheep are those who serve others.
Yet, aside from a few characteristics, it could be hard to tell a goat from a sheep in the flock.
For the biggest difference between a sheep and a goat is a thick coat of warm, white wool.

As an old goat myself, I would love to grow a thick coat of warm, white, wool.
I first began showing signs of hair loss when I was in college.
My college roommates thought it was hilarious to make jokes about my receding hairline, that began when I was about 19.

In my mailbox at my dorm, I began to receive advertisements and promotions for hair enhancement products.
I began to receive sales calls from the Hair Club for Men, asking if I wanted information about hair replacement.

One afternoon, I received a phone call from a store that specialized in toupees for men.
The salesperson asked:
“Is this Jeff Fisher?”
I replied:
“Yes, it is.”
The salesperson continued:
“Mr. Fisher, I am returning your phone call from yesterday.
You had left a message that you are disturbed by your hair loss.”

I then realized that my roommates had been playing pranks on me, signing me up for mailings about hair growth and calling the Hair Club for Men, using my name as their alias!

Yet, I really would like to grow some hair.
I really don’t want to end up as a bald old goat.
For I would much rather be a sheep, with a thick and luxurious head of warm wool.

The Church, the Body of Christ, is a place where we can grow hair and develop a thick coat of wool.
The Church offers products and opportunities that transform us from hairless goats into wooly sheep, sporting thick coats of service to others.

Jesus can change us from goats into sheep.
Jesus can move us from his left hand to his right hand.
In this church, in Jesus’ church, we can grow thick coats of wool.

Last month, St. Alban’s entered into a partnership with Wesley United Methodist Church in east Waco.
We have communicated this partnership in worship leaflets and in the monthly church newsletter, yet I am not sure that all of you know about this amazing new opportunity for all of us to grow wool.

In this new partnership, St. Alban’s is now hosting Wesley’s Friday evening children’s education program in our building.
This children’s program is called Furaha Friday.
‘Furaha’ is a Swahili word that means ‘joyful’.

As of right now, every Friday evening, children and adult leaders from Wesley Church travel across the Brazos River and into St. Alban’s parish hall.
Every Friday evening, wooly sheep, like you, prepare and serve a simple meal to our new friends from Wesley.

The pastor from Wesley, Valda Combs, then leads all of the children, including the St. Alban’s kids who are here, in singing and laughing and joyfully learning about the Faith.

The first Furaha Friday at St. Alban’s occurred this weekend.
Last Friday evening, warm, wooly sheep from St. Alban’s served up hot dogs, apples and homemade macaroni and cheese in our parish hall kitchen.
The wooly sheep from St. Alban’s sat on the floor with the sheep from Wesley, as they had a joyful time together, learning about the faith of Jesus as one flock.
On our first Furaha Friday, you would be hard pressed to find many goats in the flock.
Because Jesus was growing a fluffy coat of wool on each of them, as they fed and served, with our new friends from Wesley.

Furaha Friday will take a one-week break for the Friday after Thanksgiving.
But after that, every Friday evening at St. Alban’s, you have an opportunity to help serve dinner and clean up the kitchen, just for an hour or so.
All you have to do is serve about once a month.
For through Faraha Fridays, Jesus will grow us a wooly coat of love, changing us from goats into sheep, as we serve others.

I don’t want to be an old goat.
I want to be a sheep.
For Jesus proclaims to us that, in his glory, he will separate the goats from the sheep.
The goats will go on his left.
The sheep will be on his right.
And Jesus will be in the middle.

Just as the bridges across the Brazos River are bringing new friends to us on Furaha Fridays,
Jesus is the bridge between the goats and the sheep.
Jesus is the bridge that leads us from living as selfish, self-serving, hairless goats.
And into a new life, living as serving, giving, wooly sheep.
Jesus changes us into people who serve the least of these in the world.
Jesus changes us into sheep.

In the Episcopal Church, when someone dies, we offer words from The Book of Common Prayer, from the liturgy of the Burial of the Dead.
Near the end of that beautiful funeral service, the priest stands at these chancel steps beside the body, if present, and says these words of commendation:

“O merciful Savior…
Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.”

Jesus redeems me from my sins - by making me a sheep of his own fold, a lamb of his own flock.
Jesus rescues me from myself - by teaching me to serve the hungry, the jobless, the lonely and the least.
Jesus saves me from disturbing hair loss - by growing a wooly coat of love and service.

For I don’t want to be an old goat.
I want to be a sheep.

AMEN.

The McRib & the Saints of God

Sermon from November 6, 2011
(All Saints’ Sunday – Year A)
Matthew 5: 1-12
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

During this past week, several news stories have caused me to question a very important part of American life.
During this past week, I have been led to explore the identity and makeup of a mystery.
During this past week, I have been compelled to ask:
What is in a McRib?

The McRib is the pork sandwich at McDonald’s that first debuted in 1982.
The McRib has a devout following of disciples.
From TV commercials, it looks as if the McRib is a slab of pork ribs, smothered in BBQ sauce, garnished with pickles and onions and served on a hoagie roll.
The meat on the McRib is shaped so that you can actually see the indentation of ribs.

In 2005, however, McDonald’s discontinued the McRib from its regular menu.
Now the McRib comes out only for a season, only for a limited time of a few weeks.

However, the McRib is not at all what it seems.
The McRib does not actually have any ribs in it at all.
In fact, what looks like a slab of pork encasing several ribs, is actually pressed together animal parts such as pig organs and lips and other unmentionables.
There is not a single bone in a McRib.
Instead the “meat” is pressed together to give it a shape that just looks like ribs are present.

On October 24th of this year, the McRib returned again for its elusive appearance on McDonald’s menu.
And during this past week, I have been compelled to ask:
What is in a McRib?
And I have discovered that the McRib is not at all what it seems.

And in this season of All Saints, I have been compelled to ask:
What is in a saint?
And I have discovered that a saint is not at all what it seems.

When we ask:
What is in a saint?
We immediately think of the perfection of the saints, a perception of perfection that is fed by TV and movies and popular culture.

When exploring what is in a saint, we might come to the conclusion that saints are perfect people, people who are nice and sweet and destined to be angels in heaven.
Saints, we think, are the goody two shoes who never backtalk in the classroom and who are models of good manners.
Saints, we think, are smothered in a sweet and savory BBQ sauce, a delight to everyone.

In this last week, I have asked the question:
What is in a McRib?
And I have also asked the question:
What is in a saint?
And I have discovered that the McRib – and the saints of God - are not what they might seem.

If we want to know who the saints of God are, we can listen to Jesus’ careful description in his Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew.
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus climbs up a mountain, sits down and teaches us:

Blessed are you who are poor in spirit, who know you need God - for you are a saint.
Blessed are you who mourn, who are acquainted with grief - for you are a saint.
Blessed are you who are gentle in spirit, who do not answer your problems with violence - for you are a saint.
Blessed are you who hunger and thirst, who are starving for the intangibles of life - for you are a saint.
Blessed are you peacemakers, who keep the peace by forgiveness - for you are a saint.
Blessed are all of you when you live counter-culturally, when you protest against injustice and get made fun of because you are different and get bullied for standing up for the weird kid in your class - for you are saints.
Rejoice and be glad, for you are not perfect.
Rejoice and be glad, because you are already a saint of God, today.

What is in a saint?
Inside a saint are some messy ingredients that we might not expect.
A saint is not someone who is perfect, who flies around with the angels up in heaven.
A saint is a human being who is poor in spirit, sad, hungry, thirsty, persecuted and forgiving.
A saint is someone who can be a pain in the neck to the unjust establishment.
A saint is someone whose feet are firmly planted on this earth, bringing the kingdom of God among us.
A saint is someone whose head is not up in the clouds, but whose heart is bent toward the people who now live on this earth.

Maybe it is just about where I am right now spiritually.
But I have grown weary of a Christianity that is so preoccupied about what heaven will be like or about what will happen to us when we die or about when “the second coming” will be (which, by the way, the phrase ‘second coming’ is not even in the Bible).

Instead, just as I want to know the messy details of what is inside a McRib,
I yearn to truly know the messy, gross and earthy details of what is inside the saints of God who are on this earth.

For Christianity is not about the pristine and the perfect.
Christianity is about the messy and unpredictable people who live on this earth.
Christianity is not about us flying away to escape our humanity.
Christianity is about a God who comes among us, on this earth.
Christianity is about a God who makes us saints, saints who bring God’s kingdom to this earth.

And so we fervently pray to our Father:
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done.
On earth, as it is in heaven.

Last Thursday, the Waco Tribune-Herald wrote an unexpected article about a football player at McGregor High School.
When we picture a high school football player, we expect a guy who is big and tall and strong.
Yet, Isaac Villafana, who is a wide receiver, is only 3 feet 9 inches tall.
For several years, Isaac had been the team manager,
But for his senior year this year, he wanted to suit up.
So the coach allowed Isaac to be an active part of the team.

On the outside, it would seem that Isaac could never play football.
Yet even with his disabilities, Isaac completes all the drills and two-a-days with his teammates, not asking for any special treatment.
Isaac does not ask to be taken away from this cruel earth, with all its disabilities and messiness.
Instead, Isaac has brought the kingdom of God to this earth, as his presence among his teammates has transformed the hearts of the players on the McGregor football team.

Isaac Villafana is Jesus among us.
Isaac is a short, disabled wide receiver who brings God’s kingdom of love and forgiveness and acceptance and transformation down to this earth.
Isaac is an unexpected saint.

What is in a McRib?
What is in a saint?
It is certainly not what it seems.

For the saints of God are not perfect.
The saints of God are imperfect and disabled and messy people like you and me and the hundreds of people whose names are on the walls of St. Alban’s today.
The saints of God are the poor in spirit, the hungry, the sad, the persecuted, the troublemakers who bring God’s kingdom to this earth.

So rejoice and be glad that you are not perfect.
Rejoice and be glad that today - on this earth - you are a saint.

AMEN.

Burden

Sermon from October 30, 2011
(Pentecost 20 – Year A)
Matthew 23: 1-12
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

I am a hypocrite.
And you are a hypocrite.
As hypocrites, you and I tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and we lay them on the shoulders of others.
As hypocrites, we do deeds to be seen by others.
As hypocrites, we love to have the best seats in the luxury box at the stadium.
As hypocrites, as human beings, we are burdened down and heavy laden.

Jesus says to us hypocrites:
“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses' seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it;
But do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach.
They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others;
But they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.
They do all their deeds to be seen by others.
They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi.”

This morning, it would be much easier to hear Jesus’ words and to rationalize that these words are about someone else.
Those people: those nasty scribes and Pharisees who heap on heavy burdens of law.
Those bankers on Wall Street - who heap on heavy burdens of upside-down mortgages.
Those politicians in Washington - who heap on heavy burdens of tax codes.
Those mega church evangelists - who heap on heavy burdens of religion.

It is much easier to hear Jesus’ words and to make them apply to someone else.
Yet the burden of our hearts is that we are hypocrites in that we do not always practice what we preach.
And our inability to practice what we preach is a burden.

When I was in the 8th grade, the expectations regarding homework in school were different than what I experience in schools today.
In each one of my classes, we had homework most every single night.
In social studies and history, we had to keep up with current events by reading the newspaper and making a journal of current events.
In math class, we had pages of mathematical equations to solve.
In English class, we were reading novels every night.

In the winter of my 8th grade year, I got very sick with the flu.
I was out of school for more than a week.
My mother called up to the school to ask how I could keep up with my homework.
I had hoped that my illness would have relieved me of the burden of completing my assignments.

Yet my teachers did not relieve me of the burden of the assignments.
Instead, after school each day, my mother went to the school office and picked up a list of my missed assignments for the day.
I gave her the combination to my locker and she got out the books that I would need.
After my mom got home, she plopped the books and assignments and projects in my bedroom.
And shivering with fever, I would stare at the stack of books that was my burden.

As I looked at my burden of missed homework, my 8th grade teachers became scribes and Pharisees to me, tying up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and laying them on the shoulders of others, unwilling to lift a finger to move them.

All of us are burdened.
We are hypocrites.
We are sinners.
And our sins and our hypocrisy and our shortcomings are our burden.

Jesus uses the word ‘burden’ only twice in the Gospel of Matthew.
The first time occurs in today’s Gospel passage as Jesus teaches us:
“The scribes and the Pharisees tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others.”

And the only other time that Jesus uses the word ‘burden’ is when Jesus invites us by saying:
“Take my yoke upon me and learn from me...
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

The yoke of our sin, the yoke of our hypocrisy, is a heavy burden.
Yet when we are yoked to Jesus, his burden is light.

I might be bursting your idyllic vision of the priesthood, but Jimmy and I work more than just one day a week than Sunday.
And the last two or three weeks, it seems like I have been working through a burdensome to-do list.
Like you, I acutely feel the burden of all the things that I must get done today:
The phone calls that must be returned, the emails that must be answered, the reports I must complete for the diocese, the bishop I must contact about confirmation this coming Wednesday, the All Saints’ Day worship leaflet that must be edited.
All of us can look at our daily lives and feel the burden, the stack of undone homework that sits beside our bed, the burdens of life that are hard to bear, with no one willing to lift a finger.

Yet our life in Jesus Christ is not defined by our hypocrisy and our burdens.
For when we take Jesus upon us,
Then Jesus’ yoke is easy and his burden light.

An old Sunday School song sings:
“Jesus took my burdens and he rolled them in the sea.”
Yet Jesus does not magically take my burdens and roll them into the sea.
But Jesus invites me take some time with him in quiet prayer and in public worship.
And when I am yoked to Jesus, he gives me his peace, peace in the midst of my burdens.

For me, I am yoked to Jesus when I go off to the gym and I pray and in my prayers I imagine Jesus sitting right beside me.
For me, I am yoked to Jesus when I worship at St. Alban’s, imagining Jesus worshiping and singing and eating at his table with me.
I imagine Jesus being yoked to me – being tied to me.
And Jesus takes away my burdens.
Jesus takes my burdens and he gives me his stillness and his peace in the midst of my hypocrisy, in the midst of my sins, in the midst of the unfinished stack of my burdens.

We hypocrites have come into the church this morning.
We hypocrites are scribes and Pharisees with heavy burdens, hard to bear, laying them on the shoulders of others, with no one willing to lift a finger.
We hypocrites are burdened with sin and with a stack of undone homework and with a to-do list a mile long.
The burden of these things is intolerable.

Yet Jesus comforts us hypocrites, inviting us to take his yoke upon us.
So in private prayer, tie yourself to Jesus.
In public worship, tie yourself to Jesus.

Come to Jesus, all you who are heavy laden.
And he will give you rest from your burden.

AMEN.

Group Project

Sermon from September 4, 2011
(Pentecost 12 – Year A)
Matthew 18: 15-20
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

When I was a boy in school, I really did love school work.
I was eager to learn and diligent in doing my homework.
I got especially energized by school projects.
I enjoyed delivering book reports about Tom Sawyer or about the life of Thomas Jefferson.
In science, I remember a project on the respiratory system where I used two plastic baggies to simulate the work of human lungs.
In social studies, I used scrap plywood to construct a map of Washington, DC, using blue paint for water and green paint for land.
I really liked it when my teacher would exclaim:
“Class, I have a wonderful project for you to work on all by yourself!”

Yet I did not like it when my teacher would proclaim:
“I have a very special project for you to work on.
And this project - is to be a group project!”

At the mention of a group project, the classroom would erupt in with squeals of delight.
Yet I remained stoic and skeptical.

Now I hope that by now you know that I do love people.
But I did not like working on group school projects.

In group school projects, I always felt like I ended up doing the majority of the work - without getting the majority of the credit.
Invariably, there was kid in my group who figured out that he could just coast by and do nothing.
Invariably, there was kid in my group who thought that her ideas were better than mine.
In the midst of those group projects, in my mind, I wanted to kick out the non-productive kid.
I wanted to kick out the bossy kid.
I wanted to kick out the kid who got on my nerves.
I just did not like group school projects.

Yet living in Christian community is much like a group school project.
And Jesus teaches us how to handle when we have a problem with someone in our group.

Jesus says that if we have a problem with someone,
Before kicking them out, we should have a one-on-one conversation with them.

Then if that doesn’t work, bring others into the conversation.
And if that doesn’t work, then bring the whole classroom into the conversation.

Since I am a person who enjoys clear directions on projects, I am really liking Jesus’ methodical and clear cut ways of dealing with conflict.
As I listen to Jesus’ directions, I am just itching for a good reason for the ax to fall and to get rid of the problem children.

Yet Jesus then gets a big grin on his face.
He looks into the self-righteous eyes of his students, students who are looking for an honorable way to get rid of people.
And Jesus says:
“If all of those steps do not work, then treat the other kids in your group as Gentiles and tax collectors.”

My heart sinks.
For how does Jesus treat lazy Gentiles and know-it-all tax collectors?
Jesus does the exact opposite of kicking out the Gentiles and tax collectors.
Instead, Jesus treats Gentiles and tax collectors with extra grace and extra care.

So now it sounds like I must learn to work on the group science project with the girl who smacks her bubble gum and twists her hair.
And it sounds like I must learn to work with the boy who is dyslexic and has trouble reading the textbook.
It sounds like I must learn to work together on the group project of the Christian journey – instead of kicking anyone out.
It sounds like we are stuck with each other.

Our concept of church is different than the concept of the Christian community in the first century.
We tend to think of church as an activity on Sundays, maybe with some worship and education during the week in the St. Alban’s community.
In this 21st century, we have the option of keeping our church relationships and our everyday relationships separate.

However, church in the first century was not separate from the community that you lived in.
In the early days, church was where you cooked together, prayed together, worked in the fields together, shared wine over dinner together and blew out the candles at the end of a long day together.
Most likely, the church community that the writer of the Gospel of Matthew was addressing was more like a group school project on steroids.

And Jesus says to this faith community:
“To those who offend you, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.
To those who offend you, show them extra grace and extra care.
For truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in eternity.”

We are bound to each other on earth.
We are stuck with each other for eternity.

Today we are baptizing James Lane Hughes.
We are binding another person into our faith community, a person whom we will give extra grace and care to.

And Jamie is being assigned a group project.
In this group project of love, Jamie is to work with us to love God and to love his neighbors.
Jamie is making a covenant.
And we are making a covenant.
This baptismal covenant will bind him to us and will bind us to him, on this earth and into eternity.
Jamie doesn’t know it yet, but he is stuck with us.

And as Jamie grows up, he will learn how to walk the Christian journey, yet not as his own private project.
Instead Jamie will walk the Christian journey together with us, as a group.

Because when we get tired of each other and disputes get heated, we have bound ourselves to Jesus and to each other.
When we get on each other’s nerves, we have promised to treat each other as Gentiles and tax collectors.
We have promised to show extra grace and care to each other, in God’s grand group project of love.

I would imagine that there are people in your life whom you might like to kick out of your group project:
The lazy co-worker who always comes in late to work and who always leaves work 15 minutes early.
The strange cousin who overstays his welcome and never says thank you for anything.
The old friend who is always asking to borrow money from you and yet who never repays a dime.

And Jesus says that if a brother or sister offends you, then have a conversation.
And if that doesn’t work, don’t kick them out, but treat them as a Gentile or a tax collector, with extra grace and love.

You see, the Christian faith and life is not lived and practiced as our own individual project.
In our Baptism, we are bound together.
We are stuck with each other.

For Jesus, our teacher, does not say:
“I have a wonderful project for you to work on all by yourself!”

But Jesus proclaims:
“I have a special project for you to work on.
And this project - is a group project.”

AMEN.

Lifelong Learner

Sermon from August 14, 2011
(Pentecost 9 – Year A)
Matthew 15: 10-28
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

There are some people who say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
But there is something that I really like about people who don’t think that they are too old to learn something new.

In Time magazine this last week, I read about a 94-year old woman named Clara Cannucciari who has started her own cooking show.
In her cooking show, Clara demonstrates the recipes that she learned during the 1930s, when the Great Depression made folks utilize cost-cutting measures to stretch a meal on a tight budget.
Clara’s cooking show is on YouTube and it is called:
“Great Depression Cooking with Clara.”

A 94-year old great grandmother who starts her own cooking show certainly proves that you can teach an old dog new tricks.
Either that or it proves that America will watch just about anything.

I sometimes wonder:
When did Jesus stop learning?
Did Jesus ever get to the point where you couldn’t teach that old dog some new tricks?

In the passage from the Gospel of Matthew that we have to tackle this morning, Jesus is not portrayed in a very positive light.
Jesus is presented as an old dog who can’t learn a new trick.

Jesus goes away to the district of Tyre and Sidon.
A Canaanite woman approaches Jesus and shouts:
“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David;
My daughter is tormented by a demon!”

Now Canaanites and Jews were enemies for centuries and centuries.
When the Hebrew people entered the Promised Land after they had escaped from Egypt, their “promised land” was not empty, but was instead inhabited by Canaanites.

We sometimes assume that the American West in the 1800s was empty and ready for our “Manifest Destiny.”
Yet the American “promised land” was filled with native Americans, people who already inhabited the land.
We then killed or put onto reservations those native Americans in order to take over our “promised land.”

The Hebrew people had done the same to the Canaanites, taking over the Promised Land, beginning with the battle that Joshua fought, the battle where the walls came a-tumblin’ down.

You see, when the Aggies bolt from the Big 12 to join the SEC, they will still sing about sawing our horns off,
And the Canaanites and the Jews still have bad blood between them.

Anyway, a Canaanite woman approaches Jesus to heal her daughter.
Jesus’ followers retort:
“Send her away, for she keeps shouting at us.”
Yet the Canaanite woman gets on her knees and pleads:
“Lord, help me!”

And then Jesus does not respond very well.
Jesus utters an unfortunate statement, a rigid statement that shows that he is unwilling to learn a new trick, as Jesus stares at the Canaanite woman on her knees and says:
“It is not fair to take the children’s food, [the food for Jews only], and to throw it to the dogs.”
Yet with a gleam in her eye, even after just being called a dirty dog, the Canaanite woman teaches Jesus a new trick, as she replies:
“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumb’s under the masters’ table.”

Now I could be getting myself into theological hot water here, but I do believe that Jesus was a lifelong learner.
From boyhood into adulthood, Luke’s Gospel tells us that Jesus grew in wisdom and in years.[1]
In his life, Jesus learned.

It is a tough thing to wrap our brains around the idea that Jesus is the Son of God,
And yet did Jesus know that the earth was round before scientists did?
Did Jesus know Einstein’s theory of relativity?
Or did Jesus continue to learn about the world and about people well into his adulthood?

It is my belief that Jesus was a lifelong learner.
It is my belief that Jesus grew in wisdom.
It is my belief that over Jesus’ lifetime he had to unlearn living as an exclusive and rigid Jew,
So that he could learn to be an inclusive and loving Savior.

And if Jesus can learn how to treat a Canaanite woman like a person instead of a dog,
If Jesus can learn a new trick,
If Jesus can be a lifelong learner,
Then I can be a lifelong learner, as well.

This summer while on vacation, Susan encouraged me to read the book called The Help.
And yesterday, I saw the screenplay version of The Help at the theater.
It is an excellent book and a great movie.

The story of The Help is told through the eyes of black domestic maids in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1963.
It is a time when black-skinned people were treated like dogs, many times even worse than dogs.

As I sat in the movie theater yesterday, I was taken back to that time.
Back to a time when my grandma’s maid, Elsie, used to fry up the best friend chicken I have ever tasted.
Back to a time where accusing the maid of stealing the sterling silver was explained as “that’s what those people do.”
Back to a time romanticized as 1960s glamour, with turquoise cars and Jackie Kennedy style.
Yet also back to a time when human beings were forced to use different water fountains and different toilets and different schools, just because of the color of their skin.

The book and the movie called The Help took me back to a time when the Canaanite woman, the black housemaid, pleaded on her knees at our feet, screaming:
“Please, help me!”

And as individuals and as a society, we did not respond well in 1963, but we responded with the unfortunate statement:
“It is not fair to take the children’s food, the food for whites only, and to throw it to the dogs.”

Yet the lifelong learners heard the perseverance of our African-American brothers and sisters.
Those who were open to new learning heard the Canaanite woman reply:
“Yes, Lord, yet even the dog’s eat the crumbs that fall from the white man’s table.”

And with Jesus, we unlearn judgmental and prejudiced behavior.
With Jesus, we learn to respond to everyone, everyone:
“Sister, brother, great is your faith!
Let it be done for you as you wish!”

You see, in every generation, in every era, in every time, Canaanite women have begged to sit at the table with us.
As I sat in that movie theater yesterday, tears ran down my cheeks as I watched the pain of a black maid pleading for a seat at the table.
Tears ran down my cheeks because I know that a part of my calling as a priest in God’s Church is to give a voice, voice to those in every generation who have begged for just a crumb under God’s table.
My calling is to unlearn the mindset of a white male from the South.
My calling is to stand in this pulpit and to fight:
Fight for the lonely, for those who are bullied because they are different, for the undocumented Mexican aliens, for the uninsured, for the constantly-persecuted Jews.

Tears ran down my cheeks in that movie theater because I know that my calling as a Christian is to give everyone, everyone a seat at God’s table.
For we are not worthy to gather up the crumbs under God’s table, yet all of God’s children, all of them, are to be fed.

I believe that Jesus was taught by a Canaanite woman, a woman whom he had just called a dog.
And as a lifelong learner, Jesus was taught a new trick:
To open up a seat at God’s table - for all.

And I believe that you and I are taught by the Canaanite woman, taught by maids in Mississippi, by the people whom we might treat as dogs.
And as a lifelong learner, us old dogs are taught a new trick:
To open up a seat at God’s table – for all.

AMEN.


[1] Luke 2:52