Meow-ing at the Door

From time to time people ask me about my cat, Leo, who, as some of you know, was brought to me as a kitten who’d been found on the streets, abandoned by his mother.  To be honest, a year and a half later, I am still much more of a dog person than a cat person.  My dog Baxter hangs around church with me and others all day, every day.  He accompanies me on walks all over the city, and sometimes goes on trips with me.

Leo, on the other hand, although perfectly nice when he is alone with me, is a scaredy-cat.  Whenever Baxter is around, Leo hides behind a sofa for hours at a time, and mostly comes out at night to patrol the Rectory when he knows he is in no danger of running into the sleeping dog, who is behind a door in the bedroom with me.

This summer I have discovered, however, that Leo is not always the archetypically aloof cat.  On the several occasions that I have been away for more than a few days, although Leo is true to form in avoiding Baxter – and so, unable to greet me on my return home – once the lights are out on my first night back, and a door closed between the dog and him, Leo comes to the bedroom door and meows loudly and pathetically for attention.  “Hey! he seems to be calling, What about meee!”  And I realize that I cannot reserve all my affection for the dog.  Even this frightened, ill-socialized cat needs me to come spend some time with him.  He needs his ears scratched and his tummy rubbed, and to walk around me in circles, rubbing his back against me and purring.  And he even allows me to pick him up and hold him in my arms – which is not his usual thing.

When I came home from my recent trip and heard Leo meow-ing loudly outside the bedroom door, I had the story of the Canaanite woman we heard today already in my head.  And though it was late, and I would have liked to go straight to bed, and I had not thought much at all, to be honest, about doing anything for Leo except cleaning his litter box, there was his plaintive cry – “What about meee?!”  And I realized that this is exactly what the Canaanite woman was doing.  She had no reason to expect Jesus to pay much attention to her.  But she believed that he could do for her what she needed – that he could heal her daughter.  And her crying must have been every bit as pathetic as Leo’s meow-ing.  “What about meee?!”

It is a moment of truth for Jesus.  His disciples – his entourage – are asking him to send her away (she’s just someone else encroaching on their time with him).  And Jesus’ initial response, is roughly the equivalent of kicking the cat aside and telling it to go back behind the sofa where it belongs.  But she will not stop meow-ing – this woman – “What about meee?!”

Some parts of the church these days are practicing a faithfulness to the New Testament that seems to begin and end with an imitation of the disciples who quite regularly ask Jesus to get rid of people who bother them.  “Send her away!” the disciples say of the Canaanite woman, just as they did of the 5,000 hungry souls gathered at the lakeshore to hear Jesus teach.  Send them away!  This is another way of saying, “Jesus’ gospel: his forgives, mercy, love and hope – all of which the world desperately needs in every corner – are not for you! Go away!”

Do we doubt that there are quite literally millions of people who believe that this is the message the church is broadcasting?  Many people see in the church too many examples of hypocrisy, abuse, self-interest, arrogance, and a ready willingness to slam the door in people’s faces.  And they are not imagining it; we still have plenty of disciples in the church who think they speak for Jesus when they say of people they don’t approve of, “Send them away!”

And of course, many who see in the church, quite rightly, too many examples of hypocrisy, abuse, self-interest, arrogance, and a ready willingness to slam the door in people’s faces, don’t need to be sent away: they have happily left of their own accord.  It is as though, tired of living behind the sofa and having to beg for attention, my cat Leo decided to pack his things and move out.

But he would still be meow-ing somewhere.  He would still need to have his ears scratched and his tummy rubbed, to walk around someone in circles and rub his back against them and purr.  He would still need to be picked up and cradled in someone’s arms long after he had given up on the possibility that anyone would do it.

So the cry of a Canaanite woman is a reminder to us, like the meow-ing of a needy cat.  And some of us here today may feel more like that woman, more like Leo, than like the disciples.  Or at least we know people who feel that way – excluded, ignored, unwanted by a church that is uninterested in sharing Jesus with them.  “What about meee?!”  While there are still voices crying, let us be clear about the answer.  Just imagine how Jesus must have felt as even he discovered that the answer was more generous than he imagined.  If he had something to learn about the expansiveness of his mission, chances are we do too.

And if we are able to hear in the meow-ing of a cat the need to be tended to, to have at least a little attention paid, and perhaps even to be picked up and cradled in our arms, how much more should we be open to hearing the sometimes subtle cries of a world that fears the church has nothing to say to them but “Go away!”

And would we send them away?  Or has God given us generous hearts and strong arms to find ways to respond to a world that needs more of Jesus not less of him?

And if you happen to be one of those who is feeling a bit uncertain about God, wondering if God knows you, remembers you, cares for you; if you feel like you could practically scream just to get his attention, or at least meow a little at the door; and if you are wondering if it is worth it, if it gets you anywhere, or if you should perhaps just pack your things and move out, because why should you have to live behind the sofa, after all…

… remember that Canaanite woman.  “Great is your faith,” Jesus said to her – which probably came as news to her.  She had no idea that her faith was strong.  But she knew what she needed, and what her daughter needed, and she knew where to go to find it: to the heart of God’s love, from which she simply could not be sent away.

There is apparently room in the many mansions of God’s love for what used to be called “all sorts and conditions” of men and women.  There is mercy and forgiveness and love and hope for all those who seek and – and even for those who are not looking especially hard.

There is an answer to all of us who cry out from time to time, “What about meee?!” when we are feeling desperate, lonely, unloved, beyond hope, excluded, or in pain.

There is a Lord of life who will not be hampered either by his disciples or by any doctrine that limits the reach of his love.  He hears our cry.  

He hears your meow-ing.  And his arms are open, he will let no one get in your way.  You had no idea your faith was strong!  But it has brought you to Jesus’ side, where all things are made new.  Thanks be to God.

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
17 August 2008
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia

Entourage

Chances are, you know about the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000.  Chances are, you know how many loaves there were (five), and how many fish (two).  Chances are, you even know how many baskets of leftovers there were – don’t you?  (Twelve.)  Chances are, you don’t need me to explain to you the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000.

But chances are, you have missed, most of your life, the other miracle described in this story.  Do you see a second miracle in the feeding of the 5,000?  Did anyone ever tell you there was a second miracle, and that the second one may be more important than the first – more important than sending 5,000 happy campers home with bread and fish in their bellies.

Let me tell you the other miracle.

For some time before today’s episode, Jesus has been leading his disciples around teaching them.  He gave them instructions for carrying out missionary work, but Matthew does not report that Jesus ever sends them out to do anything.  He has been telling them parables about the kingdom of God, and they have been listening.  He has given seminars on faith, and they have been listening – or trying to anyway.  He has been healing people, casting out demons, and they have been watching, maybe taking notes.

Jesus has been doing a lot.  And the disciples have been watching, listening, staying close at hand, and doing very little.  It’s alright – he hasn’t asked them to do much but be a good audience, shout A-men at the appropriate time, etc.  He has been their shepherd, and they have been excellent sheep: falling in line, and following where he calls them.

In the 14th chapter of Matthew’s gospel, the disciples continue to follow along.  They get into a boat with him to go to a quiet place.  But a crowd has got wind of his arrival and there is no quiet to be had.  Matthew tells us that Jesus did his thing – he healed the sick.  What did the disciples do?  Watch, maybe.  Crowd control, perhaps.  Grumble among themselves that just when they thought they were going to get some face time with him, he does what he always did: goes to the crowd, and wows them.

So it is no surprise that as evening falls the disciples try to wrestle him back for themselves.   “The day is over,” they say.  “Everyone is hungry and tired.  Tell the crowd to get out of here and go get food for themselves.”  They are his posse, his entourage, they’d like to enjoy it a little.  The disciples are jealous for Jesus’ time.  They want to wallow in his attention, lavished just on them.  They want to enjoy the end-of-the-day beer with him, gathered in a huddle of the inner circle.  They want to bask in the glow of proximity to his power, his popularity.  They want to sit and listen to him some more.  They are definitely not asking Jesus for something to do. After all, he has never given them much to do before.

“Send the crowd away, into the villages to buy something to eat for themselves, and bring this rally to an end,” they say.

But Jesus looks at them and surprises them:  “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

The disciples do not seem to know that a miracle is at hand – let alone two miracles.  They may be starting to wonder if they have hitched themselves to the wrong wagon.  “Jesus,” they say, “we have only five loaves and two fish.”  Give us a break!  And the look he must have given them just repeated with his eyes what he had already said with his lips: You give them something to eat.

You know what happens next.  They bring him the bread and the fish.  He takes it, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples, who seem now to know what to do.  They head out into the crowd and start distributing bread and fish – I’m thinking fish sandwiches, maybe fish tacos.

Did you see the second miracle?  It happened after Jesus has taken the bread, blessed and broken it, and given it to the disciples.  Just then, where normally there would have been nothing for them to do but sit down and watch him work his magic with the crowds, it is Jesus who takes his seat, and the disciples who carry out the miracle he has just set in motion.  They are no long spectators of his ministry: they become partners in it.  They have been transformed from a grumbling posse of hangers-on who have nothing much to do but listen and watch, into active ministers of Christ’s love for the world.  Jesus takes a seat; and they are the ones who feed the people.  

You give them something to eat.  This sounded ridiculous to them.  There was no food, and they wouldn’t have known what to do, or wanted to do it even if there had been.  But now they are feeding people –fish sandwiches! – who moments ago they just wanted to get rid of.

These people – these disciples – are not the same sheep they were when they got out of the boat with Jesus.  Can you imagine how they felt as they walked among the crowd handing out food, reaching into their baskets - not daring to look to see if there is another sandwich there, another taco – and finding that their hands are full?  Can you imagine how they felt as they cleaned up – he even makes them clean up! – and they collect twelve baskets of left-overs.  Cleaning up never felt so good!

This is a miracle: this posse has become more than an entourage, they have become real disciples, partners in ministry, bearers of the gifts of Jesus.  This is not what they thought they were when they got there, you can be sure.


From this vantage point, up here in a pulpit, almost every congregation looks the same, in almost every church.  It’s not that you look like the crowd; there are too many others outside these doors who fill that role well.  Most congregations look a lot like that small group that traveled with Jesus.   You look like his posse, his entourage.  Lined up in your rows of pews, you are prepared, I believe, to listen; you are open to learning; you are happy to hear about the way Jesus heals and casts out demons.  Unflattering though it may be, you are willing to be sheep in the flock of this Good Shepherd, and you may even be determined to be a good sheep, always among the 99, never the one who strays.  And this is alright, especially if the church has not asked anything much more of you.  The church, in fact, has often been happy to keep you in your pens – I mean your pews.  This way we can keep you in line!

And I can take my place at the altar and play at being Jesus: taking bread, blessing it, breaking it, and giving it to you.  And we can all bask in the glow of the miracle that Jesus feeds us with his body and his blood.  Sometimes we like it this way: Jesus does a lot, and we can watch, listen, stay close at hand, but do very little

But not far from here, just beyond the doors to Locust Street, there is a crowded world that is hungry, and often knows it (though it has become good at staving off hunger).  There’s a hunger for justice, a huger for mercy, a hunger for tolerance and respect, a hunger for real food in some places, and for decent schools in others.  There’s a hunger for peace in a world that’s gotten good at war.  There’s a hunger for a healthy planet.  There’s a hunger for good religion that knows humility and lives by the Golden Rule.

We believe, do we not, that Jesus can feed this hungry world.  It is our faith that he gave his body and his blood to do so.  We are confident that by the power of God, the risen and glorified Christ can change the world, giving it the food it needs to feed these hunger pangs.

And do we come here week by week to watch and listen and learn?  Do we want to be told only of how Jesus has done it in times past, in other places?  Do we sit through ceremony and sermon and song just to get to that special moment when we go to the rail and stretch out our hands and have our one, brief, moment alone with Jesus?

There is a hungry world around us.  Would we send them away?  Close the doors behind us so we can have our special time with Jesus?

You give them something to eat, he says to us.  You give them something to eat.

There is a second miracle to be done right here when we hear Jesus say this, and we think to ourselves, “What is he talking about?”  What have we got to work with?  Does it amount to more than five loaves and two fish?  Probably not.  Have we ever been asked to do anything before other than sing the hymns and say “Amen.”  Maybe not.    But Jesus is working a miracle on us when he tells us, You give them something to eat.  He is making us partners with him in his ministry.  He is sitting down and sending us out and telling us we can do more than we ever imagined.

We are afraid that when we reach into the basket there will be nothing there – no more fish tacos.  But so far this church stands as a testimony that it has never happened that way.  In fact this church in its beauty is a testimony to the twelve baskets of left-overs.  At Saint Mark’s we have always had more than enough, thank God!

We have some challenges here.  There is soup to make every week and hungry mouths to be fed every Saturday morning.  There are a couple of hundred families each month who rely on our Food Cupboard for their well-being.  There are our neighbors at Saint Mary’s, and at the Church of the Crucifixion who we help and support.  There were the people of the village of Trindad in Honduras who our medical mission served.  Soon there will be our new mission at Saint James the Less which is as hungry a place as we have ever ministered.

Are we wondering if Jesus can feed all these?  Are we wishing he would just send some of them away?  Do we long to simply bask in the glow of Jesus’ proximity.  Would we be satisfied to be his entourage in the midst of this hungry world?

And is he looking at us now with that look in his eyes that just repeats what he once said already with his lips?

You give them something to eat.

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
3 August 2008
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia

Trust in God's Future

We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him.  (Rom. 8:28)


Let me tell you another parable; the kingdom of heaven is like this:

Over the past several years since my parents retired to southern California, I have gotten in the habit of borrowing their car whenever I visit them, because, of course, to be in southern California is to drive.  And it is a source of relief to me that their car is equipped with a Global Positioning System that provides directions to anywhere I could want to go.  I would find it very easy to get lost on the streets of greater Los Angeles.  But as long as my destination is programmed into the car’s GPS, a clear, benign woman’s voice guides me, turn by turn, to wherever I am going.  “In one mile, turn left,” she’ll say.  Then, “turn left here.”  When you get where you are going she announces, “You have arrived at your destination.”

I have never been tempted to give her a name, but it is easy to personify the disembodied voice that gives me such reliable directions.

More and more of us these days rely on GPS systems to get from here to there.  And while these systems display maps on their screens while you drive, using a guidance system like this is fundamentally different from using a map.  First, you don’t have to figure out how to fold it.  But you also don’t need to take it out before you leave in order to plot your course; you don’t need to know how you will reach your destination.  You can just tell it where you want to go, and let the kindly voice guide you, turn by turn.

And one of the great things about the system is this: should you ignore the voice and take a different route, she will adjust to what you’ve done and either guide you back to the route she’s plotted for you, or she will reconsider (if you’ve strayed far from your original course) and find a new way back to where you are going.

I have found my own way changed by traffic, construction, and distraction of all kinds.  I feel free to take diversions that under other circumstances would leave me pulled over by the side of the road trying to find my location on a map and plot a route back.  But with this system I never have to pull over, never have to fumble with the map.  The woman’s voice knows where I am going and she will let me stray, but she will see to it that I arrive at my destination.

I believe Jesus wants us to have that kind of confidence as we make our way to the kingdom of heaven.

Few phrases in the Bible sound as hard to believe as Saint Paul’s statement that “in everything God works for good with those who love him.”  Or to put it another way, “All things work together for good for those who love God.”  I should think that any one of us could amass a dossier of ample evidence to challenge this claim.  Such a file would include countless examples of sickness, unintended consequences, disappointments, unreliable people, daily indignities, financial strain, racial bias, and plenty of stupidity, among other things.   The point being that for most of us, Saint Paul’s assurance doesn’t seem plausible.  We have seen too much go wrong, we have suffered too much failure, we have lost too much hope to believe that all things work together for good for those who love God.

But Saint Paul - who, having suffered shipwreck and imprisonment, knew what it was like when things went badly – was very clear about something that you and I are probably less certain about.  He believed beyond the shadow of a doubt that the future was in God’s hands.  He was certain that God had a future in mind for him, and for the church, and for all creation.  And he was certain that God’s future would be realized.  And although it was not at all like Paul to simply sit back and assume that God would steer his life by auto-pilot, he felt free to steer himself anywhere he seemed to be called, confident that God would always guide him to the future that he had planned.

It is a measure of our time that we would put ourselves in the hands of a small electronic device on the freeways of Southern California in order to arrive at our destination, but we are not at all sure that we trust God to get us anywhere at all.  But I wonder if learning to trust the GPS system could actually teach us something about learning to trust God.  

Lots of people in the world want to remain map-readers.  These are folks who tend to treat the Bible as though it unerringly maps a course through the confusions of 21st century America if only we will pay attention to it.  Money management, romance, job advice, family tensions, scientific research, war or peace, and of course sex are all to be guided by instructions in the Bible.  And the mastery or memorization of certain texts is a proud accomplishment – just like being able to fold the map properly every time.

Such a perspective of holy scripture conveniently ignores how much interpretation we bring to everything we read.  Even if we are very good at finding our location on a map, for instance, if we are reading the map the wrong way, holding it upside down, we may still never get where we are going.

Another way of reading scripture is to hear in it the long testimony of confidence in God’s care for those who love and trust him; the complicated record of hope that the future lies in God’s hands.

The church, like so many of us, is sometimes prone to forget that God knows where we are going, that the future lies in God’s hands and he has already worked it out for us.

Saint Paul’s way of talking about this was to say that God had predestined the outcome of our lives.  And since we are not Presbyterians, we chafe at this assertion, uncomfortable with the idea that as if by some mystical lottery, God has already decided who will live in paradise and who will burn in hell?

But the entire thrust of Paul’s ministry was to expand the understanding of who might be included among those who love God.  He traveled abroad to carry the Gospel where it hadn’t been heard.  And he argued with other church leaders (and won) for a more expansive understanding of who could be saved.  He had a comprehensive and potentially universal view of the reach of God’s love.

Of course, there are lots of people in the world who don’t worry about the scriptures at all, who don’t worry about God, and who believe that the only future we have is the one we create for ourselves.   To me, this point of view seems a lot like driving aimlessly on the LA freeways until you run out of gas – a pointless journey that offers very little opportunity for happiness.

In my parents’ car the GPS allows you to press a button marked “Home” that calculates a route back to their house from where ever you happen to be, and then guides you there until you reach your destination.  And I think there may be nothing more complex than this to Saint Paul’s idea that in everything God works for good with those who love him.  Paul holds on to the certainty that God has a future for him: a future in this life and in the life to come.  He is free to travel far and wide, to take bold risks, to put his life on the line.  God knows where he is going; the future lies in God’s hands; and God will see to it that he arrives at his destination.

There is, of course, no real way to prove that God’s future for us is real.  And since the ride is often a bumpy one, it can be easy to suspect that the divine GPS is on the blink.  Which is why we call this kind of trust hope – because we cannot see from here the place that God is bringing us to.  And yet we dare to believe that God has a future for us that he has already planned; that that future is a blessing; and that we are in his hands.

So I know how unlikely it seems that all things really do work together for good for those that love God.  And yet I know how willing I am to get in a car without a clue as to where I am going, and just let the car guide me, confident that it knows, has a route plotted out, and will even adjust, if I should deviate from the plan, to get me where I am going.

And if I will put so much trust in the GPS system installed in my parents Prius, how much more trust should I place in the God whose hands made my body, whose Son is my Savior, and whose Spirit gives me life?

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
27 July 2008
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia