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Sermon - The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (A) - 24th August 2008
St Alban ’s Epping 7am
Readings: Exodus 1:8-2:10, Psalm 124, Romans 12:1-8, Matthew 16:13-20
At various points in our lives we need to stand up and be counted. As scary as some of these times have been, they usually have been moments that have initiated some changes in our lives and offered us the opportunity to draw upon the memories of our early years.
The readings for today lead us to renewed discoveries: the importance of standing up to be counted; the persistence of God in God’s intentions and mission; and the incredible opportunity that even you and I might share that which is very sacred.
In ancient Egypt, the Hebrew population was flourishing even as they were struggling under oppression. The Pharaoh tried to kill off young Hebrew males by drowning them in the Nile River. Moses was set in a basket by his mother and cared for in the early journey by his older sister. The daughter of the Pharaoh discovered him. We know the rest of the story.
Out of the most unlikely beginnings, a small vessel of God’s grace was saved to do God’s bidding. The women of the story all become carriers of the sacred. People who stood up to make possible a scared story that was to define Old Testament history and the foundations of our Hebrew scriptures. It was part of larger event in the life of the Hebrew people and in our religious heritage.
Peter’s confession became for him and for the disciples an invitation to carry an awesome responsibility of furthering God’s mission of reconciliation. Peter’s confession is preceded by a question: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
Answers come readily. “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.” It is easy to say what we have heard others say. However, another question appears: “But who do you say that I am?” The disciples are asked to stand up and be counted and so are you and I.
In Romans we see that all have been given differing gifts through God’s grace that are to be used for the welfare of the entire community. No one can claim that his or her gifts are more important. All are important for wholeness and holiness.
So what do we do with these stories? In what ways do they affect us? Are they only part of our lore or are they alive in some new ways in our hearing? Do we see ourselves as ones who stand for the little ones of life, or are we drawn to step forward to proclaim new life and possibilities? Is ours the quiet loving care of a sibling or the incredible angst of a mother who wants desperately to hold on to her child and yet let that child go? Do we as a parish community help one another discover our gifts and welcome them when discovered? When asked the question asked of the disciples – “Who do you say that I am?” – what will we say?
The readings begin with a horrific history, the slaying of young children and a sacred, nurturing history of the caring for a little baby. They end by asking adults to answer important questions and to take responsibility. As such, they imitate life as we know it. There can be no greater work than the care of young children. Many will deal with life as a result of how we have treated them. That is one reason why child abuse is such an evil thing.
Our work in the midst of the abuse and neglect of children today is to be a people who care, nourish and protect them. There is no greater work. We start out with our own families and as community who gathers here at this congregation. Our future is determined in part by how we welcome and treasure the young ones in our midst.
Today’s lessons end by asking the rest of us, the adults the question: “But who do you say that I am?” This is not easy to answer, for behind our responses we have our own histories, our own working through all of those messages from our own childhood, our own disappointments and failures, our own physical and emotional pains, our own experiences of loneliness or feeling of little worth. We come to this place from the contexts of our life experiences. Many things, some that we cannot see, buffet us. Life is complex and full. Sometimes our familiar experiences of life become a haven where we can hide. Sometimes they are a maize where we don’t know where we are going or who is around us. Life is full in all of its complexities and we bring all those complexities to this present moment. So we are a people of our context. We are also a people of our gathering.
We are here together. In our gatherings we have a sense of who is around us and in this reality we have a choice: do we circle the wagons or do we create circles of trust? Our work as a parish community, without being intrusive in others’ lives, can be a place where we can start again and feel that here is a community that values each of us as treasured earthen vessels of worth and significance. This can make all the difference in people’s lives. It can be a place where we can be loved in healthy, life-giving ways and where we are fed not only by bread and wine but also by a people, who, sharing our human journeys and our human condition, are willing to not just to talk but walk with us in our journeys in daily living.
We are a people of the table. To engage in this most special walk, we present ourselves, at God’s invitation, before the holy table to receive what the world might see as a small gift, a morsel of bread and a drop of wine, but which we know is the gift of life. It, too, is a reminder that doing something that may seem small and insignificant can make all the difference. Who would have known that putting that baby in a basket and setting him upon the water under the watchful eye of his sister would change the course of history? It is from the table, holy table, tables of conversation, tables where other meals are shared, tables and platforms where other interactions take place, that we know most fully that our journeys are inextricably connected to others’ journeys.
We are a people of the dismissal. We are called from the table to return to the complexities of life, to our every day life. This is where most of our life is lived in all of its fullness, struggle, sorrow and celebration. It is from the ordinary that a basket was made for a baby that changed the course of history. It was to the ordinary every day life that the disciples were beckoned back from the Mount of Transfiguration. It is where death and resurrection happens most frequently.
So what are we to do or say when we hear the words “But who do you say that I am?” In the midst of our fears and hesitation, it is the stepping out in faith and being alive and present to ourselves and to others, the world around us and to God’s reconciling love breaking into the world in often small, seemingly insignificant ways that is the source of our future hope and promise. So with courage and hopefulness, with our pain and struggles, with our joys and celebrations, we dare come again to this table and to a special presence with each other in prayer.
Who would know that as a result of our coming here the world around us and we ourselves will never be quite the same again? Be alert, for God’s spirit is dwelling in our midst!
This sermon based upon one by one by the Reverend Bub Holland, www.dfms.org/sermons_that_work_99782_ENG_HTM.htm