Dio era li. Dio e la.

Sermon notes for the Baptism of Bruce Joseph Barbree (Proper 13B, 8/2/2015)
(I rarely write my sermons completely so I don’t have a precise script of what I said during my homily. What I offer here are “Sermon Notes,” recollections of what I said, wanted to say, or should have said, all in retrospect.)

St. David’s is a baptizing church! Today we will baptize another, Bruce Joseph, welcoming him into the household of God. And you all should know by now that I love a baptism. Today I am reminded of a story of another Joseph, a boy in the church of my childhood who was baptized at age five.

CAN YOU SEE THE CROSS ON MY FOREHEAD?
"Can you see the cross? …on my forehead?" Joseph, age five, would ask Fr. John. Every week, week after week, Joseph would go to Fr. John, who had baptized him. "Can you see the cross?...on my forehead?” Joseph was talking about the chrismation. This is the ritual at which we mark the sign of the cross on the forehead of the newly baptized with the sacred oil of chrism, a special oil blended with perfume, used for consecrating persons unto the Lord. After baptizing with water, pouring it over the head in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, we take that sacred oil, having been blessed by our bishop during Holy Week, and we chrismate. With oil on our hands, we mark the sign of the cross on the forehead, saying, "Bruce Joseph, you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism, and marked as Christ's own forever."

"Yes, I see the cross," Fr. John would always answer. At five years old Joseph was aware of what was happening at his baptism. He was well aware of the oil on his head, able to sniff and smell perfumed chrism, all the way up until bedtime. The next morning, though, he couldn't smell it anymore because his mother made him take a bath. So Joseph kept on asking, “Can you see the cross?...on my forehead?”

"Yes, I see the cross," Fr. John kept telling Joseph. And Joseph would walk away, still wondering about it all. I wonder if Joseph still wonders. I still wonder: Is it true for me? Can you see the cross on my forehead? What does it mean to be "marked as Christ's own, forever"?

CAN I SEE THE WATER?
"Can I see the water?" Rachel was nine, inquisitive as nine year olds are want to be from time to time. Fr. Rob, "Can I see the water?" I had baptized Rachel a year previously. In my preparation of Rachel and her parents, I spoke about the waters of baptism and how the water would be poured over Rachel to wash away the stain of original sin. “Like my mom makes me do after I play in the mud?” Rachel asked. “Well, sort of I replied. The bath that your mom makes you take and the baptism you will have both wash you clean. But I am guessing that your mom will make you take a bath again, maybe even today.” As mom was shaking her head, I continued, “You will have to take another bath because you use up the water for your bath. The waters that I’ll use for baptism, they stick around forever.”

“Can I see the water?” Rachel would aske. I guess my metaphor was a little tricky because every Sunday Rachel wanted to see the water. Luckily we used to keep baptismal font full of water all the time – a sign of our common baptism in the worshipping community.

Then one Sunday she asked again. “Well….uh….um,” I stuttered on the first Sunday there was no water in the font. “Well Rachel, the font needed repairs so we had drain it.”

She gasped a little and replied, “Does that mean that I have to be baptized again?”

“Oh, no.” I answered. “The water, well, it was just a sign, a way to demonstrate God’s love, God’s welcoming…it’s that love that is forever.”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place,” Rachel said, with obvious relief. 

I wonder: Do we still see the water? Even if we can’t still the waters of our baptism, do we still believe that the water is there…being poured over us, each and every day. Do we live as though we have brought into the family of God?

HAVE YOU SEEN MY BAPTISMAL CANDLE?
"Hai visto la mia candela battesimale?" Nadia was a ninety year old that day when I went to visit her in the little village of Monte Nerodomo – the dome of the black mountain. Nadia was my grandfather’s cousin.

"Have you seen my baptismal candle? I light it every year on my birthday,” she said as she pulled out little candle. It was just a nub of a candle, not more than an inch left. “Non molte piu volte per illuminare questo” (Not many more times to light this.) We had a cake. She put that little candle in it. She blew it out and we opened our presents. She gave us presents. “What am I to so with more stuff?” she would say. But we gave her a present too, bringing her twenty-something year-old great grandson down from near the Austrian border on the train so she could meet her newly born great-great granddaughter.

That evening I sat with Nadia for a bit. “You are a good boy, Roberto,” she told me. “I am glad you will be a priest.”

“Grazie Donna Nadia,” I replied.

“Do you know why I put my baptism candle in the cake?” she asked. I nodded certain with the certainty of one who was sure. “Yes, yes, I can see that you do,” she continued with a little smile on her face. “It reminds me of my baptism and that I am God’s daughter. But more than that it reminds me that because I am God’s daughter, God will look after me. And it reminds me that God has brought me through it all and that all my family and friends, they were God’s special children as well.”

She went on to share some stories – and I’m a sucker for a story. I put those stories together with other stories that she had told in me in past visits: Sad stories of life in Italy during the Great Depression, during Mussolini’s reign of terror. Tragic stories of her how her aunt and uncle had died, leaving two babies. Hopeful stories of how her parents had taken those two babies in and raised them her brothers. Ironic stories like the night the barn caught fire and scattered the sheep and how she went to look for the sheep and found a lost boy instead, who would later become her husband. Lonely stories of a husband dead now twenty years and friends lost, she being the last of her generation. And Joyful stories of her wedding to that shepherd boy and of the births of her eldest daughter and of her great-great-granddaughter, and of every birth in between. She could recall the story of each and every birth.

The amazing thing was that each story and often several times during the story, she would proclaim, “Dio era li. Dio e la.” (God was there. God is there.) For Nadia, God was in the midst of it all. “God never forced himself,” she once told me, “but I wanted God there. Sometimes God was on the edges, I will admit, and sometimes God was at the fore. Whenever I invited God – and it was most of the time if I can admit that without so much pride – God was always there to celebrate with his daughter and to cry to me as well.”

I wonder, how do our stories end? “Dio era li. Dio e la.” Is God in our story? Do we invite God into our story?

SOME ADVICE FOR BRUCE JOSEPH
All right, lets baptize Bruce Joseph, but first some advice:

First, remember this date: August 2, 2015. Remember the date of your baptism. To know the date of your baptism is to know a blessed day. This is a blessed day where God has welcomed you into God’s very own story. So, remember this day and remember that God loves you with an everlasting love, despite your limitations, your weaknesses, and your sin. And when the time comes, invite God into your story.

Second, keep wondering if the cross is still there? Question, every day, if you still where the cross of Christ. Ask, "Can you see the cross? …on my forehead?" In just a few moments we will make our baptismal covenant. That is, at the least, a good place to start – or perhaps it’s a good place to finish. Either way, in those five statements we see what it means to be marked as Christ’s own forever.

Third, while you may wonder, please know and understand that the water is always there. The water that is a sign of the love of God is always there. This baptism thing is not just a one-day event, it’s a lifelong thing. This baptism thing is not just today for you will be baptized now into the household of God, as a child of God, with all of these here today as your brothers and sisters. You will be baptized and made Christ’s own forever.

I Am the Resurrection and the LIfe

Sermon notes for the Funeral of Carroll Copp "Bud" Philllips (7/30/2015)
(I rarely write my sermons completely so I don’t have a precise script of what I said during my homily. What I offer here are “Sermon Notes,” recollections of what I said, wanted to say, or should have said, all in retrospect.)

I had my first contact with Bud Phillips back in 2000 when I was a young priest at St. Joseph Catholic in downtown Lakeland. The Phillips’s didn’t worship there but even as a young priest I had the need of hardware store. I remember what needed fixing – my TV shelf had mysteriously detached itself from the wall. Rather than tracking down our handyman, I took it upon myself to fix the shelf. Having been in Lakeland only a short time, I went to the only hardware store I knew – the one down the road by the Publix, in that shopping center where Edward Scissorhands was filmed. And that was all I knew of Lakeland at the time.

“Can I help you find something?”

I think all of us who have entered Crowder Bros. Ace Hardware can recall that question being asked, perhaps by more than one helpful face. I related my dilemma. A few heads got together. They open this drawer, then that one, then another. They pulled a few items off the shelf. The man who first asked if I needed some help handed me a little paper bag with a few numbers written on it, a few brackets, and a packet of some plastic gizmo. I took the items with a smile and a nod, not wanting to admit that I was as clueless as I really was. 

“That should get you through. Is there anything else,” he said with that famous Crowder Bros. smile.

When I got back to the rectory, with a screwdriver in hand and the handyman following me up the stairs to my little room, there in that bag was everything that the handyman needed to fix my little shelf.

What service! I honestly don’t know if it was Bud who helped me that day; but I consider that my first encounter with the man I would come to know a few years later when I entered ministry at St. David’s Episcopal. You see, the service and the smile and the courtesy and the pride and the demeanor of the hardware store – it is the one and the same with man.

Carroll Copp “Bud” Phillips began his earthly pilgrimage on March 10, 1929, a second generation Tampa native. His earthly pilgrimage variously found Bud at Augusta Military Academy, the University of Florida, and in service with the United States Coast Guard. His earthly pilgrimage would grow, becoming larger fifty-six years ago when Carolyn joined him on his way. Then came Beth, Bruce, and Andrew. In 1973, he had made the long pilgrimage from his hometown in Tampa, from his family’s wholesale hardware business, to Lakeland, joining John Crowder on the retail hardware end in founding Crowder Bros. ACE Hardware.

I AM THE RESURRECTION - A BEAUTIFUL COMMENTARY ON FAITH
Now, today, we accompany Bub on the last stage of the pilgrimage of his earthly life. It was an earthly pilgrimage that included also baptism in the waters of new life where Bud was welcomed into the household of God, confirmation in the Spirit where Bud took his place in the community of the faithful, and Holy Eucharist where Bud had a foretaste of the eternal feast. I had the pleasure of sharing the most Holy Eucharist, the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, with Bud on the Monday before he died. I believe that it was truly a viaticum for Bud, a meal of strength for the final phase of his journey. What a pleasure it was to share with Bud the bread of life and the cup of salvation – the promise of eternity given for us. Now we continue that pilgrimage in this St. David’s Episcopal Church, where Bud worshipped week after week for more than forty years. We assemble to pray to God for the pledge of our inheritance, the gift of eternal life with God and all the saints.

Listen again to those words of eternal life that we hear in the Gathering Anthem. They are the words spoken by Jesus to Martha:

I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in me shall have life,
even though he die.
And everyone who has life,
and has committed himself to me in faith,
shall not die for ever.

Those words are a beautiful commentary on the faith that Bud confessed and also a great consolation for us at his death. With those words, Jesus reveals that the resurrection is not so much about a fact or even about the event. It’s not, in other words, about a confession or about understanding history. Rather, the resurrection is more so about a relationship. The resurrection is about a relationship with Jesus. “I am the resurrection,” Jesus tells Martha. Jesus is the Resurrection. So, for us to experience the resurrection – for us to experience the gift of eternal life, we must respond to this relationship. Jesus offers us loving friendship. He promises that whoever lives in him, even if he dies, will live. When Jesus tells us that those who believe in him will have eternal life, belief is not about an assent to some heady principle or intellectual statement. Belief is about adhering to Jesus, abiding in him as he abides in the Father.

We give great and wonderful thanks that Bud took these words seriously. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and that after he had been “in the tomb four days.” Jesus demonstrates his power over life and death. But what Jesus has in store for us is so much more than what Jesus did for Lazarus. Jesus resuscitated Lazarus from the dead but Lazarus would die again. The resurrection and life that Jesus is and that Jesus offers to us is so much more, greater than resuscitation to continued mortal existence. Indeed, what Jesus promises is a resurrection to eternity, a life that never ends, where you “shall not die forever.”

“Do you believe this?” Jesus wants Martha to seize this truth and he wants to seize it as well. Martha responds, “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.” Martha trusted and was willing to abide in Jesus. In John, chapter 14, we hear the promise again when Jesus implores, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” We all have the opportunity to reaffirm that faith and to trust in that promised life as Bud did: in Jesus, the way and the truth and the life.

A NEW HEAVEN AND A NEW EARTH
The reading from the Book of Revelation heard today points to that same life, the eternal life imagined in the quintessential “a new heaven and a new earth.” The image points to an eternal wedding banquet, a feast of love greater even than the love between Carolyn and Bud – and that was a mighty love, indeed. “See, the home of God is among mortal,” John writes. “He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them.” You see, eternal life is a relationship with God whose love and life is forever. It is a place where Jesus “will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” In this new heaven and new earth, death itself is vanquished and the first things will pass away. In the new heaven and the new earth everything will be made new with a place will be prepared for us, a place to which Jesus will come and will take us – will take Bud – “so that where I am, there you may be also.”

I am always struck by the twenty-third psalm. It is at once highly romantic and very brutally honest. “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” That is, I shall not go without, I shall not lack. We have it all, with the Lord as our shepherd! This was the faith of Bud. This is the faith of the church, a faith never wavering. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; they rod and they staff, they comfort me.” Bud walked through a dark valley at his the end of his earthly life, but he never walked alone. His wife walked with him. His children walked with him. His church walked with him. But more than all that, the Lord walked with him. Bud lived in the sure and certain hope that comes from faith, from the determination he received in a relationship with One who triumphed even over crucifixion. Bud believed in the One who brought him through the waters of baptism, in whose name he was anointed with the oil of confirmation, and in the One who preparest the Eucharistic table before him. Today in the midst of our mourning, we remember that the Lord is our Shepherd, too, and even if we’re stumbling in the dark valley, the Lord is with us to guide us just as he guided Bud.

LET US PRAY
Lord Jesus Christ, by your death you took away the sting of death: Grant to us your servants so to follow in faith where you have led the way, that we may at length fall asleep peacefully in you and wake up in your likeness; for your tender mercies' sake. Amen.

Lavish Grace

Sermon notes for Proper 10B (7/12/2015)
(I rarely write my sermons completely so I don’t have a precise script of what I said during my homily. What I offer here are “Sermon Notes,” recollections of what I said, wanted to say, or should have said, all in retrospect.)

I was reading this gospel narrative (Mark 6:14-29) once as a young deacon when, in the midst of the proclamation, a woman just got up from her seat and left. She left right in the middle of the gospel! She didn’t go home, though, for I would find her after Mass in the parish hall, enjoying a cup of coffee. I sat next to here. “I just didn’t come to church to hear that kind of story, not today. It’s just not very good news.” I don’t recall the woman’s story, not fully anyhow. There might have been something going on in her life. But really, can any of us blame her. It is a terrible story. Honestly, it's hard to say "Praise to you, Lord Christ!" after a story like that. It’s hard to find the good news in the beheading of John the Baptist.

A HAPPIER, LOVELIER STORY
So maybe we should just skip this narrative, reading the next one instead – the one where Jesus feeds the five-thousand. Yes, the feeding of the five-thousand is a happier, lovelier, and more joyful story. It is filled with a certain strangeness but it is a good, mysterious strangeness not the yucky, creepy strangeness found in Herod.

It is an odd coincidence that the story of Herod's horrible banquet runs right into the story where Jesus feeds everyone who comes and has some left over to boot. It’s not really, of course, a coincidence for Mark is a very clever writer. Mark wants these stories together. Mark wants the irony and highlights the contrast. The two stories go together even if we don’t hear them together in our lectionary cycle.

Notice the story of the feeding of five-thousand. Listen to the contrasts in the story, the oppositions that Mark makes sure that we hear.

• Jesus withdrew to be alone, but a great crowd followed him.
• It was a deserted place, but it became place of abundance.
• The disciples said, "Send the people away," but Jesus said, "You give them something to eat."
• There were only five loaves and two fish, but more than 5000 ate with 12 baskets left over.

I am sure that you can hear the contrasts. But the greatest contrast of all is found when we read Jesus' banquet of life in the context of Herod's banquet of death.

Notice some of the contrasts between the two stories.

• Jesus went off to a deserted place, while Herod was in a lavish palace.
• Jesus sat to teach his disciples, while Herod offered his gusts gluttony and lust.
• Jesus was with a large crowd, the people who followed, while Herod invited just the select few, guests of power and worldly importance.
• Jesus was a Jew who went away to a deserted place to rest with his Father, while Herod was a Jew who abandoned the Torah, replacing the God with empire.

It is a terrible story. Why did Herod give in?  He was grieved at the request but his guests had heard his oath. How could he disappoint his guests? So Herod gave the order and the head of John the Baptist was brought on a platter.

Herod’s was a very different banquet than the one given by Jesus. Herod’s feast was not the abundance of Jesus' feast. There were not twelve baskets of food left over only the platter with the head of the Baptizer. There was not life, only death.

In the end, though, Herod could have made a different choice. Herod could have chosen life but he chose death. He could have chosen freedom but chose to remain enslaved by his sins. He could have chosen the Kingdom of God but chose, instead, the empire of Caesar. Yes, Herod could have made a different choice.

A LAVISH GRACE
In today’s reading from the Letter to the Ephesians, we are reminded of that other choice – of the choice of being connected to God. The author of the letter reminds us today that there is an amazing gift given to us because God loves us. Instead of being afraid like Herod…instead of being bound like Herod…instead of being corrupt like Herod we have blessing in the love of God.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. (Ephesians 1:3-4)

No fear, no binding, no corruption, just deep and joyful gratitude that we are empowered by God’s blessing.

• God chose us before the foundation of the world
• God adopted us as children
• God redeemed us through the blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins.
• All of this according to the riches of God’s grace, which is lavished on us.

I remember being at a birthday party when the children were all decorating their own cupcakes. There was one little girl who was just piling on the chocolate frosting. She had piled on so much that it was oozing down onto her hands, squishy between her fingers. Then she poured on the sprinkles until they showered down onto her hands. And then she did the same with the candies. As she started to reach again for the frosting, I asked her, “Don’t you think that might be enough?” “Oh, no,” she replied, “It needs to be lavish.” I don’t know where she learned the word but it was priceless so I just let her keep on going.

God’s love is like that – lavish in its abundance, more than we really need, covering us fully and spilling over, sweet.

There really is no comparison between the kind of power that God gives us in love and the kind that people like Herod and Pilate and Nebuchadnezzar bear. Those latter people built their power on fear and corruption and treachery. Our power comes from the deep and abiding love of God. And then Ephesians tells us that “with all wisdom and insight God has made known to us the mystery of the divine will, according to God’s good pleasure that God set forth in Christ…”  

Sounds mysterious, eh? “The mystery of God’s will…to gather up all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” Can we understand that? God wants to gather up all things in heaven and on earth in Christ. That is our inheritance!!

The question, though, remains: Is being gathered up into God’s love enough for us? We have to ask that question seriously and truthfully. It’s all fine to think about this as a future event – even a near future event – where we will be taken into heaven. But I think that misses the mark because God’s lavish grace is about now. What does it mean to be gathered up into God’s love now? It’s not a later sort of thing. It’s a now sort of thing.

WANT IT & LIVE IT
So, two things to do to prepare yourself for this lavish grace. First, want it.  It is something that we must learn to want more and more. We must want to be delighted in the thought that God lavishes grace on us – spreads it out generously and joyfully – if only we’d be aware that it is happening. And when we do become aware, we must bathe ourselves in the abundance. We might ask what the consequences would be if we would only do this? Well, quite simply, it would change our lives. We might see the beauty in all God’s people and in all God’s creation, being willing to stand in solidarity with all God’s creatures, great and small. We might see our churches begin to fill again because others would see our witness and want to share what we have. We might learn to share our story in convincing and inviting ways.

Second, live it. Unlike Herod and the other like him, we don’t have to fight and connive to make the power of lavish grace real in our lives. We have the power, the inheritance of the saints in light. We have the example of Jesus and the witness of the evangelists. It’s a peace-giving, love-authorizing, freedom-bestowing, joy-filling, and hope-rendering sort of power that we have. We too, therefore, can lavish our grace, our care, our love on God’s world and on God’s people.

Remember, Ephesians reminds us that we are marked with seal of the Holy Spirit. We are destined to be God’s people here on earth. We can make no other choice.

The Saga of David and Our National Story

Sermon notes for Proper 9B (7/5/2015)
(I rarely write my sermons completely so I don’t have a precise script of what I said during my homily. What I offer here are “Sermon Notes,” recollections of what I said, wanted to say, or should have said, all in retrospect.)


 “David was 30 years old when he began to reign, and he reigned for forty years. … David occupied the stronghold, and named it the City of David. David built the city all around from the Millo inward. And David became greater and greater, for the Lord of hosts was with him.” (2 Samuel 5:4, 9-10).

There is something complete about these words from the story of David in Second Samuel – not complete in the sense that everything is over but in the sense that something strong and purposeful and lasing is underway. The reading is in the form of summation: the “long war between the house of Saul and the house of David” is over and the stronghold of Zion is conquered, renamed the city of David. It is a statement of summation and it is also a statement of consummation. “And David became greater and greater, for the Lord of hosts was with him.” These words, clearly written well after David’s death, claim a divine sanction on David’s greatness, a sort of early divine right of kings. But as a summation and as a consummation, these verses leave out, of course, much more than they contain. Indeed, the story of David, stretching as it does through so chapters of First and Second Samuel – playing such a mighty role in the ethos of Israel – is far more human story, far more horrible and far more glorious than this scrap of royal remembrance.


DAVID SLAYS GOLIATH AND URIAH

In the 17th century oil painting by Italian master Forabosco that relates the story of David Goliath, the artist depicts David as a boy, a simple shepherd, youngest of Jesse’s sons. In the painting, David has just killed Goliath, the Philistine giant, with his simple slingshot. The giant’s head has been cut off and David is carrying that monstrously huge head on one shoulder, holding it in place with both hands. David embodies a certain grace; perhaps it’s the grace of youth and innocence. On the other hand, that head with its eyes closed embodies death, a great red bruise visible where he was struck by David’s fatal stone.

What is most striking to me about this painting, though, is the expression on young David’s face. Where one might expect a visage of exuberant triumph, instead David appears almost lost in thought. Perhaps it the weight of the head – the weight of death – that bears upon David. But then there appears a complete lack of awareness of what he has just accomplished, the remarkable success by which a simple shepherd defeated the great warrior….the success that will bring an end his simple shepherd’s life.

David did what Saul’s army could not and what his most skilled fighters would not. David killed the enemy, Goliath of Gath. And in doing so, he did not rely on the finest armor and weapons, but killed the giant with a stone from a slingshot. The Philistine giant looked powerful, but proved to be weak. David the shepherd boy looked weak, but proved to be powerful. And scripture all but shouts at us that God is at work in the powerful weakness of young David.

David’s record as king would turn out to be decidedly mixed. Sometimes he discerned and did what is right while at other times he abused his power and committed heinous crimes. And so, set alongside his glorious triumph over Goliath is the scandal of Bathsheba and Uriah. David had become smitten with Bathsheba, a woman whom he saw bathing from his roof. David slept with Bathsheba and she became pregnant. The problem was that Bathsheba was already married to one of David’s loyal lieutenants. So David sent for his general, Joab, and arranged to have Uriah sent to a place of fierce fighting where he would be abandoned, falling to his enemies. Essentially, David murdered Uriah (though not with his own hands) so that he could be with Bathsheba. If God was with David, as today’s reading claims, then at times God must have been present with him in judgment.

THE SAGA OF DAVID & OUR NATIONAL STORY

The saga of David is one of the great stories in biblical literature. He is an essential character in the biblical narrative, even up to Jesus. He is also a figure who should haunt western culture and western politics. This weekend, as we celebrate our national independence, we would do well to remember that this nation, the United States, has had its share of Goliath moments and its share of Uriah moments.

Sometimes our weakness has been revealed as strength. Sometimes our strength has been revealed as weakness. Now, if we ask God to bless our nation, as we most certainly should, then we must remember that this blessing comes as both glory and judgment. The living God is nobody’s national mascot but has required of us “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

Yes, our country has had its Uriah moments when, blinded by power or stupefied by arrogance, we have squandered opportunity given and betrayed trust that was earned. We offended God who sent his prophets to speak truth against lies.

Yes, our country has had its Goliath moments when, in weakness that refuses to be afraid or through truth that refuses to be quieted, we have toppled giants. We have followed the commands of love and justice to see God’s reign, tangibly present.

And yes, because we are not monolithic, sometimes the Goliath moment and the Uriah moment have been one. We, the people, have shown simultaneously both the worst that is in us, and the best. We behave as David did. It is, thus, understandable if our national countenance, like Forabosco’s portrait of David, is sometimes perplexed – even in moments of victory for our national life is full of perplexities. We killed one Goliath at the time of the Revolution, thousands of young Davids holding fast on Bunker Hill and encamped at Valley Forge. But it has been, perhaps inevitably, a mottled saga ever since.

But today we won’t focus on the Uriah moments. Today we won’t focus on the Uriah moments, except as background for when one more Goliath or another has been slain. Today we won’t focus on the Uriah moments, except that we remember and pray for our black sisters and brothers whose churches are still burning across this country. Today we won’t focus on the Uriah moments, except as foreground to the prophets calling for the slaying of one more Goliath or another

Instead, today let’s consider some of the Goliath moments out of countless many that have been woven into the fabric of our national story, occasions when we have found strength to slay the giant.


THREE AMERICAN DAVIDS AND THE GOLIATHS THEY SLEW

Sojourner Truth
Goliath can be despair and we need a David to hurl a stone of hope. In 1850 at Faniel Hall in Boston, the statesman Frederick Douglass was speaking to an anti-slavery crowd. As his address went on, Douglass became agitated and appeared visibly despairing. Finally, he reached his end, saying that he saw no little hope and barely even the possibility of freedom, justice, and peace for people of African descent.

In the first row of the assembly hall was Isabella, a woman who knew the evils of slavery from personal experience. With a deep, commanding voice she spoke, “Frederick, is God dead?"

But Isabella already knew the answer. God wasn’t dead, for it was God that called Isabella north along the underground railway, fleeing southern slavery. It was God that called her east to Connecticut, where she stopped at a Quaker farm for a drink. The woman at the farm asked, “What is your name?” “I am Sojourner.” The woman continued, “And what is your last name?” Recalling all of her masters, Isabella had a thought, “The only master I have now is God, and His name is Truth.” Sojourner Truth would slay the Goliath of despair in Frederick Douglass that day.

Mother Jones
Goliath can be weariness and we need a David to hurl a stone of solidarity. An unfinished chapter in American history, the labor movement continues its struggles against oppression, abuse, and unfairness. In the 1890s, a most unlikely David arose in the person of a poor Irish widow. Some in positions of power spoke her name with contempt, but she became a mother to a great many who labored in the dark coal mines and the dank mills, often 65 hours every week in very oppressive conditions.

She served as an organizer for the Knights of Labor and the United Mine Workers where her fiery words speaking truth to power would compel workers to action. Her strength of character, conviction, and courage were exemplified once in Colorado, where she approached a machine gun poised to open fire on a line of workers demanding fair pay. She placed her hand on the barrel of the gun, turned it to the ground, and walked on by.

During a congressional hearing, a Senator asked her, for the record, where she lived. Her only and ever response, “My address is wherever there is a fight against oppression.” Mother Jones helped to slay the Goliath of weariness by standing in solidarity wherever oppression might be found.

Emma Lazarus
Goliath can be a fear of strangers and David hurls a stone of acceptance and welcome. It was a great day in 1903 when these words of invitation were affixed to the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor for all the world to hear:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Penned in 1883 by Emma Lazarus the words on the statue are meant to be spoken by the Mother of Exiles, the name given by Emma to Lady Liberty. They are words of welcome to the weak and rejected, words of invitation to grow strong in a commonwealth made great by the nobility of our character.

No matter how our families came here, as mine did in various ways: aboard an English frigate in 1620 fleeing the tax man and debtor’s prison; aboard a luxury liner in the 1930s fleeing Nazi Austria; stowed away on a Italian merchant vessel in 1923 just to jump ship in New York harbor for fear of being turned away; or, actually being turned away only to be welcomed in Montreal, eventually finding a way to Cleveland.

No matter: whether it was aboard slave ships or jumbo jets; across oceans or rivers; by invitation, force, or necessity, the invitation is meant for us and our children. And, I dare say, it is a call that we are to offer such an invitation to others as well. Each new arrival is not a threat, but comes bearing gifts meant to build up our common life. Emma Lazarus helped to slay the Goliath of fear with her words of welcome that remain unwavering and must remain unchanged.


THE GOLIATH MOMENTS ARE STILL TO COME

Our national life has had its Uriah moments, reasons for honest repentance. But we have had Goliath moments as well, causes for glory and grace, celebration and joy, barbecues and fireworks.

God is with us, as God is with all nations and peoples of the earth. The choice remains ours, however, whether we will offer God Uriah moments to judge, or Goliath moments to bless. As for me, I will choose Goliath moments when strength arises out of weakness, despair gives way to hope, weariness is replaced by solidarity, and fear dissolves in the face of acceptance and welcome

 The Goliath moments are still to come in our future. Amen.