Giving Others a Chance (Luke 4:14-21)

(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on January 27, 2019, Third Sunday after Epiphany)

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Released

Jason had just moved into a new home with two new housemates.  His first day there, Tamiko, one of his housemates, invited him to go to the gym with her.

“I get there and we have to take our shoes and socks off,” Jason recalls, laughing.  “And I’m like, oh no, she got me into yoga.  She tricked me.”  

Just the day before Jason had been released from the prison where he had lived for more than decade.  It wasn’t just the yoga that took him aback.  It was freedom.  It was this normal, hanging-out-with-roommates kind of life—which had never been normal for him.

Jason and his housemates are part of a revolutionary nonprofit program called The Homecoming Project, based in Alameda County, California, which carefully screens prisoners who have been released after long sentences and pairs suitable candidates with homeowners and renters who volunteer to participate in the experiment.  The Homecoming Project pays the former convicts’ rent for six months and actively supports their partnership with the volunteer housemates.

The motivation behind The Homecoming Project is the fact that many prisoners pay a penalty far beyond their days behind bars.  Leaving prison doesn’t necessarily mean a release from captivity, as ex-inmates meet regularly with suspicion and rejection in their search for a job, for a community of support, for a home.  For many, re-entry is an alienating experience, and it’s not long before they’ve returned to their old way of life.

Jason acknowledges the ease with which he would have fallen back into old habits if it hadn’t been for Project Homecoming—even if he was unconvinced at first.  “I was like, man, this feel[s] like adult foster care,” he shares, “like I’m getting adopted again.  Going into a stranger’s household, getting judged all over again.  [But] now I feel kind of weird even saying we’re in a ‘program’ because it doesn’t feel like that.  I think we just have a really strong friendship.”

The Homecoming Project’s organizers say that it’s this relationship and this model of life that make possible the released prisoner’s re-entry.  For someone who’s been out of society for over ten years, and perhaps never knew healthy community in the first place, the experience is revolutionary.  One organizer puts it this way: “They’re in the community, in someone’s home, able to watch how they buy groceries, clean their home, live a normal life, get up [and] go to work and come home and enjoy a TV show.”

For Jason, it’s not just about a place to live.  It’s a home.  This past Christmas, he celebrated with his housemates and their family.  “Honestly,” he says, “if it wasn’t for this situation and the sacrifices and things that [my housemates] do, I don’t know exactly how far along I would be.  I’m only able to start work and do all this stuff because of that assistance that they gave me immediately when I got out.”[1]

Captivity

The first thing Jesus does when he begins his ministry, according to Luke, is to proclaim good news.  And good news, for Jesus, means release from captivity.  He addresses his good news to the poor, the blind, and the oppressed, because they all know what it means to be captive.  For captivity means more than a pair of chains around your wrist.

The church has traditionally done an excellent job of interpreting Jesus’ proclamation in an inward, spiritual way.  In other words, it points out to us that captivity doesn’t just mean the people living behind bars.  It can also refer to us, to our spiritual condition.  And so, not surprisingly, we have made ourselves the recipients of Jesus’ good news.  And I wouldn’t want to take anything away from that, because our captivity is probably truer than we would like to think—we who can purchase items with the click of a button, move money with a swipe of our finger, and watch television in the palm of our hands; we whose lives are characterized by the word “unlimited,” from “unlimited” minutes and data, to unlimited salad and fries.  We would do well to remember that in our growing material freedom, we are in many ways becoming spiritually enslaved, whether to money, technology, or simply our growing sense of pride and privilege.

If all that we hear in today’s gospel reading is Jesus proclaiming release to us, calling us away from the things that control our lives, then that would be plenty enough to chew on.  But I wonder if there’s not even more for us here.  Because as believers, we are not simply the audience who hears his good news.  We are followers.  Jesus calls us to follow him, to proclaim the good news—which, in a nutshell, is “to proclaim release [for] the captives.” 

And as Jason knows all too well, “release [for] the captives” means a whole lot more than leaving your jail cell.  Because a lot more holds a prisoner captive than a set of bars and a link of chains.  For Jason, captivity also means the misperceptions, fear, and shame that continue to confine many ex-convicts upon release.  Captivity means being turned down, job after job.  Captivity means being turned down for a loan or a mortgage.  Captivity means the bad habits that you fall back into when there’s no one to give you a hand up.  Captivity means the addictions and the negative influences that fill the void when nothing else will.  Captivity means anything that stands in the way of a new life.

For Jason, then, “release [for] the captives” means not just walking out of prison.  It means being given a chance.  It means an employer who will give him a chance at a job, housemates who will give him a chance at a home, friends who will give him a chance at community and healthy habits. 

Giving a Chance, Taking a Chance

I like Jason’s story so much because it pushes the gospel to the limit.  It gives the good news teeth.  It shows me what’s really going on in “release [for] the captives.”  What Jesus means is made real here.  “Release [for] the captives” means giving the poor, the disfavored, the accused, the incarcerated, the condemned a chance.  And not a chance to prove themselves.  That’s how the world thinks, and it’s all too willing to strike someone off the list again, despite the odds being stacked against them in the first place.  If Jesus’ life is any indication, “release [for] the captives” is not giving folks a chance to prove themselves, but a chance to have life.  The world writes people off: the poor are so because they are lazy; the tax collectors are so because they are greedy; the sinners and prostitutes are so because they have willfully chosen that lifestyle.  But Jesus gives pride of place to the poor, stays in the homes of tax collectors, eats and drinks with sinners and prostitutes, because they are all blessed and beloved children of God, whom God wants to have life. 

Make no mistake, giving others a chance means taking a chance.  Love always entails risk.  Risk is the thorn on the rose.  Jason’s story, an extreme test case, shows us the risk.  I wonder: would I be willing to welcome an ex-convict to live with me?  To share my kitchen?  To invite his friends over?  And yet with that risk has come immeasurable life, for Jason and for his housemates.  Giving folks a chance for life, giving flesh to God’s justice in its most incomprehensible shape—mercy—this is what breaks the cycles of victimhood, retribution, suffering, and this is what gives sight to our blind eyes, showing us that others are indeed blessed and beloved children of God too.

The Captives in Our Lives

But Jason’s story is only the outer limit.  The church is right to spiritualize captivity, for imprisonment goes far beyond prison.  There are many stories less extreme than Jason’s.  Our coworker with the bad attitude.  Our friend who is overly dependent on us, who is always the victim.  Our elderly who no longer can care for themselves.  The homeless whom we serve alongside Rhonda and her Blessing Warriors.  They can all be captive—to our quiet judgment and dismissal, which may invite them deeper into the captivity of hurtful coping habits.  Like Jason, they may not wear chains or live behind bars, but they are still bound by misunderstanding, fear, and shame, unable to enter into the fuller life of community.

I think especially of the L’Arche community, which celebrates friendship with persons who have intellectual disabilities.  Many of these persons with intellectual disabilities know all too well the judgment of the world on them: that they are incapable, that they are a burden, that they are an unwelcome disruption.  Many of them retreat from the world, physically and emotionally, captives of the shame and criticism of others.  But in the L’Arche community, they encounter Christ’s good news of release for the captives.  They receive not judgment but the embrace and welcome of others.  They are not shamed but rather empowered to know themselves as beloved and blessed children of God.  And over time they blossom in the freedom and begin to share themselves in the most tender and life-giving ways.

And the good news goes both ways.  Again and again, I have heard the same story from friends of L’Arche: that when they set their doubt and hesitation aside and enter into community with persons of intellectual disability, their eyes are opened.  As they give these folks a chance for life, whether that means just sharing a meal with them or playing a game with them or going to a dance with them, they also find a more vibrant life themselves.  I can attest to this.  Every week when I walk with the L’Arche community, I feel a freedom myself: I don’t need put forward an image, I don’t need to measure up to some expectation.  I simply come as I am and receive hugs and smiles and laughter.  They give me a chance too—not a chance to prove myself, but a chance to have life, and abundantly.

Prayer

Lord of liberation,

Whose good news goes out

To the disfavored and the accused:

In a world that judges and shames,

Make us ministers of your love

That proclaims release for the captives,

And gives them a chance for life.

In Christ, in whose love we are all

Beloved and blessed children of God.

Amen.

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[1] Eric Westervelt, “From a Cell to a Home: Newly Released Inmates Matched with Welcoming Hosts,” https://www.npr.org/2019/01/16/684135395/from-a-cell-to-a-home-ex-inmates-find-stability-with-innovative-program, accessed January 21, 2019.

Survival into Celebration (John 2:1-11)

(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on January 20, 2019, Second Sunday after Epiphany)

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Before Teaching And Training

Before today’s passage, Jesus calls his disciples.  Their relationship is quickly established.  They call him, “Rabbi”—teacher. 

Normally in those days, a teacher would have taken his students to school or perhaps to the desert.  He would have taught lessons.  He would have trained them in the practice of important spiritual disciplines.  This is what we see, for example, in John the Baptist, who attracted quite a crowd in the desert, where he taught repentance and practiced baptism.

What is the first thing Jesus does with his disciples?  Does he teach them a lesson?  Does he initiate them in the practice of certain spiritual disciplines?  In the other gospels, he does.  Perhaps most famously, in the gospel of Matthew Jesus calls his disciples and then teaches them his most timeless lesson, the Sermon on the Mount, where almost everything he says is spiritual dynamite, liable to blow you to bits, like blessed are the poor and love your enemy and don’t worry about tomorrow, only seek God’s kingdom.

But according to the gospel of John, Jesus does something else before he teaches or trains his disciples.  He takes them to a party!  He takes them to a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee!  You’ve probably heard how significant such an event was in Jesus’ time.  Weddings then were village events, a gathering of family and friends and all the folks around.  For seven days, they would eat and drink, talk and laugh, sing and dance.  They would celebrate love—not the sappy, romantic idea that passes for love in Hollywood, but the sacred union of two persons from which springs new life: new life between two families, new life in the birth of baby boys and girls, new life in the hearts of the married couple. 

The gospel of John loves to use symbols and metaphor.  It’s John who popularizes the ideas of Jesus as the bread of life, the water of life, the great shepherd, and the lamb of God.  And so I can’t help but think that John’s using this wedding feast as a symbol too.  “Begin as you mean to go on,” we often say, and here John shows us how Jesus means to go on.  Life, for Jesus, is about love.  And love, for Jesus, is worth celebrating.

I wonder if this has been lost amidst the church’s love affair with “eternal life.”  Eternal life conjures up a horizontal image of life: life with no end, a heart that keeps beating forever and ever.  But as I think Jesus shows his disciples in his very first experience with them, life is about much more than a mechanical, tick-tock heart that beats forever.  Such a life is meaningless if it is not filled, from top to bottom, with love.  Such a life is meaningless if it is not filled with eating and drinking, singing and dancing, if it is not filled with relationships of love, which invariably cultivate forgiveness and tenderness, generosity and compassion.  A mechanical, tick-tock heart is nothing compared to a heart that laughs and cries, that gives and forgives, that loves and rejoices.  Perhaps it would help to remember this the next time we quote John 3:16.  Perhaps instead of “eternal life,” we might say, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not live a mechanical, tick-tock life, but a life filled with love—and love never ends.”

Water into Wine

If the wedding is a symbol that life is about love and love is worth celebrating, then what Jesus does at the wedding only deepens the metaphor further.

For when the wine runs out, Jesus turns to a collection of stone water containers.  Rocks and water had an important place in Jewish history.  They meant survival.  On more than one occasion in the wilderness, Moses had struck a rock and miraculously water had sprung forth for the thirsty Israelites to drink. 

But at this wedding, the problem is not survival.  The problem is celebration.  When the wine runs out, Jesus’ mother fears the worst: that the rejoicing will run dry too.  So now we see a new miracle, a new wonder, a symbol again of what life means for Jesus.  He turns water into wine.  He turns survival into celebration.  Jesus has come to give us life, not just the kind that keeps going but the kind that is worth living, filled top to bottom with love.

Love Is the Beginning

In last week’s scripture from the gospel of Luke, we see Jesus at his baptism, right before he begins his ministry.  At that point he hasn’t healed a single person, he hasn’t taught an inspiring lesson, he hasn’t preached a great sermon.  In the gospels’ account of things, he’s done practically nothing at this point.  But even so, he hears the voice of God proclaim, “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Whereas the world preaches that achievement and hard work come first, and only afterward affirmation and love, we see the opposite in the life of Jesus.  The love of God is at the beginning of the story when he hasn’t done a thing.  The love of God is what begins the story.  It’s only after Jesus hears these words of love and blessing from God that he embarks on an unforgettable three-year adventure that will forever change history.

It’s almost, then, as if today Jesus shares with the disciples the truth of his baptism.  By taking them to a wedding instead of teaching a lesson or training them in some spiritual discipline, he is sharing with them his experience.  The love of God is always the beginning of the story.  It is what begins the story.  If there is no love, there is no life.

This truth echoes in all our world.  I’m reminded especially of the timeless fairy tale trope of the sleeping princess.  Her heart may be beating tick-tock underneath the enchantment, but that’s no kind of life to be living.  So what is it that breaks the enchanted sleep?  What is it that raises her to life?  It’s not strength.  It’s not intelligence.  It’s a kiss.

The Good News That There Is More to Life

The good news of today’s story is that

Whenever we’re just surviving,

Whenever our hearts are a mechanical tick-tock,

Whenever we’re in the wilderness

With nothing but a trickle of water among the rocks—

There is more to life. 

I can’t tell you

Where you will find it,

Where it will find you. 

I can only tell you

That it will move you,

Like a dance,

Like wine,

Like a kiss,

That it will let you know you are beloved

And draw you out into the world.

Maybe it’s a cat.

Maybe it’s an honest conversation.

Maybe it’s a path in the woods.

Maybe it’s a calling that keeps you up at night.

Maybe it’s breaking bread with the homeless.

Maybe it’s singing with memory care residents.

What is it in your life

That turns survival into celebration?

Whatever it is, know this:

It is also Christ,

Whose love gives us life,

Not just a life that keeps going,

But a life that’s worth living.

Prayer

Smiling Christ,

Who celebrated

Weddings and wine

And most of all

The wonder of love—

We study your teaching,

We try to practice your way.

Let us never lose sight, though,

Of what is first and foremost.

In the mid-winter routine of our lives,

Grant us an epiphany, a revelation.

Amid the odds and ends of our days,

Share with us your love,

Which turns survival into celebration. 

Amen.

It Begins with Love (Which Is Also a Call) (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22)

(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on January 13, 2019, Baptism of the Lord Sunday)

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The Voice of Love

This morning, as I read about Jesus hearing the voice of love that broke through the heavens and told him who he was, I think about the girl who looked with disappointment at the grade on her returned chemistry test.  It was way below what she expected.  As she crumbled up the test and stuffed it in her backpack, a gentle shadow fell over desk.  Keeping her eyes down, she heard a voice: “Hang in there.  I see a future chemist in you.  This one grade does nothing to change that.”

This morning, as I read about Jesus hearing the voice of love that broke through the heavens and told him who he was, I think also about the boy who stood dejected on the sideline as the final whistle blew.  He had missed a great chance, and as a result his team had lost.  As he picked up his bag and began to leave, a big hand caught him on the shoulder.  He heard a voice:  “Chin up!  You ‘re a great player, I have no absolutely no doubts about that.  Don’t let this game get in your way, because you are full of promise.”

This morning, as I read about Jesus hearing the voice of love that broke through the heavens and told him who he was, I think also about the young man who opened up yet another rejection notice.  Not one publisher had shown interest in his work.  As he shared the discouraging news with his father on the phone, there was a pause.  Then he heard a voice: “The one thing I’m certain of is that you’re a writer.  And a very good one.  Being published or not, may change how you feel.  But don’t let it change who you are.”

What Begins the Story

The world preaches achievement.  If you want to be somebody, you must prove yourself.  If you want to make it in the world, you must earn your place.  You must win.  According to the US Department of Education, this is the goal of education: “to promote student achievement and preparation for global competitiveness.”[1]

It’s only natural that when we hear John the Baptist preach about a winnowing fork, and about wheat being separated from the chaff, we think in terms of making the grade.  Either we make it or we don’t.  Either we are good enough, or we aren’t.  Either we are the wheat or the chaff.

But I wonder if this isn’t distorting the gospel, if it isn’t imposing the world’s way of thinking on God’s way of thinking.  Because when I read just a few verses later, I see something completely contradictory to world’s way of thinking. 

When God’s voice breaks through the heavens and proclaims to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” it is not after Jesus has healed the sick or taught an inspiring lesson or preached a great sermon.  It’s not after he has performed his quota of miracles.  No, in the gospel’s account of things, he’s done practically nothing.  His recorded ministry hasn’t even begun.  The love of God isn’t a reward.  It doesn’t come as a result of any accomplishment.  That’s how the world explains life, but I’m beginning to wonder if the world hasn’t got it backwards.  Because in the ministry of Jesus, the love of God is at the beginning of the story.  The love of God is what begins the story.  It’s only after he hears these words from God, that Jesus embarks on an unforgettable three-year adventure that will forever change history.

I wonder then: is it a coincidence that the Spirit descends upon Jesus at this time, anointing him and empowering him for the years ahead?  Or is this Spirit nothing other than the love of God, one and the same with the God who declares, “You are my beloved.”  Isn't it love that anoints us and empowers us all for the journey of life?

In one of Jesus’ most famous stories, there are two sons.  The older son is responsible.  He works hard all of his life.  The younger son is reckless.  He wastes his inheritance.  In the world’s terms, he literally is worthless.  The twist, of course, is that the son who receives the love of his father isn’t the hard-working, self-made older son.  It’s the reckless, worthless, good-for-nothing younger son.  Jesus couldn’t emphasize his point any stronger: love is not after, as a reward, as an accomplishment.  Love is always first, without reason, without why.  Love is the beginning of life. 

The Winnowing Fork of Love

“But what about the winnowing fork?” we might ask.  “What about the wheat and the chaff?”  What about judgment?  Is that not also part of the Bible’s story?

It undoubtedly is.  But again, I wonder if we’ve been reading it backwards, so conditioned as we are by the this-for-that thinking of the world.  I wonder if judgment comes not before a final embrace (or rejection), but rather after God embraces us in love.

For when I think back on my life, I find that the winnowing fork has been most effective in relationships of love—with my parents, with my teachers, with my coaches.  When I am loved without condition, when I am affirmed not for what I do but for who I am, the best is called forth from me, and the chaff naturally falls away.  Love is what slowly, patiently, painstakingly winnows from us our hurtful habits, selfish inclinations, and unhealthy choices.

God’s Love, Which Is also a Call

“Hang in there.  I see a future chemist in you.” 

“Chin up!  You ‘re a great player.  I have no absolutely no doubts about that.” 

“The one thing I’m certain of is that you’re a writer.  And a very good one.” 

These are each in their own way echoes of God’s love, which is also a call.  When Jesus heard it, it made him who he was.  It began the story of his ministry that we read in the four gospels.  And the good news that he proclaimed, if we would believe it, is that God also calls out to us in the same way.

Have you heard it in your own life?  How?  Has it been through the words of others?  Or have you heard it in creation?  Or in the words of scripture?  Or in the inscrutable depths of your heart?  Where in your life do you know God’s love, and how is it calling you more fully into yourself and into the world?

Sometimes it’s hard to hear the call because we are so distracted by earning and achieving.  Perhaps, then, it’s helpful to remember that contrary to the teaching of our world we are not called to be successful, to achieve, to win.  We are called only to be faithful.  What might feel like a setback to us, may in fact be a crucial step on the journey of salvation.  (It is a cross, after all, that stands at the heart of our faith.)

Prayer

Creator God,

Whose love calls forth life:

So often we miss your love

Because we are too busy

Trying to earn it.

Open our ears to hear

Your first words to Christ,

Which are also your first words to us:

“You are my children, my beloved.

With you I am delighted.”

Through the call of your love,

May we be drawn more fully

Into ourselves

And into the world. 

Amen.

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[1] U. S. Department of Education, “Overview and Mission Statement,” https://www2.ed.gov/about/landing.jhtml, accessed January 8, 2019.