Whole Numbers—A Sermon on Being Twelve, Three, and One

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

I wonder, a lot of the time, about the stories chosen from our scripture for the lectionary. The lectionary, remember, is a three-year cycle of stories that guide us, week by week, through the seasons of the church year. This is the seventh Wednesday in Easter and our story is in a sort of odd in-between space. Jesus is about to ascend into heaven. Next week, we’ll celebrate Pentecost, the arrival of the Holy Spirit in the life of the apostles, the birthday of the Church. And so this week, the apostles have some business to attend to.

Throughout the ministry of Jesus, there were 12 disciples. There were 12 of them because 12 was an important number to the people Israel; there were 12 tribes among them, and so having a corresponding number of disciples would represent a completeness, a wholeness.

The traumatic and dramatic events of the last several weeks, which include the horrific death and miraculous resurrection of Jesus, also include the death of Judas Iscariot, one of the disciples. The different books of the New Testament tell slightly different stories about Judas’ death, none of which I will describe for you because they are all grisly. But Judas is dead, and the disciples are incomplete. They’re incomplete because there’s literally an empty seat at their table, and they’re incomplete because one among their trusted circle seems to have brazenly betrayed everything they held in common. Filling his seat, so to speak, will right this wrong to varying degrees.

They discern that it should be one of two men: Joseph or Matthias. These two candidates are worthy, in their eyes, because they have been part of the movement from the beginning. Peter says that they were there for the baptism of John—one of Jesus’ first public acts—and were there when Jesus was arrested and killed. They understand what it means to be a witness to the resurrection, going out into the world to continue the work.

They are, apparently, equally qualified, because the disciples are comfortable “casting lots” to determine who will join. “Casting lots” is a phrase we’ve heard before; do you remember when? The Roman soldiers at the crucifixion of Jesus cast lots for his belongings. Casting lots is sort of like rolling dice, in that we are not the ones doing the choosing. But this practice is more spiritual than that, in that it was believed that the result would be left up to God. Casting lots would show God’s will in the situation.

So to determine which of their friends will officially join the roster of apostles, the 11 gather to pray and then to let God’s will be done. And Matthias it is! The apostles are 12 again, whole again, complete again. The first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles—literally—comes to a close.

In this week’s portion of the Gospel According to John, we drop in on Jesus in the middle of a prayer. As you heard, this is one of those times when Jesus talks for a long time but seems to say the same thing several times in several ways and we have to read it several times to get it all.

It’s a recap of his ministry—“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world”—and a plea for safety—“protect them from the evil one”—and some instructions for the apostles to overhear—“as you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world” (John 17:6,15,18).

Biblical scholars call this part of this book Jesus’ “farewell discourse” as he says a lengthy goodbye (three chapters long) to the disciples. I think it’s interesting to look at how Jesus prays for the disciples, and to think about what that means for us.

One of the lines that sticks out to me the most is when Jesus prays, “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one” (John 17:11b).

Jesus knew, in the very beginning of the life of the Church, that one-ness would be hard for us. He knew we’d need God’s help, straightaway. Verses from this chapter are the guiding mission of and organization called the World Council of Churches. This is a network of hundreds of denominations around the world, who gather under the one-ness of our common Christianity. It is notable that we are not one Church, one denomination, one congregation. We are millions of people, in thousands of communities, in hundreds of countries. As usual, Jesus was right. We need God’s help.

Christian history is full of division and injustice. We have a troubled past, no matter where you begin. We engage in quote-unquote holy wars, the Crusades, the Inquisition, slavery, genocide, terrorism—gravely slandering the name of Christ. Every time we draw a line between who is in and who is out, we’ll find Jesus on the other side.

I wonder if we’ve misunderstood this prayer of Jesus. I wonder if we’ve misunderstood one-ness and unity as uniformity, assimilation, and erasure. We’ve looked out into God’s world, in all its brilliant diversity, and determined that our way is the right way, and that everyone else must change or die.

This is wrong.

Christianity’s allegiances with white supremacy, and colonialism, and imperialism, and militarism, and environmental degradation are all wrong. The one-ness that Jesus speaks of here is not whiteness, or Westernness, or maleness, or even humanness. The one-ness Jesus prays we will attain is much deeper than any of our divisions.

You have probably seen at least an image or a tweet about the massacre in Gaza this weekend. Dozens of Palestinians were slaughtered by Israeli forces. This sermon will not resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but I hope it will not perpetuate it, either.

Our holy lands are holy because they belong to God and because we belong to God. They are not made holy based on who purports to own them.

Every person—Israeli, Palestinian, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, White, Arab, Black, Latinx, able, disabled, immigrant, indigenous—every person is beloved of God.

If we believe that anything we do is in the name of God who created us or the Christ who redeemed us or the Spirit who guides us, we must never forget that that is as true for every other person as it is true for us. God loves you, and Jesus prays for your safety and your wholeness, and the Spirit moves among you to this very day. Our completeness is based in that, and only in that. Our completeness cannot come through war, or death, or violence of any kind. Jesus prays for us, that his “joy may be complete” in us. His joy. As people of God, as the Body of Christ, we are made for life and for joy, not for death or for fear.

Let us go forth into the world in peace, not in terror.

Let us go forth into the world in joy, not in sorrow.

Let us go forth into the world in hope, not in fear.

Let us go forth into the world in life, not in death.

Let us go forth into the world.

Give to God what is God's—A Sermon on Life and Taxes

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.
 

It has been a minute since I’ve been in this pulpit, after a busy month of traveling all over the place. And y’all have been busy while I’ve been gone! The quarter is seriously under way, the LEVN year presses on, and life outside of your programs carries on, too. It’s a big world out there.

If you’ve been here the last few Wednesdays or maybe the last few Sundays, you’ve been trekking through the lectionary as Jesus tells confusing parable after confusing parable. There were mustard seeds, and wedding banquets, and vineyards, and talents. Just as we have been immersed in Jesus’ stories about what the kingdom of heaven is like, his original hearers were putting the pieces together, forming a picture of a new and different world.

Some folks were not as sold on Jesus’ new way of being in relationship with God and with one another—some religious authorities and, of course, the Roman Empire. They, too, were connecting the dots between Jesus’ stories and their reality.

Remember, Jesus and company lived under occupation by the Roman Empire. Everyone was expected to revere and respect the emperor—Caesar Augustus—above anyone or anything else. The coin that Jesus is talking about depicts the Roman emperor as a deity, or as a conduit for the deity. You see, the emperor maintained a relative peace by allowing those under his occupation to worship their God, as long as they also pledged allegiance to him. You can bet that Jesus had a problem with this, because that utmost devotion is not for earthly kings, but for God our Creator, alone.

The tension between Jesus’ movement and those with political power was only growing. And while this week’s story is not a parable, it’s not exactly straightforward. Some of the folks who were opposed to Jesus’ movement tried to trap him, tried to get him to either openly pledge allegiance to the emperor or openly disparage the emperor.

They ask him, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” Jesus knows what they’re after, and replies with another question, like many teachers do. “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites?” He says. “Show me the coin.” When they show him the money that is used to pay taxes, emblazoned with Caesar Augustus’ name and title, he tells them “give to the emperor what is the emperor’s and give to God what is God’s.” (Matthew 22)

Sometimes, when we tell this story, we do something a little anachronistic and turn it into a modern question: is it Christian to pay taxes? And that’s sort of an interesting question, because our tax dollars do a lot to build up our communities—pay for our schools, roads, fire departments—and that’s an important Christian value. We provide services and resources to members of our community who would otherwise go without.

But, we don’t all agree about how much of our tax dollars should be allocated to which things, or about which things should be covered by our tax dollars at all. A large portion of our tax dollars goes toward building weapons of war—not so much a Christian value. But we know, as citizens and residents of the United States, that we are accountable to one another and responsible for paying taxes.

So is it Christian to pay taxes? Yes...and no. But is that what Jesus is talking about?

Not entirely. Jesus is pointing us toward a larger question: are we servants of God or are we servants of the empire? And not just in the literal political sense—though absolutely in the literal political sense—but in an even more basic sense.

This is the most fundamental building block of our faith. In the commandments given to Moses, we start at the very beginning: “I am the Lord your God...you shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:2-3).

Everything that we have comes to us from God. Yes, we live in a society with a government and with corporations and other trimmings of capitalism, but as Christians we are governed by God first, and by the empire second.

What, that is not our capital-G God, have we devoted ourselves to instead? What do we cling to that is not the triune God?

More than a few things. Money. Power. Status. Security. Institutions—like our governments, our universities, our Churches. National sovereignty. We routinely place our trust and our devotion in things of this earth that cannot possibly sustain us in the way that God can. No human person—charismatic leader, revolutionary, emperor, dictator, or otherwise—provides us that which God provides. Our political leaders are not our saviors.

The commandments given to Moses, the ones that start with “I am the LORD your God,” go on to say, “You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth” (Exodus 20:4).

When we talk about these “idols” or false gods, it’s important to note that we don’t mean other people’s gods, like the deities of other religions. The idols we’re not supposed to be making are things that the empire would deem holy—namely, itself. “Things we can get confused about that we think are divine, things we believe are of ultimate concern, things we might give weight to above all else that are not really holy.”

“Our institutions are not God; the Church is not God; the American flag is not God; our reputations and our egos are not God; comfort, convenience, and safety are not God.”[1]

Have you noticed that I always say the same little prayer at the beginning of my sermons? Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always. It’s a habit I’ve gotten into, and it’s so simple that you may have stopped really hearing it. I certainly rattle it off unconvincingly, sometimes. But I say it every time because it is the truest truth I know. Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

There are important things in the world around us that we commit ourselves to, yes, but those things are not God. Those things are not eternal. Those things will end. The empire will fall. God will be with you, always.

Remember, beloved children of God, that you—and all of us—were created in the image of God. You, as you are this very minute, are holy. You are not merely a number in a database—the university’s or the Internal Revenue Service’s. You reflect not the shiny gold coin of the empire, but the face of God.

Give to the emperor what is the emperor’s and give to God what is God’s. Give to the empire only that which bears its image, and give to God that which bears God’s image—you. [2] You have been given the gift of this life by the God who loves you. Devote yourself right back to the God who is devoted to you. Remember who you are whose you are. Amen.

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[1] Margaret Ernst, “Say Unto Caesar: Whiteness is Not God” on The Word is Resistance from Showing Up for Racial Justice, showingupforracialjustice.org/podcast, 20 October 2017.

The Acts of the Apostles—A Community in Conversation

Dear Reader,

You may have noticed that my sermon posts have been a little inconsistent these past few months, as I've been traveling about doing the parts of my job that take place in communities outside of Davis. This past week was one such week, as I was in Ohio to meet with the board and program directors of Episcopal Service Corps. I looked up the propers for this week so I could begin thinking about my sermon on the plane, and I inadvertently clicked ahead a week. So, the sermon that follows does not match the scripture you (may have) heard on Sunday, but rather the one you (may) hear this coming Sunday. Next week, we are participating in the third annual Davis Interfaith Games, so I won't be preaching—hence, using this text this week rather than tabling it for its proper week. Fortunately for me, grace abounds! Also, this sermon is largely audience participation, and I wouldn't want you to miss out on that. So, when you get there, I'd love it if you would come out of the woodwork and comment, answering questions 1 and 2. Humor me.

xo Case

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In the season of Easter, our lectionary readings hop into the Acts of the Apostles, the first book of the New Testament after the gospels. Scholars say that it's a continuation of the Gospel According to Luke, like by the same author, and so it continues to tell the story of what happened after the first Easter. Jesus is gone, again, and the disciples are out and about, building the beloved community.

For them, that looked like what our first reading suggested: “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people” (Acts 2:44-47a).

It's been 2000 years, and our society has evolved over and over and over. Communities may look like this, or they may look like something else.

One of the things that is most important to me about our community here at the Belfry is that everyone gets a say in what our community looks like. When we gather for Spirituality Group or Bible Study, we decide as a group what we’re going to be learning about together. I have some ideas, always, and am here to provide the structure and the expertise. But the groups aren’t here for me, they’re here for y’all.

I did go to seminary and get ordained for a reason, so I’m not completely abdicating my role to y’all. I did, at least, start the sermon from up here. But I’m going to sit down now, and listen to you. I have some questions to ask, but the answers are yours. Surprise! This sermon is “some assembly required.”

1. What is the most life-altering community you’ve ever been a part of? Life-altering in a big way or a small way, and a big group or a small group.
1. What characteristics did you notice, as everyone was sharing, these communities had in common?

2. If you were going to design a community, what would it have? Who would be in it with you? Hypothetical or literal, (ie your best friend, or “people who like xyz”).

3. If you were going to make the Belfry a more ideal community, what would we have? Who would be here with us? What would we do?

Some of us gathered together this afternoon, and will gather on Wednesdays for the remainder of the quarter, to talk about becoming a Reconciling in Christ ministry. This will designate us, primarily, as a place where LGBTQ Christians are invited, and where we’d be willing to call a pastor who identified as a member of the LGBTQ community. On top of that, it will give us an opportunity to look at ourselves as a community and see where we have room to grow.

I am so grateful to be in community with all of you, and to work together and play together toward building the beloved community. The first reading tonight was from The Acts of the Apostles, a book written millennia ago. Our lives, though, are the lives of the apostles, and we have more work to do and more stories to tell—together.