 By The Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
In this morning’s readings we’ve witnessed moments in which Moses and Peter are being called to leadership. Both take place in times in which God’s children are suffering and in need, and God summons leaders to assist with the work of deliverance. One of the things I appreciate about worshipping in a lectionary-based church tradition is that we follow a three-year cycle of designated readings. The readings we heard this morning are the same ones we heard on this week in 2023, and 2020, and so forth. I find that as we hear these stories in different contexts than existed in 2023 or 2020, we hear different things. In the last couple of weeks I’ve read a couple of commentaries on these readings that have focused my attention on a particular theme running through today’s scripture. The theme that my reading has invited me to think about – and so I’m inviting you to come along - is that of what it means for faith to confront empire. Today’s gospel is the second half of a conversation that began in last week’s gospel. As you’ll recall, Jesus had brought the disciples to Caesarea Phillipi and, as we heard last week, asked them “Who do you say that I am?” Peter won the gold star (and the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, no less,) by answering that Jesus was “the Messiah, the Son of the living God”. As the conversation continues this morning, however, things take a turn. Jesus tells the disciples that in heading to Jerusalem, he is facing suffering and death, and that the disciples must be ready, themselves, to experience the same fate. Peter does not like or accept this news. He “rebukes” Jesus, and is, in turn, chastised by Jesus for his response. Jesus calls him a “stumbling block”, because, Jesus says, Peter is “setting [his] mind not on divine things but on human things.” And there’s the crunch – for Peter, and for all of us. Which vision of power and strength are Peter and the other disciples going to accept and emulate – the way of the imperial power of Rome, embodied in the metropolis of Caesaria Phillipi where the conversation took place - which was named by Phillip, the son of Herod the Great, after Caesar and himself - or the way of God, a way of humility, service and love? Rome in the first century exercised (and maintained) its power and authority through coercion and through violence. It controlled the occupants of the Jewish provinces of Galilee and Judea through oppressive economic practices and it executed opponents of the realm. It achieved strength and security through force. This was the model that the people (including the disciples) understood, and it formed the basis for the Jewish hope that the promised Messiah would save them by following the model of the warrior-king, David. Jesus, before this excursion to Caesaria Phillipi, had exercised what was pretty much exclusively a ministry of service – teaching, feeding, and healing. Not long before this, however, he began the journey toward Jerusalem. The growing conflict with his critics among the religious leadership may have brought Jesus to a conclusion that confrontation with the powers of empire could not be avoided, and must be faced. He well may have come to feel that confrontation with the oppressive power of the state was in fact a part of his ministry and not just an unfortunate by-product. His journey to Jerusalem reflected a readiness to confront the system that caused so much of the suffering of his people. Jesus was turning to activism as part of the way of love. He wanted his disciples to understand that the inevitable result of a commitment to non-violent love and service, part of the consequence of speaking truth to power, would be suffering and death. Peter couldn’t wrap his head around it. “God forbid it, Lord”, he cried. Episcopal priest and blogger Andrew Thayer, one of the commentators I said had recently influenced my thinking about this passage, offers the observation that Peter, despite his sincere love for and commitment to Jesus, remained in thrall to the empire’s imperial approach – all of the way to the end. When the soldiers arrived at the Garden of Gethsemane to arrest Jesus, Thayer reminds us, Peter drew a sword and cut off the ear of one of the party. He still looked for force to provide security. This question of the choice between acceptance of imperial power and authority and commitment to the way of the gospel, a way of sacrificial love, compassion, and inclusivity that opens one to suffering, is always a choice. I’m not going to take time to explore it in depth this morning, but want to register that, not for the first time in human history, the name of Jesus Christ is today being wedded to an ideology that advocates use of force, conquest, domination, and exclusion to achieve supremacy. Christian Nationalism, a growing movement in the US, promotes the notion that the United States was founded as a Christian nation and must be shaped by so-called “biblical principles”. Among those “principles”, according to the research of the Kettering Foundation, are traditional social hierarchies which include defined gender roles, rejection of racial and ethnic diversity in favor of racial and cultural uniformity, and a preference for authoritarian social control. Christian Nationalism undergirds the practice of arrest, internment and expulsion of non-citizens, particularly those of color. It is fueling the rise of Antisemitism and Islamophobia. It is not the Christianity that our Anglican tradition calls us to. But our readings this morning offer us another model, and we find it in Moses’ call to leadership at the burning bush. In the Exodus story, God’s people have cried out in suffering under the grip of enslavement by the Pharaoh of Egypt, the imperial power of that time. God’s response is not to deploy an army, but rather, to commission a sheep herder to go to Pharaoh with a message – “Let my people go.” Moses is not a warrior. He is not up for a fight. He doesn’t even want to job. Rather than objecting outright, Moses responds to the voice from the burning bush with a series of objections, questions, and expected obstacles. But despite his reservations, Moses finds himself accepting the commission. As Andrew Thayer sums it up, “what Moses is invited to do at the burning bush is what love does when it meets an empire built on coercive power, forced labor, and extraction. It doesn’t back down, nor does it pick up the sword. It confronts, speaks up, tells the truth. Self-sacrificial Love, the kind displayed by Moses, isn’t a feeling or an emotion, nor is it passivity or niceness. Moses standing in front of Pharaoh is love functioning as confrontation and liberation at the same time.” In many ways Moses embraces the same non-coercive strength and conviction that Jesus displays in walking towards Jerusalem. We are, today, facing the power of empire, no question about it. We are living in a world in which both persons and nature have again been viewed as expendable, available to be used for the benefit of those who hold power. In the Moses and Peter stories, both are thinking and reacting based on experiences of the past – knowing the way things have always worked, fearful of failure, rejection, and death, both are frightened of risk. For them, and certainly for us, God is pointing toward a new future that is different from anything they can imagine, and that is scary. These stories of invitation to leadership offer us the same truths:
Moses and Peter both accomplished more than they could have dreamed in the initial moments we see in today’s texts. They both experienced loss, heartache, conflict along the way, but with God’s help, both served in God’s work of healing the world. May we meet our own challenges with faith. May we be willing to step forward, to conquer our fears and open our vision. May we remember that we are never alone.
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 By The Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
This morning we’ve heard the third reading from the Abraham and Sarah story. I know that Heather reminded you last week that throughout this summer we’ll be following the ancestral narratives through Genesis and, eventually, in August, continue the narrative into Exodus through September and October and finish up with snippets of Joshua and Judges in November. It’s the longest sequence that appears at any point in the three year lectionary cycle. I LOVE THIS MATERIAL – you’ve probably heard me say this before. Not only is it wonderful storytelling, with all the characteristics of great literature, but it is important to us as Christians because it provides the foundation of Jesus’s faith, and therefore ours as well. Genesis and the rest of the ancestral stories convey Israel’s convictions about a loving God who creates the world, who is passionately engaged with and faithful to her people, seeking to redeem the world through drawing those people into relationship with God’s self. Since we’ll be living with these stories for the next few months, I hope you’ll indulge me in reviewing the larger context of this first part of holy scripture. The ancestral Narratives are mythological in nature. This doesn’t mean they’re fictional. They are “mythological” in the literary sense – like the story of Johnny Appleseed, or of a youthful George Washington cutting down a cherry tree, mythological stories are told to convey truths and values that are important to a people. They may or may not have a basis in objective fact – what is important is not their historical accuracy, but the truth they transmit. The story of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar probably does not have basis in historical fact. If they did live, as real people, it would have been around 1800 BCE. For many, many generations their stories existed in oral tradition, being handed down around campfires and teaching the community of Israel about origins of their covenant with God. The stories took written form during and after Babylonian Exile – about 1300 years after Abraham, Sarah & Hagar would have lived. But Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar are our spiritual ancestors – whether we understand them historical or symbolic figures. According to the sacred text we share with Jews and Muslims, Abraham and Sarah were the first to know God as we know God and to enter into covenant relationship with God, recognizing God as creator and protector, and struggling to understand and follow God’s will, for the sake of redemption of the world. Their stories, and stories of succeeding generations, tell us who God is and who we are. So today’s story in the Abraham and Sarah cycle picks up in moment of painful domestic discord. Let’s take a quick look back at what came before - When God first established the covenant with Abraham, the covenant involved three promises:
The offering of the latter promise is what creates narrative tension, and therefore drama in the story, as Abraham and Sarah live through their prime and into their old age without bearing children. Abraham and Sarah are imperfect people, as are we all, and the plot thickens as Abraham and Sarah age without the awaited offspring. Sarah, unable to trust God’s promise, decides to take matters into her own hands, and she hatches an alternative plan. Sarah sends her slave, Hagar the Egyptian, to have relations with Abraham, hoping that the offspring will provide family for her; in due time, Hagar bears Abraham’s first son, Ishmael. As anyone might have predicted, Ishmael’s birth introduces new strains into household: Sarah, grieving her own infertility, is raising the son of her husband with her slave; Hagar is mother to the son of head of house, but has no standing or authority, herself, in the household; And Abraham undoubtedly loves his son, but finds himself at mercy of the difficult dynamics between the women in his home. And so the story, of course, takes a twist. In time, miraculous news is received (in last week’s text) that Sarah, in her old age, is to bear a son. She laughs when she hears it, but the promise is fulfilled and she bears Abraham’s second son, Isaac. Which is where our story picks up today - As Sarah’s son, Isaac, becomes a toddler, she grows intolerant of Ishmael and Hagar’s presence in household and seeks to have them banished. The text tells us that she reached her conclusion as she watched the brothers play, which perhaps hints that Sarah’s concern may have had to do with inheritance rights. It is surely a painful situation for everyone, including Abraham, but God provides assurance to Abraham that God will provide for Hagar and Ishmael. Abraham sends them forth – with tenderness and with provisions – into the wilderness. Again a plot twist! The water in Hagar’s skin does not last, and she faces what she believes will be her son’s death by dehydration. Hagar places the child under a bush and retreats far enough away she won’t hear his cries, and won’t have to watch his end from close quarters. But as Hagar weeps, she receives a message of God’s compassion, that God is looking out for her son, and that God will make of him “a great nation”. When she arises, Hagar’s eyes are opened to the presence of a well and God’s pledge of protection is fulfilled. *** There is a lot going on in this story. As I remarked earlier, the story shows us who we are, and the things that it reminds us about ourselves are not very pleasant to see. Here’s what I think the story reminds us:
But what is more important is what the story teaches about the One who continually invites us, beckons to us, provides for us, and always is available to us to show us the way. We all have our Hagar moments – times when we are just parched and feel like we have come to the end of the road. When things have been completely unfair. When we are exhausted from trying to make our way through, and our circumstances just seem hopeless. When we can’t face what we’re sure lies ahead, and wish we could crawl under our own bush and give up. The story tells reminds us that it is there, in those moments, that God tells us to hold on, and to lift up those things that we were sure were beyond hope. It is so often in those moments that God directs us to look again, to see in a new way, and to discover the life-giving water that in our despair we had overlooked. And that’s the thing: God’s answers for us are pretty regularly not the answers we have wanted. God’s way forward for us often involves possibilities we hadn’t considered. Before I finish, I want to lift up one more piece of the story that I think is very important. In this story of redemption, it is Hagar - the slave, the foreigner, the immigrant, the non-person - who is of such little regard to Abraham and Sarah that they are willing to put her out like the trash – it is Hagar who is the one who God sees, who God hears, who God delivers. Given this, can we learn to see as God sees and hear as God hears? And can we ever doubt that God watches over us as well?  By The Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
This first Sunday after Pentecost has been designated as Trinity Sunday since the 12th century. The first act of Thomas Becket – the murder-in-the-cathedral guy who served under King Henry VII – his first act after his consecration as Archbishop of Canterbury was to declare the 1st Sunday after Pentecost a festival to honor the Holy Trinity. The Christian Doctrine of the Trinity attempts to explain the mystery in the Christian conviction that ONE God – the source, the creator, the power of love that infuses all life and redeems all life – that the one God is experienced in three forms, and yet all are ONE God. Today is a preaching minefield. Those of us who are theologically educated share a paradoxical compulsion – we feel like we should try to explain the doctrine of the Trinity, but we know that, by definition, the nature of the triune God is unknowable and therefore unexplainable. One wise preacher observed that anyone who speaks for more than three minutes about the Trinity is bound to commit heresy and “you’d do better to just show pictures of kittens”. I do want to honor the opportunity to delve into the richness of the notion of God as Trinity this morning, but I would like to do it through examining a two of the beautiful symbols of the Trinity that our tradition gives us. So let’s start with a reminder about the nature of symbols themselves. 20th century theologian Paul Tillich observed that symbols point beyond themselves; in effect, a symbol is a pointing finger, showing us where to look to catch a glimpse of something that is beyond our grasp, something that certainly cannot be described in words. A symbol doesn’t offer you the thing itself, but rather, offers directions of how to get there. Tillich went on to explain that symbols connect with parts of ourselves other than linguistic and rational; they are capable of touching and moving us differently than language alone does. The first of our Trinity symbols this morning is the icon of Holy Trinity by Andrei Rubilev, arguably the most famous icon in the orthodox tradition. Icons are painted images created to communicate spiritual truths, though the customary language used about their creation is that icons are “written”. Created always with prayer, icons are understood to give access to the spiritual realm beyond everyday life, the realm of God. It’s been said that icons are “the Visual equivalent of scripture, putting into colors and shapes that which can’t be grasped by intellect.” Rubilev wrote the Trinity icon in 1401. He based it on earlier icon depicting the visit of three angels to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre. Here is some of what has been observed about the icon.
There is subtle movement among the figures – they are glancing toward and connected with one another. There is a suggestion of ease, of intimacy, and community. Most important is that we don’t see in this icon a closed or exclusive relationship. The empty space at the table is an invitation to the viewer to join the relationship, the household, the community, making space for us. The other symbol, the other pointing figure I want to look into is our closing hymn this morning, commonly known as St. Patrick’s breastplate. Hymns as symbols use a combination of text and music to speak to us in ways other than simple language, creating an experience that points us and draws us into realm beyond everyday reality. The lyrics of the hymn are translation of a Gaelic poem attributed to St. Patrick in the 3rd century, but they are probably from anonymous author in 8th century. It is also known as St Patrick’s Lorica, a “Lorica” being a mystical garment that protects wearer from danger. The English translation is by Cecil Alexander, the Irish poet and hymnwriter who is also responsible for such favorites as All Things Bright and Beautiful, There is a Green Hill far away, and Once in Royal David’s city. It is set to two traditional Irish hymn tunes. The style, with its repetition of the phrase “I bind unto myself…” is that of incantation, a spell cast using words, for protection on a journey. The Lorica is also Trinitarian in its musical form: set ¾ time, the 3 beats per measures mirror the three persons of the Trinity. The hymn calls for “binding” oneself through invocation of the “strong name of Trinity”. It suggests, perhaps, St. Paul’s in words in Ephesians about “putting on the armor of God”. The verses lay out the many aspects of God that surround and protect us.
Symbols are fun to analyze, but they are, more importantly, gifts given us through human creativity that open doors through which we may glimpse and experience the rich and mysterious life of the Trinity. The Rubilev icon is a pointing finger that, in gazing at and through it, in feeling the draw of it, we are invited to join in intimacy of household of God. In singing St. Patrick’s Breastplate we can feel awe at God’s omnipresence and God’s power, and feel the assurance of God’s protection. May reality of Trinity be a bit more real to us today. May the grace of God the creator, the love of Christ, and the wisdom of the Spirit shield and guide us in our lives, today and always.  By The Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
There are so many ways in which the times we’re living in are troubling. I don’t need to list them for you, and I assume that all of us are here this morning for the same reasons – in these difficult times we’re looking to renew what grounds us and balances us and helps us to stay connected in our relationships with God and with one another. We’re looking to experience what our new bishop, Miguelina, has introduced as a new diocesan watch word: “We’re in this together”. And that’s one of the issues. One of the problems in today’s world, and particularly in our own nation, is the deep divide and mistrust between people of different perspectives, assumptions, and priorities. As we know, this often comes down to a division between political parties, and we are living with a government impacted by partisan politics that almost completely prevent it from getting things done. “Trash talk” these days goes beyond the realm of sports: our public life is dominated by divisive language that would never have been acceptable in earlier times. So why do I bring up this unpleasant topic? It is because Paul and Peter and Jesus have some advice for us, in this morning’s readings, on how to be in relationship with people whose perspectives differ from our own. We began with Luke’s account of Paul’s visit to Athens. Following Paul’s conversion to following Christ, in the days when the movement of Christ’s followers was just getting underway, he set out to preach, teach, and baptize both Jews and Greeks throughout Asia Minor. In Athens, he spoke with Jews in the synagogue and philosophers in the marketplace. The Athenians were interested: in the verse just preceding today’s passage Luke tells us that “..all the Athenians … would spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new.” So Paul went to address the local administrative council, the Areopagus. He was concerned about the idols he had observed throughout the city, and in particular by an altar inscribed “to an unknown god.” Paul is a master of diplomacy in his approach to the council, however. He is brief and respectful. Even as he proclaims to them the God “in whom we live and move and have our being”, “who made the world and everything in it”, he commends the Athenians for the spirit of search that he has found throughout the city and connects his own message to theirs by quoting and affirming their own poets. If only our own politicians took heed of Paul’s model; it turned out to be effective. In the final verse of chapter 17 of Acts we learn that “When they heard of the resurrection of the dead some scoffed; but others said “We will hear you again about this”. And some became believers. In Peter’s first letter to followers of Christ in Asia Minor, he advocated the same spirit of respect while still standing one’s ground. At that time the Jesus movement was a new religion and significant tensions existed between its followers and the larger Greco-Roman culture. Just as Jesus himself been viewed as a danger to the religious and political order, the first Christians were viewed with fear and mistrust, as a potential threat to social stability. Peter’s advice is clear: “Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord. Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence.” Peter doesn’t deny that even respectful gentleness and reverence may not succeed in averting conflict. Those who stand for the Gospel may well suffer. They will at least do so with a good conscience, and he implies that they will serve as an example to those who witness their testimony. Our gospel this morning is a very brief excerpt from John’s account of Jesus’ farewell discourses to the disciples. In recent weeks’ readings we have been hearing stories of love and reassurance: Christ’s acknowledgement of Mary in the garden on the third day, the visitation to the disciples locked in the upper room and the acceptance of Thomas’ need for direct evidence, the appearance to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, and Jesus’ likening himself to the shepherd who cares for the sheep. In last week’s gospel, today’s, and next week’s, we return to John’s accounts of Jesus’ words to his friends at the Last Supper in which he prepares them for his departure, and for the life they are called to lead when he is no longer with them. This morning’s message is simple – keep my commandments, the primary commandment being to love one another. The command is accompanied by promise: we will send you an Advocate to be with you forever… I will not leave you orphaned… the Spirit of truth will abide with you. It is trust in God’s grace, in God’s presence with us in the most difficult of times, that can enable us to meet the hostility that the world sometimes offers, with quiet faith. In a world where angry response and retaliation seem to be the norm, we are reminded that there is another way, and that we are called to it. Certainly there is a place and a need for respectful dissent. We are called, as Peter’s letter reminds us, to stand for the Gospel of Love, to be firm in speaking against injustice and to serving as advocates for the needs of the vulnerable. Confrontation is unavoidable where deep differences exist, but we have models of respectful opposition that we can look to, not only from Paul in Athens, but in our own time as well. I’m sure many of you are familiar with the words of Marion Budde, Bishop of Washington, in the sermon she preached on the day of President Trump’s inauguration in 2025, and with the dustup that followed. In her sermon Bishop Budde offered the hope of unity despite difference, “ the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division, a unity that serves the common good.” She identified three “foundations for unity”: “honoring the inherent dignity of every human being, which is, as all faiths represented here affirm, the birthright of all people as children of the One God.” “honesty in both private conversation and public discourse.” “humility, which we all need, because we are all fallible human beings.” The Bishop then went on to reflect on the humanity that easily undergirds our conflicts: “We say and do things that we regret. We have our blind spots and biases, and we are perhaps the most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded, without a doubt, that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong. Because then we are just a few steps away from labeling ourselves as the good people, versus the bad people.” Bishop Budde then went on to speak directly to the President, asking that he might govern with mercy. I’m sure you’ll recall that there was considerable backlash against the Bishop following the sermon, and denunciations of her person and her words as “disrespectful”, “nasty”, and “boring”. Peter correctly anticipated how standing up for the Gospel could go. In another recent example, we have also been witness to the prophetic and measured statements by the new American Pope, Leo XIV, speaking out against the war in Iran. In these days of deep divisions and seemingly intractable conflicts, we are so very fortunate to have the models and leadership of faith leaders who are committed to the wisdom of scripture and to the Way of Love. May we give thanks for them, and lets please continue to pray for them. As we go forward - May we follow their leads, and enter conversations with respect and humility. May we listen even when we disagree, have the discipline to pause to consider, when we need to, and quiet the impulse to judge. May God’s gift, the Spirit of truth, guide our hearts. |
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