Work in the wilderness . . . lights walking in darkness . . .

     I had one of those weeks where sermon prep was virtually unnecessary.  Oh, I still had to consider how best to share with you the God-moments of this week in our life and how they related to the readings, but life in the world out there coincided perfectly with our “patronal season,” some subjects in our Annual Meeting today, and our reading from Mark.  So I was excited.  I thought I would have more time to tend to the Annual meeting and typing up of some past sermons.  Yes, I know I am way behind.  Then, of course, we got the news that Leitha had died, and all my free time was gone.  You all laugh, but that’s the exciting life of a priest.  Still, God was faithful.  My sermon was basically done.

     It began earlier this week, as many of you saw on Facebook, with my entrance into the Y.  I entered to some clapping, attaboy’s, and handshakes.  Me being me, I could not figure out how everybody knew I was so close to 2500 miles ridden and 100,000 calories burned.  Those that bike would know, but the real focus at the Y is on tennis rather than bicycling.  One of the ladies laughed and said “you have no idea what’s going on, do you?”  I did that stupid maybe I do thing.  She said “it’s about that girl you wrote about and are trying to get set free.”  Ah, Cyntoia.  The conversations as I entered were superficial.  Some people had no idea I was a priest until this week.  Some people knew I was a priest but had no idea I did other things than preach and ride bicycles.  Some people just thought I was a cool dad because I take my kids to the Y to ride and swim.  Heck, few knew before that evening that I had seven kids.  But now everybody knew me.

     After the polite greetings and thank you’s, I headed to get changed and to my bike.  I should have known then that my evening would not be my own.  While I was changing in the locker room, I was approached about the case of Cyntoia.  The gentleman wanted to know how I come across it.  Then he wanted to know about human trafficking.  That conversation, of course, led to other conversations.  I think it took me 15-20 minutes to get changed and headed back up to the exercise floor. 

     I wasn’t two tenths of a mile into my ride when a lady walked up and played fifty questions.  It turns out her real worry was the election down in Alabama and the “Christian” mantle being draped over one of the candidates. 

     Another lady interrupted, she could not help but hear our discussions, but she wanted to know if I thought it horrible what they were doing to Senator Franken.  That led us on a merry discussion about apologies, repentance, and party loyalty.

     Over and over again, people came up to speak to me about Cyntoia, how they were going to write the Governor, and then speak about other issues that were important to them.  Mind you, I need air to breathe when exercising.  I’m not a big talker.  George and Sonny and Francis and Matthew can all testify that I am fat and out of shape and need the oxygen!  But these conversations clearly had to be had.

     One minority girl spoke to me about how stunned she was to hear that a white Episcopal male priest in TN was standing up for a minority girl.  “Y’all just don’t do that.  Episcopal priests are the definition of privilege.”  Now, I will say I sometimes joke about my privilege card getting lost in the mail after ordination.  I hear some of the great stories of colleagues who spend their time in country clubs, on the golf courses, vacationing at parishioners’ homes on the coast or in the snow-covered mountains.  I get it.  Unfortunately, I don’t get those things!  Lol  I guess I have been serving in all the wrong congregations.

     This was one of mine and Holly’s on-going conversations.  Holly would embarrass me sometimes thanking me for throwing her to you wolves.  Our job as a parish was to prepare her for her next parish here in Tennessee, so I did that the only way I knew how.  It’s what had been done to me, albeit without a rector.  I would have done the same thing were she a man, and that’s what Holly appreciated.  It turns out, it’s also what other ladies appreciate.  Last week at clericus, I was approached by several ladies who were thankful for what I had done for Holly and who wished they’d had that kind of relationship with a rector when they first started.  And as I listened to their stories, I could only lament that they perceived me as an exception in God’s Church.  If any place should get male and female relationships right, it’s the Church.  It’s not like God waited until the end of the Bible or added a footnote, In the beginning . . . He created them in His image!

     In any event, this young girl was stunned that a white male priest was daring to call out the government for acting unjustly on behalf of a young black prostitute.  Our conversation, was, as you might imagine, deep.  Cyntoia was a slave; she did not choose that life.  But on another level, I shared with her my disappointment that my efforts were so rare that they stunned her.  Perception, as they say, is reality.  From her perspective, Episcopalians are just white folks who like to drink at church—btw, I had several conversations about the validity of our denomination with members of other denominations, but that’s a sermon series for another time.  She had no idea that the typical Anglican in the world is a young black woman.  The reality that we white Americans are so in the minority within our denomination just stunned her.  I could not answer her question about whether we had more white bishops or more black bishops worldwide.  I told her I suspected it would be close, because we have too many bishops in the United States and too few in impoverished parts of the world, but there were a lot of black bishops and even Archbishops in our communion.  Heck, our Presiding Bishop is black.

     That got her wondering.  Do we address black issues?  I asked her what she meant.  She gave me a list of things and I told her that I like to think we address all Gospel issues in my parish.  We may not have all the answers, but we have an appreciation for what some of our minority brothers and sisters experience.  She asked for an example and I shared the stories of my last two senior wardens being pulled over and what goes through their heads.  I shared what minority moms worry about when their children are pulled over, things that white moms never really give a second thought.  Heck, I shared how some of our minorities are treated differently between Brentwood and Nashville.  In Brentwood, it seems to be assumed that everyone is a professional, particularly if they are wearing nice clothes or driving a nice car.  In Nashville, that does not necessarily seem to be the case.  She was stunned.  She really thought only black churches addressed black issues.  When I shared with her some of the history and the work of Rector then bishop Quintard, she was a bit dumbfounded. 

     Now, before some of you think we have it all figured out and we can rest on our laurels, I warned her that figuring this stuff out is painful.  She is thinking of checking our church out over the holidays.  I did not want her to think we were a museum of saints when, in reality, we are a hospital of sinners.  I told her we may be willing to talk about issues openly, but solving them is a different story.  I told her that part of what had led the parish to call me was my work in human trafficking and, yet, my work in it was not necessarily accepted.  Some parishioners worried “I would attract ‘those people’ to Advent.”  Some parishioners worried my sermons would always really be about human trafficking.  Some were worried that I wanted Advent to be a modern outpost on the Underground Railroad.  I even predicted how many Adventers would take the time to write the letters to the Governor and Parole Board.  She laughed that I was making this work seem really, really hard.  I had to remind her it was so hard it took God to reconcile us to Himself and to others.

     This last conversation I am about to share, I was leaning against after thinking about it during 8am.  Unfortunately, it was the one that a couple 8am attenders only wanted to talk about.  As I was riding, I was approached by a lady.  She excused the interruption and asked if I remembered her.  I did not.  She described an encounter, and as she went along I inwardly cringed.  One evening this summer, after I had completed a long ride, I was walking toward the exit headed to the showers and maybe the hot tub.  A guy, we will call him creepy perv guy, grabbed me and said something to me.  I had my earbuds in so I did not catch his words the first time.  I pulled one out and asked him to say that again.  Poor perv guy, he did.  Would you look at that!  Aren’t they beautiful?  It took me a few seconds looking around the room and the follow of a couple of his gestures to realize what he was looking at.  Let me remind you, I was tired, sweaty, thirsty, and struggling to breathe.

     To my left on the treadmill was a woman who was well-endowed.  She was running and things were bouncing.  Creepy perv guy had been pretending to use a machine just to watch her run and enjoy the view.  Now, I will not give you all my exact words, as they were fairly harsh.  After my harsh words, I tried to explain how his objectification demeaned her and embarrassed other men.  It was a behavior right out of the 1970’s.  I reminded him that she was here working out, trying to get in shape or to lose weight.  It was hard enough for women to get over their body image issues in our world and work to be healthy, but then creeps like him were just that last reason not to work out, that and the fact that, once a woman passes a certain size, athletic bras don’t provide the necessary support.  Remember, I was tired so my filters were really off, like dark off.

     I went on to invite the man in question either to work on his body or to leave the facility so that the rest of us men would not have to bear the consequence of his childish behavior – again, I’m sanitizing things a bit.  I remember I told Karen that night and Holly† the next day.  Both had their own thoughts on the matter.  Neither was shy about sharing them.

     Anyway, this was that woman.  She heard the whole conversation, especially the bad parts.  And she wanted to apologize and to thank me.  When I asked about the apology, she said she was so thankful I had humiliated the guy.  In truth, I cringed about that, as I should never be about humiliating people.  She allowed it might have been a poor choice of words.  I had been direct with the man, and I did try to educate him a bit.  So I asked again why the apology.  She said I had no idea how hard it was to be a woman of a certain size up top and the garbage they have to put up with.  She knew he was watching, but she did not want to let him win, but she also did not want to let him get his jollies off her running.  She was kinda trapped in the situation, and then I came along.  She owed me a huge thank you that night, and she didn’t.  Partly, she was stunned that someone could be so blunt.  Guys ogle her rather than defend her.  Even when they defend her, she assumes they have an ulterior motive.  I said my piece and headed on out the door.  The other reason was that the guy would have heard her thank you and realized he made her feel uncomfortable.  She did not want him to recover any of the strength and size he had lost in his conversation with me.

     She went to say she should have thanked me the next day, but I was with my little boy and the subject matter was . . . well, inappropriate.  The same thing happened the next day.  By the time I was alone, it was three days out, and it seemed a little too late to thank me.  She was worried that, after three days, I might think she was creepy perv lady.  Naturally, I told her to look at this body, mind you it was without the concealing robes.  I told her did she really think that with this body I was not used to dealing with creepy perv women?

     Now, she laughed really hard, too.  It’s almost like y’all don’t think this body attracts the pervs and creeps in female form.  She laughed hard.  But she had a huge question.  Could I really say that to someone?  Again, y’all don’t know the beginning of my conversation with the guy, but she heard it.  I told her my bishop would certainly encourage me to use other than earthy language, but I could not think of anything better to say at that moment.  In truth, I’m not sure I could get his attention from her with softer words.  She wondered for a moment, too.  Then she laughed.  She shared that she told all her friends at work what had happened.  They all lost it and wished they had been there to see it.  She could not wait to see their faces the next day when she told them that the sweaty guy that chewed out creepy perv guy was a fricking priest!

     We talked for a few more minutes.  She wanted to know why I did not act like so many guys.  She wanted to know how I knew about the issues of sports bras.  She was fascinated by my claim that it was transformative grace rather than anything in me.  She was, understandably, upset by memories that had been dredged up during the #metoo campaign.  It ended with me inviting her to church and her promising to make it here for Christmas Eve.

     Sitting there, you may be wondering what in the world all this has to do with any of the readings.  Sitting there, you may be worried I am high on Sudafed and unable to make the connection; after all, I usually focus on the reading and then the application.  Look for a moment at our Gospel passage.  I mean really look at it.  Did you know this was the beginning of the Gospel of Mark?  Where’s the discussion of the genealogy of Jesus?  Where’s the Silent Night Holy Night stuff?  Where’s the story of John the Baptizer and Elizabeth and Mary?  That’s right.  Those details are included in the other Gospels.  Mark does not waste time with those stories.  He jumps right in.  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  There’s no story building.  Mark has a particular focus and he is going to get to it.  I can’t remember who the commentator was, I probably read it when I translated the book in seminary, but I remember my favorite description is that Mark is an extended passion narrative with a brief introduction and crazy ending.  If you think about it, that commentator was spot on.  We get a few details, but Mark heads right for the events of the passion.  More amazingly, Mark ends his Gospel with so they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

     Mark’s Gospel is abrupt in part, I think, to make us think.  Why does Mark not spend more time establishing that Jesus was who He says He was?  How do we know the story if Mark’s ending is true?  Ah, I see the squirms.  Mark accepts from the beginning that Jesus is the Son of God, the Messiah.  He does not waste a lot of pen and ink arguing for us to accept that claim.  He focuses on the Passion and Resurrection – those are testimony enough.  Then he leaves us with this weird question wondering how we came to know these things, if everyone was silent, afraid, and fled.  What changed them?  The Resurrection.  As with Paul, Mark realizes the Resurrection makes Jesus unique in history.  There is no need to waste a lot of time on the healing miracles, as does Luke, or the theological discussion, as does John, so far as Mark is concerned.  Jesus was raised.  End of story, or beginning of our story.

     At first glance, you and I might wonder why the lectionary editors chose the introduction of this abrupt Gospel for the reading of Advent II.  There’s not a lot of buildup in these verses.  Heck, it even misquotes Isaiah.  I want us to focus on the location.  Where does all this take place?  In the wilderness.  If you were God and were going to do important things, where would you do them?  Your Temple?  Your city?  At least in other highly populated areas?  Doing things in the wilderness risks people missing the significance.  It would be like, in modern times, God bypassing Nashville and instead heading to some unpopulated ridge in the plateau or, maybe even some ridge between Knoxville and Bristol.  If God did work in the remote regions, who would hear of it?  Who would recognize it as His handiwork?

     Where is God at work in the beginning of Mark’s Gospel?  The wilderness.  After paraphrasing Isaiah, where do we find the great prophet, John the Baptizer?  In the wilderness.  What is John doing?  He was proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  Should that not be done in the cities?  That’s where all the people are.  Yet, where does John do his work?  In the wilderness.  Is the significance of his worked missed or ignored?  No.  The people from the countryside and the city of God go to the wilderness to hear John’s message.  We know from the other Gospel writers that John’s message reached even the ears of those in the Temple.  The religious leaders even trekked out into the wilderness to hear the message of John the Baptizer.

     Why am I pounding the location this morning?  Why did I share my encounters at the Y this week?  Where does our work really occur?  In the wilderness, in the darkness.  There was a famous movie about baseball done about an hour north of my last parish in Iowa.  Its whispered slogan was “If you build it, they will come.”  That’s how we approached church for many decades.  Look around us.  How many churches are saddled with shrinking congregations and gigantic facilities, facilities that are increasingly tough to maintain as the membership ages and dies off?  In some ways we at Advent fell into that trap as well, right?  I’ve seen the drawings.  The plan was to keep adding on and adding on so we could offer everybody what they needed.

     I like to think our predecessors were tempered by our liturgy.  Why do we gather here each and every week?  We gather to be instructed, disciple, encouraged, prepared.  For what?  For the work He has given us to do!  Where does that work take place?  In the wilderness!  Well, really it’s our workplace, our clubs, our common interest groups, our families, our neighborhoods, our exercise clubs, our schools, but you get the idea.  As we close each Eucharist we pray to God to strengthen us to do the work He has given us to do and to send us out in peace.  We don’t stay here, waiting for people to stroll in.  We are sent back out with a mission!  Like those famous brothers proclaimed, we are on a mission from God each and every time we walk out those doors.  We may not know our missions.  We may not realize our work was mission until later.  But make no mistake, we are on a mission from God in the wilderness, in the darkness, out there.  Our work is not in the Holy City; our work is not in the Temple, the Sanctuary.  And believe me, there is darkness aplenty out there. 

     You all hear the stories of those I encounter as I work to make my way into the wilderness around us.  How many of those in our neighborhood are struggling to hang on?  They are a job loss, a hospitalization away from losing everything they value.  And how transitory are the things that many of them value?  The Church obviously needs to work on this, but what is objectification of women like in the world out there?  Our sisters know.  They live and work and play out there.  They go from place to place in a wilderness that, three weeks ago was expressing its debt of gratitude to a man named Hugh, whose tireless work freed us from the sexual oppression of the Puritans in this country.  Now, barely a month later, the people in the darkness are clucking their tongues and internet-shaming men who listened to the dark teachings of that same Hugh!  It’s schizophrenic!  How many people do we encounter are afraid of getting sick?  We live in, arguably, the most advanced society in the history of the world; yet how many in our society are unable to reap its healthcare benefits because of the cost?  How many of those we encounter in the wilderness are worried about saving enough for retirement?  I know.  Everybody assumes they will be working until they are dead now.  Retirement is really for the idle rich or for people whose pensions are not yet raided.  How many people out there in the darkness seek to dull the pain of life through alcohol or drugs or other self-destructive behavior?  I could go on and on and on, but you know the darkness because you sojourn out there, you work out there, you play out there.  In truth, we are only here to be fortified for that work, to have our wicks trimmed, that we might go back out into the wilderness and minister to others just like John the Baptist, pointing others to the life-giving Jesus Christ.

     That brings me to the second important lesson of the day from Mark.  What is the sign that John’s prophesy has come true and that Mark’s understanding about the identity of Jesus is correct?  That’s right!  The Holy Spirit!  The new age ushered in by the work and person of Jesus is the one of the Holy Spirit.  By virtue of our baptism, we are united with Christ in His death, His Resurrection, and in His work!  When we need help to accomplish His will, we know that He intercedes on our behalf and sends the Holy Spirit to lead us, to guide us, to give us a mouth, or to strengthen any weakness. 

     Think of the preposterous expectations of God in the announcement of His Good News.  He depended on a teenage girl for the birth of His Son; He depended on a man to stick around and raise a child that was not his own; He depended on people accepting the testimony of shepherds; for apostles He depended on some fishermen, a tax collector, and zealot; for disciples He depended on normal people like you and me!  Who does that?  Is there a worse way to execute a plan?  Can you think of anyone less equipped or able than me or yourself?  Yet how does God expect His Good News to spread; how does He expect His ranks to swell on the south side of Nashville?  Through our work.  How do we know He is behind our work, nudging, guiding, empowering, redeeming?  Through these kinds of reflection.

     Where did the story I share with you begin?  Yes, whoever said Jesus, I hope you are right.  But from our perspective it really began with me calling the people of Tennessee to write the Governor and Parole Board on behalf of one young lady and the injustice she is suffering at the hands of our judicial system, a system we changed after her arrest and conviction in recognition of a systemic injustice in the way we treat victims of slavery.  I wrote an article and began engaging church leaders to get their flocks involved.  I hoped a dozen Adventers would write on her behalf.  But, just as Gospel work nearly always happens, it was one person, one relationship at a time.

     Fast forward to this week.  Did I expect to have those conversations at the Y?  Of course not.  I have been working out religiously, excuse the pun, for two years.  I’ve met some other members; I have had a few conversations.  This, though, was orders of magnitude greater than I could ever do on my own.  I shared a couple conversations, but they ranged all over the place.  I did some teaching about sex from the Bible.  I did a lot of male-female relationship teaching.  I did some denominational teaching.  I did some racism teaching.  I had to speak to the dangers of alcohol when incorporated into a Eucharist and of the fact that it was not grape juice.  I talked Donald Trump and Roy Moore.  I had to talk about Hillary Clinton.  You would not believe the range of discussions, and all because of a blog post on the unjust suffering of a lady in our midst.  How does that happen, except through the power of the Holy Spirit?  I did not plan it; y’all did not share it or plan it.  Still, the Holy Spirit drew people out of the darkness toward the light, toward His light that dwells in each of us.  Heck, He even used slavery as the introduction to His invitation once again!

     Brothers and sisters, Adventers, I know this was far longer than some of you might ever have wanted to hear.  But it was low fruit.  We are now in our second week of the season for which our founders named this hospital we call Advent.  As we lit that wreath today, we all reminded ourselves that Jesus is the light of the world and that we will not walk in darkness because we follow Him.  More importantly, we reminded ourselves that His light of life is within us even as we prepare to be sent back out to do the work He has given us to do.  Pray this day, then, that we embrace our calling as Adventers.  Pray then this day that we embrace His calling on our lives.  And pray then this day, and every day, that as we head back out into that dark wilderness, we will shine with the power of the Holy Spirit, calling others back into relationship with their loving Father, one lost soul at a time!

In His Name,

Brian†