Jacob said [to Esau], "Swear to me first." So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. Genesis 25:33

For the last four or five weeks, we have been following the story of Abraham and Sarah and their family in our reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, the Old Testament. The lectionary gives us the high points of this family’s story, although we missed out the part that in Jewish tradition is referred to as “the Binding of Isaac” because we substituted and Independence Day reading on that particular Sunday. And we will continue hearing about Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebekah; Esau, Jacob, Rachel, and Joseph until the middle of August. So this would be a good time to go back and read this whole family saga as it appears in Genesis, chapters 12 through 45, which really won’t take too long. Now there are some of those “crazy Old Testament names”, and place names that may mean nothing to you or you may find difficult to pronounce, but hang in there! Because reading this story of the patriarchs and matriarchs is akin to reading your own personal family story; it describes a lot about human nature and relationships, and the way that our ancestors in the faith learned what it was to be in relationship with God – even when they weren’t good, or faithful, or wise. There are many times, as we read these accounts, that we can probably find ourselves in the nub of the stories, if not in the details; and their words, behavior, and attitudes may shine a light on our own actions and thoughts. So give it a try: Genesis, chapters 12-45, and read a modern translation – NRSV, NIV, The Message, the Common English Bible. The King James Version would muddy the waters too much, as beautiful as the language is.

This morning we have heard the story of Esau and Jacob, fraternal twin sons of Isaac and Rebekah, different as night and day, and each parent chose one of them as their favorite. Jacob was the younger twin, and he was always the striver, the supplanter, the one trying to best his older brother. And in this very compact story we learn that Jacob does indeed cheat Esau out of his birthright, his inheritance rights – two-thirds of his father’s wealth that belonged to the elder son, as opposed to the one-third that went to the younger son. Jacob knew how to manipulate his brother’s weakness (physical hunger and a lack of being able to focus on anything else). And, although it will not be part of our Sunday readings, Jacob cheats Esau not once, but twice – conning not only his brother, but his father as well when Isaac was on his death-bed and ready to pass on to his eldest son the blessing of Yahweh, the Lord God Almighty. It was that unique and sacred blessing that Isaac had received from his father Abraham; that blessing God had promised him if he and his family would pull up stakes and follow him, giving to God all his trust and loyalty. Of course, this stealing of the blessings opens up a huge rift between the brothers, and will lead Jacob to flee from his brother’s murderous rage once he realizes that both his birthright and his blessing have been stolen from him. Can you blame him?

And yet….God blesses Jacob; the line and the story and the blessing continue through Jacob’s branch of the family – far more than through Esau’s. Now why is that? If we were going to take a straight-forward moralistic approach to this saga we would expect that eventually Jacob would be brought up short, the birth-right and blessing would be returned to Esau (or at least to his descendants), Jacob would be punished – or at least chastised – and all would be well in the ancient land of Canaan. But that is not what happens. Jacob does get his come-uppance in a number of different ways, but that does not change the fact that he is the one who carries the blessing, who passes along to his children and their descendants the knowledge and love of God in a way that seems to defy the world’s wisdom.

One thing we can say about Jacob is that he was singularly focused on obtaining God’s blessing, even when his methods were unwholesome. He was the one who cared about it, who valued it far more than Esau did. To Jacob that blessing and everything that went with it – including serving God in a focused and intentional way – was of ultimate importance. Maybe that pushed all other considerations aside, and God determined that (despite Jacob’s sins and shortcomings – he had what it took to be the bearer of the blessing to the next generation and to plant that seed in his children and children’s children.

Jesus had a lot to say about seeds, to an audience whose very life depended on knowing how to sow, and tend, and harvest. The parable we heard this morning, in which Jesus compared the Kingdom of God to a farmer sowing a field, describes seeds that fall in all different kinds of soil and situations: fertile soil, rocky soil, a field of thorns and brambles, a hard-packed pathway. And each of these different soils produced a different result for the seeds that fell in them.

Perhaps, despite his trickster nature, Jacob was like that fertile soil – where faithfulness and loyalty to God could grow and flourish, even though it was not perfect, even though Jacob would stumble and fail God again and again. I think this should give us all comfort and confidence, because none of us is perfect, none of us follows God without fail or without stumbling. That doesn’t mean we should take Jacob’s deceit as license to misbehave, but it does mean that God’s purposes are so much bigger than whether or not we always follow the rules.

Sometimes following Jesus is about seeing a bigger picture, a deeper truth, about being willing to risk that God’s love and blessing will sometimes move us out beyond accepted norms of behavior and the status quo. Following Jesus can take us to some strange and unfamiliar places, by some quite convoluted paths, where the only landmark we have is the Summary of the Law that Jesus gave us: You shall love the Lord you God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; and you shall love your neighbor as yourself. I think Jacob knew the first part of that, and he eventually learned the second part. And aren’t our lives like that? We keep learning as we go along. But we’ll never get anywhere if we don’t keep the first part front and center: Love God, and then let God order our hearts, minds, lives, and actions. And never fear: when we truly turn our life and our will and our love over to God, we will be remade and shaped and guided to be the person and the people – all of us – that God wants us to be.

The blessing was given by God to Abraham, was carried to Isaac, then to Jacob, and then given to Joseph, and on and on. We each are descendants of this family, heirs of this lineage. Let us each receive the blessing that Jacob strove for, and use it to our utmost for God’s glory and for the good of all God’s people.

Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, you have planted the seed of faith and blessing in each of us. Let us tend it with focus, care, and love so that we may be able to pass it to others when the time is right; always trusting in your goodness and mercy. Amen.Victoria Geer McGrath

All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
July 16, 2017

Jesus said: Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28
This is certainly the time of year when many of us think about vacations – getting ready to go away, or at least taking day trips and getting things done around the house that we may have wanted to do for a long time. Summer in our culture seems to be a time for rest and relaxation, perhaps because school schedules, longer days, warm weather all make travel easier. And goodness knows, we all need rest and relaxation at some point.

In the last three weeks, our Gospel readings having have come from Matthew 10. We have been hearing Jesus, the rabbi, instructing the disciples about the way they are to carry out his mission. And now we’ve jumped ahead a bit into the middle of chapter 11, skipping over John the Baptist’s reactions and questions to hearing about Jesus’ ministry while he himself is in prison. They are worth reading, so go back and look at them later: Matthew 11:1-15. But we now hear Jesus addressing the crowds – not the disciples exclusively; but people who were curious, wanting to know what all the fuss was about. And Jesus is clearly responding to the buzz he knew was on the street: that people were criticizing John the Baptist for being too austere and hard-edged, and yet also taking Jesus to task for being too lax and hanging out with the riff-raff. The crowds are never satisfied in their desire for the religious leader who will suit them.

And then there are five verses the lectionary leaves out – where Jesus proclaims curses and judgment on several towns that have turned their backs on some very significant ministry and powerful acts he has done in their midst. Who is too lax now? And yet so often those portions of the Gospels where Jesus pronounces curses and judgment make us modern readers uncomfortable, ill-at-ease, because that doesn’t sound like the image of the kind and friendly Jesus we have in our heads. We need to remember that when we say that Jesus is the Son of God, the Incarnate Lord, we are saying that the Creator, Sustainer, and Judge of the universe has come into human life. Would the One who is the source of the Big Bang, the energy of the sun and all other stars, the power of volcanos, the force of gravity be only kind and friendly? Of course not, and so we should not be surprised at the range and depth and sometimes edginess of Jesus’ speech.

And so, in the text we hear this morning, Jesus turns to prayer, thanking God that the truths of the spiritual life and the realities of the Kingdom of God have been hidden from those who are impressed with their own sophistication and know-it-all attitudes. Instead, God has revealed his will and purpose to those who can receive Jesus with open and child-like hearts, a willingness to learn. For this, he gives praise to God.

It’s at this point Jesus says to the crowds: Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. It’s an invitation to his listeners: Are you having a real struggle? Come to me. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. And, of course, these are the words stitched onto the kneelers at our altar rail: Come unto me all ye that travail and are heavy laden and I will refresh you.

A wonderful generous invitation, which I know many of yearn for – rest, a lifting of burdens, an easing of our travail. And yet these images are paradoxical: an easy yoke, a light burden. A yoke is a harness used for farm animals; the word burden seems heavy and troublesome. What is Jesus getting at?

It has to do with the nature of discipleship. When we follow Jesus as Lord and Savior, we make him our model as well as our Redeemer. We remember that he often took time for prayer and rest and connection with God. And (with a few important exceptions) he kept the Sabbath, which didn’t just mean worshiping in the synagogue on Saturday morning, but meant giving the whole day to God; stopping the rest of life, and trusting God that the sun would still rise and set as it should, the earth would still rotate on its axis, the plants would still take in our CO2 and turn it into oxygen – all without any human by-your-leave or effort. The whole practice of Sabbath is an acknowledgment of the fact that God is God and we are not; that our bodies and minds and hearts and relationships are not endlessly energized and indestructible, but are limited, fallible, and in need of God and’s provision.

So, Jesus’ invitation to discipleship is both a set of marching orders and an injunction to know our own limits; it is an invitation to action and sometimes self-sacrificial giving of our time and energy and a requirement to stop and rest. Because at the end of the day, in the Kingdom of God, all our action, and speech, and effort, and prayer is only part of what is asked of us, and only part of what transforms the world in a God-ward direction. There is so much in life that we can’t know or understand or handle. There is so much in life that causes us to struggle in such a way that we end up getting lost in the struggle – like the drowning person who fights his rescuer, blinded by his fear and panic. There is so much in our world, and even in the Church, that has changed and is changing and it can be overwhelming - particularly if we think we have to fix it all or make it better on our own strength or after our own image.

Instead, Jesus calls us his followers to Let Go and Let God; to let go even of our good intentions and holy desires; to let God take care of the outcomes. Jesus asks us to trust that – even in the midst of things we cannot understand, or change, or recognize, or even like – at the end of the day, in God’s Kingdom and household, God will still be God. We will still be God’s beloved children, redeemed by grace and saved by Christ’s death and resurrection, and empowered by the Holy Spirit.

That is what it means to rest in God, to take on Jesus’ yoke and burden. And we know that every time we come to God in prayer, every time we trust God enough to put our head on the pillow for the night and sleep, every time we come to the altar for the Eucharist, we are giving to God our struggle, our worry, our fear, our anger, our need for control, our weariness. And in exchange for all of that, we receive the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation, the very life of Christ given for us – something we neither earned nor deserved. When we come to the altar those words of Jesus remind us: Come unto me all ye that travail and are heavy laden and I will refresh you. And we know that the power and energy and vitality of the Lord and Creator of the Universe is keeping us in the palm of his hand, and sheltering us in the shadow of his wings, and we will find rest and refreshment. And for that, we give great thanks.

Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, you bid us take up your yoke and burden. Help us to know your rest, your peace, your lightness. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
July 9, 2017

Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Matthew 10:40
When my mother-in-law was moving from her home of many years to an apartment in a continuing care community, she knew she was doing the right thing. She had several health conditions that made remaining in her house very difficult. She had investigated and selected a facility that seemed to be a good fit for her, and – rationally – it all made sense. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t scared, however, and sad to be leaving. Thankfully, she already had a few friends in her new place. And one friend in particular, whose name was Grace, took Mom under her wing: meeting her for dinner, introducing her to others, making sure she participated in the various community activities. But that first night, on move-in day, John and I walked her down to the dining room, where we were going to meet Grace. Mom was being very brave, but I could see how hard it was for her, to walk into a roomful of strangers, to know that this was going to be her life from now on. Grace’s presence, her welcome and her care, made all the difference at a difficult and vulnerable time. And because we knew Grace, I knew that her hospitality was part of her ministry, an expression of her faith and being a disciple of Jesus. A simple thing, but so important.

That’s certainly what Jesus says to us today: Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me….and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple will not lose their reward.

A cup of cold water, a moment of listening, an invitation to sit, an offer to walk with another, a sympathetic nod or word to the parent whose toddler is pitching a fit in the grocery store, an expression of thanks to the person who has pumped your gasoline, a willingness to see and interact with strangers as vulnerable human beings who have been made in the image of God and for whom Christ died – just as you yourself are.

Such simple things, often small things, and yet this, Jesus tells us, is where the rubber meets the road. This is where the vast majority of us will have our discipleship tested and tried. Why is that? In part, it’s because these moments catch us off-guard. We never know when we will be called upon to offer hospitality to another, to open our heart and schedule to someone else, to imagine what it might be like to be that other person. We can’t gear ourselves up for a set period of exercising compassion and welcome – at least not most days. So our response springs forth from our character, from the way our inner being has been shaped and formed by God’s love and forgiveness of us, by God’s tenderness with our vulnerability and pain.

Another reason why our discipleship is tested and made evident by these small gestures is because they are so basic, so core to human existence – water, food, clothing, shelter, dignity, friendship, mercy, loving-kindness. We all need these things for survival, and we share these needs with every other person God has ever made. Even Jesus came among us in great humility: a child born on the road, to yet-unwed parents, outside their own community, in a place where animals were sheltered, and soon to be on the run – refugees from King Herod’s murderous edict. When we claim to follow Jesus as Lord, we are following and serving One who knows what it is to be hungry, thirsty, in pain, in need of shelter, the object of bad orders born of fear. We follow a Lord who knows what it is to be a stranger and in need of welcome, and who calls us to join him in that place of vulnerability and risk and openness to others.

I suspect that for most of us, that is a pretty tall order. Our culture bids us to put on the armor of perfection, of emotional self-sufficiency, of success-only-and-at-all-costs, and for goodness’ sake doing it all with the apparent ease of a TV talk-show show host and don’t you dare let them see you sweat!

Well, that’s not Jesus’ way. The call to follow him is a continuing call to be real and become more so, to be vulnerable, to stay connected to others even when it feels painful or risky or scary. Sometimes that means giving a cup of cold water to a stranger; sometimes it means welcoming someone new into your circle, your home, your church, your life; sometimes it means being open to chance encounters on the street, on the train, in Shop Rite; sometimes it means standing with a person living on the margins of the community; sometimes it means showing up at a rally or a gathering to support an issue you care deeply about because of your Christian faith. But always listening – listening for the truth of the other person’s life, listening for the words the Holy Spirit may be calling us to speak.

One of the images I often have when I am planning or preaching a funeral is that of Jesus standing on the proverbial doorstep of heaven, arms outstretched, and saying to the person who has died: “Welcome home.” That’s a good image. But the far better image is Jesus standing - at the Church door, or the Parish House door, or out at the crossroads, or at the train station, or in the hospital room, or on the playground, or in the court room or trading floor or school room, or in any of the places people are lost, lonely, broken, afraid - arms outstretched, and bidding us to stand with him, saying to those who need to hear it “Welcome home; welcome to the heart of God.”

So every morning, offer yourself to God. Offer your mind, your heart, your schedule, your energy, your resources; and ask the Spirit to direct your attention to those places and people where God can use you best – even if it’s just to give a cup cold water to someone who is parched and weary.

Let us pray.
Where cross the crowded ways of life,
where sound the cries of race and clan,
above the noise of selfish strife,
we hear your voice, O Son of Man.
Lord, may we listen, may we follow, and may we welcome others in your name. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Fourth Sunday after Pentecost/Independence Day
July 2, 2017

Jesus said: Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. Matthew 10:34
We live in a world, and in a time and place, where we all have multiple, overlapping, sometimes conflicting identities; and by the word “identity”, I mean the way we think of and understand ourselves; perhaps also the way others think of us. Our identity can be the lens through which we see ourselves and approach the world. It can also be a box into which someone else tries to put us.
So, speaking for myself, I can say (not in any particular order): I am a woman, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a Christian, an American, a priest; I’m a descendant of the British Isles, a Northeasterner, an alumna of several different academic institutions; a singer, a Girl Scout, an Associate of the Community of St. John Baptist. All of these different experiences, affiliations, and relationships have shaped me. They also each make their own claim on my loyalty, time, and attention.

Sometimes the differing parts of our identity can come into conflict with each other; sometimes our society tries to force the issue. During the first World War German-Americans suddenly became very suspect, as our country moved towards entering that war. It happened again with Japanese-Americans during World War II, when over one-hundred thousand US citizens and residents were imprisoned in internment camps, out of fear that they might be enemy spies.

Race and ethnicity are not the only identities that can cause conflict. Religions – with varieties of beliefs, values, and practices – can also strain multiple identities. In 1960 when John F. Kennedy was running for President there was a large question in some quarters about whether or not a Roman Catholic could lead this country; would he not be taking “orders” from the Pope? And today in some other quarters there are those who believe that practicing Muslims cannot be real Americans – that those two identities are somehow antithetical to one another. And, of course, throughout the history of Europe and North America, being Jewish was often a major stumbling block to acceptance into the wider Christian culture.

Even family life and relationships can be strained and sometimes severed because of an identity that one person has that doesn’t sit well with the rest of the family. At the height of the AIDS crisis in the 1980s it was often friends and neighbors, and in some rare cases church communities, that cared for the sick and dying, that attended the funerals of gay men, when their families didn’t want to know them. And even a year ago after the shooting of forty-nine people at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando – popular with the LGBT community – one father refused to claim his son’s body. When our identities come in conflict within ourselves, or with others close to us, it can be very painful.

Jesus has some pretty clear words about identity and where our deepest loyalty should be, when push comes to shove. He says that his followers should not be surprised that he comes to bring a sword, rather than peace: a sword of justice and righteousness, rather than a false or shallow peace. He says that he has come to set relatives against each other, and that whoever does not love Jesus more than their own family is not worthy of him. This is when the preacher wants to say: OK, Jesus…you can stop talking now! After all, if hearing Jesus counsel the disciples (as we heard last week) to shake off the dust of their feet against the residents of a town that won’t receive their message makes us queasy, these words could well put us right over the edge!
Was Jesus telling us to hate our parents or siblings, or to walk away from them? No. There are plenty of other places in the Gospels where Jesus uses very positive images and examples of families and family relationships. But the point he is making here is that our sense of identity has to transcend that of our family of origin. If we are Jesus’ followers, our core identity and loyalty shifts. We become centered on God first and foremost. In baptism, as Paul say in Romans, we have died to sin and now live to God. We have shared Christ’s death and resurrection, and so we have joined the company of the baptized, the household of God. Our sense of family expands to include all who have also come through the waters of baptism; and rather than being related by ancestral blood, we are rothers and sisters – one new family – through the blood of Christ.
When our primary identity is as Christians, as those joined to Christ by faith and baptism, then there are times we are going to come into conflict with our other identities, with other values and loyalties. Being American is not synonymous with being Christian. If the dynamics of our family-of-origin system expect us to act in cruel or unhealthy ways, our membership in God’s family tells us to act otherwise. If the community or society we live in makes discrimination or oppression a badge of membership, the Cross we wear or bow to reminds us of the sacrifice Jesus made to set us free from all sin – including the sin of oppression.  

I have a friend whose father was a bishop in Mexico, which was then a province of the American church, and her mother was often called upon to speak at church gatherings and conventions in the US. At these meetings she was introduced to the audience by her husband’s name: Mrs. Melchor Saucedo. Of course, that was a more formal time, but the American bishop who was introducing her was also noted for being disdainful towards women, and towards women’s gifts and ministries. As time went on, my friend’s mother became more and more uncomfortable with being identified only by her title. So one day she tuned to this particular bishop introducing her at an event and said: “I am a child of God, and my name is Catherine.”
We are all children of God, and God knows us each by name.

In baptism we are washed, we are cleansed, we die and rise to new life, we are joined to Christ, and we are named – given an identity, each one of us known and beloved of God, but all sharing the surname Christian. In God’s family, the values that are at our core are justice, truth, compassion, and respecting the dignity of every human person, as well as love, faith, community, and peace. These are the values that Jesus calls us to live and follow, day by day, with gladness and singleness of heart.

Let us pray.
Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to thee, so
guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our
wills, that we may be wholly thine, utterly dedicated unto
thee; and then use us, we pray thee, as thou wilt, and always
to thy glory and the welfare of thy people; through our Lord
and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

 Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Third Sunday after Pentecost
June 25, 2017

But Sarah denied, saying, "I did not laugh"; for she was afraid. He said, "Oh yes, you did laugh." Genesis 18:15

This morning I am thinking about laughter – about the different kinds of laughter, about what makes us laugh. To start with, we laugh when we hear something funny – a joke, a silly situation. Or we laugh at ourselves because we suddenly realize that we are in a ridiculous predicament and see the humor in it. There is other kind of laughter as well – a knowing laugh; a dismissive or sardonic laugh; a nervous laugh.

But then there is the laughter born of joy. I have some young friends whose first child was born two days ago. All throughout the pregnancy they shared pictures and updates on Facebook – including the last impatient and uncomfortable week of the baby being overdue. So there was a great deal of joy and laughter when they finally got to meet their daughter – especially just in time for Fathers’ Day.

And finally, there is the laughter that erupts spontaneously at astonishingly good news. Two examples come to mind. The first is a brief clip from the film “Chariots of Fire” about two runners for Great Britain in the 1924 Olympics, each working against personal and social odds. One of the runners, Harold Abrahams, was Jewish – making it difficult enough for him to get the same support as the rest of his teammates. Added to that was his pioneering use of a personal professional coach – very much frowned upon by a culture that embraced the way of the amateur. When it came to Harold’s final event, the hundred-meter dash, the coach Sam was not even allowed in the stadium, so the only way he knew that his protégé had won was when he was able to see the Union Jack raised on the stadium’s center flag pole. When Sam saw that, he laughed, punched his fist through the crown of his straw hat, and then cried. The work of a lifetime – on so many levels – had come true at last, and some important social as well as personal boundaries had been broken through.

My own example of the laughter of astonishment at great good news came eleven years ago today, a Sunday afternoon. A seminary friend who was at the Episcopal Church General Convention called to tell me that Katharine Jefferts Shori had been elected the new Presiding Bishop. And I laughed with joy and astonishment. Katharine was the first woman to have been nominated to that office, and I never even thought there would be a chance of her election. After all, the first women were ordained in our Church in 1974, it took two more years to make it official, and another twelve years before there was a woman bishop. When that happened there was great consternation in the Anglican Communion about whether our international Anglican relationships would fall apart, because no other Anglican churches had women bishops. Eighteen years later to have Katharine elected as Presiding Bishop (also a world-wide first) was really a very short span of time in the history of the Church as a whole, even though it seemed right in step with secular American culture. Until I heard the news and laughed with astonishment and joy, I had no idea how deeply I felt about Bishop Katharine’s nomination and election. God had clearly done a new thing!

In Genesis, we heard a very important account about the Lord (or three angels, the passage says both) visiting Abraham and the hospitality he offers his guests. Earlier in the story God had promised Abraham and Sarah that if they would follow him – literally and figuratively – as their God, he would give them a great family, as many descendants as the stars in the sky. But there was one hitch – a pregnancy never took hold. So Sarah decided to give Abraham her maid Hagar as a surrogate, and the child from that union, Ishmael – would be Sarah’s child and Abraham’s heir.

But that was not God’s plan, and the holy visitors came to Abraham to deliver the news that Sarah would indeed become pregnant and deliver a baby, and that child would be Abraham and Sarah’s true heir. But Sarah was long past the age of having children, so as she overheard this news while hiding behind the tent flap, she laughed with astonishment, with joy, with no small measure of “You’ve got to be kidding!” God’s great and astonishing news brought laughter – a child named Isaac, which means “he laughs.”

And in the Gospel reading, Jesus recruits, commissions, and sends out the Twelve to do the work that Jesus was sent to do, to be his apprentices and advance team. Many of us are familiar with this story from its version in Luke 10, but this is Matthew’s version. And what are the disciples told to do? Proclaim the good news that the kingdom of heaven has come near; cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons; do so freely. I can well imagine that the recipients of this good news of God – announced both in speech and action – were overjoyed, amazed, astonished. They were being healed, cleansed, enlivened, set free – all signs of God’s power and presence with them and among them, what they had hoped and longed for as they prayed and waited and hoped for the coming of the Messiah. That day was dawning and it was right here in their doorstep. I am sure there was laughter.

Where are the places that God has brought laughter to you – this kind of astonished, joyful laughter? Where has hope displaced fear? Where have you caught even a glimpse of a new day, of God’s healing and sustaining presence, of constraining boundaries being broken open? It might be in your personal story, it might be your reaction to something that has happened in the world at large.

There always forces in the world which seek to trip us up, to pull us down, to separate, wound, and destroy. But God is greater than those forces; that’s what Jesus’ Crucifixion and Resurrection are all about. As Jesus’ followers, we know there is hope in Christ, and that hope brings us joy. Where is that joy for you, even if you can’t live in it all the time?

That joy and hope are what God calls us to share with others, to join in with, to work to make a reality – when and where we can. It’s the hope that all that wounds us, imprisons us, demeans us, tells us that we are “less than”, will be wiped away by the grace and goodness of God. And in place of that ancient pain will be a sense of God’s wholeness, of love and belonging, of God’s desire and purpose coming to fruition and fulfillment…even if it has taken a very long time.
Hope, joy, and laughter – may these three abound.

Let us pray.
Lord God, your Psalmist taught us that “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning”; teach us to look for your joy in every new day, that we may carry it with us, and bring the new dawn of your healing and goodness to all we meet. We ask this in Jesus’ Name. Amen.
 
Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Second Sunday after Pentecost
June 18, 2017