the feast of discipleship

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Bible reading: Matthew 22: 1-14


As Canon for Christian formation, my job is to think through that transformative process by which we become more like Jesus. That’s what Christian formation is about – moving from a self-centered focus to a God-centered focus; from autonomy to obedience; from independence to discipleship. And people will often ask, is that hard? Is being a disciple of Jesus hard or easy? Because on the one hand Jesus says, “Come to me all who are weary and heavy burdened,” but at the same time he also says “the gate is narrow and the road is hard.” “Anyone who is thirst may come!” “Count the cost before coming!” “Many are called, but few are chosen.” Our Lord says both. And so we have to ask – is Christ being formed in us hard or is it easy?


After all, in today’s parable everyone’s invited to the banquet. As Matthew puts it, they “gathered all whom they found, both good and bad.” But then there’s that poor guy with no wedding robe – he’s cast out. You see, in Jesus’ day a banquet like this would have taken months of preparation, and the first batch of guests have already RSVP’d yes. But when the date of the wedding actually comes, they blow it off. And historically speaking, Matthew is referring to Israel’s initial rejection of Jesus as the Messiah. But there’s also a second group – a group taken from the “main streets,” and this group is diverse. They’re diverse economically (rich and poor); racially (Jew and Gentile); and they’re diverse morally (both good and bad). And this second group is gathered into the feast, save that one man without a robe.


Now, I want to talk about this robe for a bit. The fact that all the other guests were wearing wedding robes tells us something significant – that the King provided wedding robes to his guests at the door. Remember, they’re coming off the streets. No one had time to run home and grab their wedding robe or to go to the store and buy one. And so the King in Jesus’ parable provides wedding robes to each of his guests at His own expense. And one man refused that gift thinking he could before the king dressed as he was.


You see, to ask if being a disciple of Jesus is hard or easy is at the same time to ask another –why is it hard to put on that wedding robe, which is a metaphor for a life of utter dependence on Christ. In other words, to wear that robe is to move from a self-centered focus to a God-centered focus; from autonomy to obedience; from independence to discipleship. And it’s a process that most of us, I suspect, find intimidating or impossible. And so our tendency is to settle less. We come to church. We say our prayers. We give some money. But then we go back to living on the streets. The feast will come later – perhaps when we die. But feasting now – well just that seems hard.


In Mere Christianity C.S. Lewis claims that the thing keeping us from the feast is our tendency to talk about our self as the starting point, which it’s desires and interests, and then to talk about this thing we call morality, which usually conflicts with what “I” want. And so in an effort to be “good,” we sometimes sacrifice what we want to do the right thing – we wake up early to go to church or make our pledge instead of buying a nicer car. And then we hope that “being good” doesn’t cost us too much money or energy or pride to get on with the real work of living our life. And this is what Lewis says about that.


The Christian way is different; harder, and easier. Christ says, ‘Give me all. I don’t want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want you. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. I don’t want to cut off a branch here and there, I want the whole tree down. Hand over the whole natural self. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.’ (197)


God does not offer us tips for better life. But He does offer us His own life, which is experienced as abundant life. Now with that in mind, there are two things I’d like to say about putting on this wedding robe – about transitioning into a life of utter dependence on Jesus Christ.


First, the wedding robe isn’t something we merit or purchase. It’s a gift that God purchases for us. And looking to the cross we know just how much that gift cost. But here’s what we need to see. It’s a gift we already possess. As Paul says in Galatians, “For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourself with Christ.” In Baptism, we were each given our robe. (And today Nicholas and Ansley will be given theirs!). Faithfulness is about growing into that wedding robe. 1 Peter says we are to “grow into” the salvation we’ve already been given. In other words, the wedding robe I’ve been given is a 44 Long and I’m a 36 short. But that’s what Christian formation is all about – it’s a slow, deliberate and lifelong process of dying to self so that Jesus can live in and through us. And for the record, every time we come forward to God’s table we recommit to this process. The Eucharist is our weekly RSVP to the banquet. As Eucharistic prayer D puts it, we don’t come to communion for solace only, but also for strength; for pardon only, but also for renewal. The wedding robe – a life of utter dependence on Christ – is a gift. Christian formation is about growing into that gift.


Second, because we don’t need to get sidetracked talking about how hard this can all be, let’s not forget that Jesus’ metaphor for discipleship is in fact a feast! “I came that they might have life,” he said, “and have it more abundantly.” And so there’s a question we all need to be asking – is there feasting on the inside, at least sometimes? Group number one “made light” of the invitation. But not group number two; “Yesterday I was begging for bread,” there said “but today I’m feasting with a King!” These are two very different ways of viewing our faith. And because we can all act like group one from time to time, I think it’s good to be reminded that the word gospel doesn’t mean “good advice” or “good morals;” it means “good news.” Christianity is news – the good news that says that even though His subjects rebelled, the King of the universe is still throwing them a banquet and that everyone’s invited – good/bad, rich/poor – and that clothes are being provided at the King’s own expense to make us fit for the celebration.


I officiated a wedding last week and was really moved when the bride processed down the aisle to the tune of “here comes the bride.” And in a very real sense, human history is nothing more than one big procession to that very tune! As the parable begins, “The Kingdom of heaven is like a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son.” And of course we know that son to be Jesus. But let us never forget that we – the Church – are Jesus’ bride, and that our job is to clothe ourselves appropriately.


Is becoming a disciple hard? Sometimes; but it is so much easier than what so many of us are trying to do – giving God so much of our time and so much of our money when all he really wants is us. And so yes, giving Jesus everything is hard – except for when we actually do it and are reminded yet again that it’s always experienced as a feast.

subvert the paradigm

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A sermon on:
Matthew 20: 1-16





Last week when driving I saw an interesting bumper sticker: “subvert the dominant paradigm.” Now, for some reason this bumper sticker actually stuck. You see we all view life through a particular lens, and we all view God through a particular lens, and if that lens isn’t right, then our lives will necessarily be wrong. And what Christian formation is about, more than anything, is acquiring the right lens so that we see things as they really are. And so here’s the question I’d like to pose this morning. What’s the paradigm, or the lens, through which we’re viewing our relationship with God?


Because there is a dominant religious paradigm, which has its own assumptions about God, about ourselves, and about what it means to follow Jesus. And that dominant paradigm goes something like this. “We get what we deserve. If we’re good, God will reward us. Faithfulness might not be fun, but our God is fair, and he’s going to reward us for our service.” And so whenever we say things like, “I’ve already done my good deed for the day,” or “Why would God let this happen, I haven’t done anything wrong,” that’s the dominant religious paradigm slipping out where God’s seen as the boss, we’re the workers, and payment is rewarded on the basis of merit.


Now believe it or not, this has actually been the dominant religious paradigm since the time of Jesus, and Jesus’ intention in telling today’s parable was to subvert that paradigm. And in particular, the people Jesus had the most beef with were the Pharisees, because instead helping people see God and themselves as they really were, the Pharisees made people feel bad for not being “religious enough.” You see the Pharisees followed the law to a T, but did so in a way that left them joyless and judgmental. And Jesus’ message to the Pharisees, more than anything, was that they didn’t see things as they really were – that the dominant paradigm they upheld reflected the kingdom of the world, not the kingdom of heaven.


And so that’s why Jesus told this parable about the landowner and vineyard workers – to subvert the dominant paradigm and show us what God’s Kingdom’s really like. It’s not a lesson in economics, nor is it an allegory that asks us to examine who we are in this parable. No, it’s a call to examine our assumptions about God, about ourselves, and about what it means to follow Jesus. And so here’s the question we need to consider – where is Jesus asking us to think differently about God?


Well first, Jesus wants us to understand that working in God’s vineyard isn’t a chore – it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. The call of God, it moves us away from a life of idleness and toward a life of purpose and meaning. A life spent working in God’s vineyard is its own reward. In other words, what gives life purpose, what gives life meaning, is our decision to partner with God to advance His Kingdom wherever we happen to be – at work, at home, at a bar, on vacation – it doesn’t matter because the vineyard of God is everywhere. And working in that vineyard – that, Jesus says, is what gives life purpose and meaning. As Kathryn Blanchard puts it, “The workers must recognize the opportunity to work in the vineyard as a gift in itself. There is no room for human pride, since one’s only choice is to answer the call … or to stand idle and waste one’s life.” In other words, the call to work in God’s vineyard isn’t a chore. It’s the reason God created us in the first place.


Second, Jesus wants us to understand that God isn’t a distant and cold hearted book-keeper – that God isn’t sitting back and keeping score. On the contrary, like a shepherd looking for lost sheep, God’s refuses to rest until he’s found every last potential worker that’s still standing idle. Because notice, the landowner in the parable is always searching – 6 o’clock, 9 o’clock, noon, three o’clock, 5 PM – the second he gets one group of workers settled, he leaves again to start looking for more. And this, Jesus says, is exactly what God’s like. God takes the initiative to find us. He’s always looking to draw people in. It breaks His heart to see people standing idle.


What’s the paradigm through which we’re viewing our relationship with God? You see, today we have a baptism. We’re going to baptize Reid into the Christian life, and each one of us will make a vow to do all we can help Reid grow up into a mature Christian – to teach Reid the truth of who God really us, and to teach him the joy of working in God’s vineyard with us. But at the same time, we’ll also renew our own baptismal covenant; we’ll remind ourselves of what that right lens is, of what it means to see things as they really are. And according to Jesus’ parable, there are really only two lenses. Either we know that life and salvation are a gift and that God’s blessed us well beyond what we deserve, or we compare ourselves to everyone else and measure our lives against theirs. We’re either grateful or we’re envious. We’re either God’s sons or we’re his servants. God’s either our Father or he’s our foreman. Paul’s either right, and all things belong to us because we belong to Christ– “co-heirs” as he puts it – or we’re contract workers slaving away in a vineyard to eke out a daily wage. And so what’s our paradigm?


CS Lewis was once asked by a group of his colleagues at Oxford about the uniqueness of Christianity. “All religions present ethical challenges. Other religions have stories of virgin births and miracles and gods walking the earth. And so what,” they sneered, “makes Christianity any different?” “What makes Christianity different?” Lewis asked rhetorically before answering their question. “Grace.”


The dominant religious paradigm is about merit. God’s the boss, we’re the workers, and payment is rewarded on the basis of merit. But Christianity, Christianity is about grace – about how each and every one of us is made in the image of God, about how God’s generosity is beyond anything we could ever imagine, and about how there’s nothing we could ever do to deserve God’s generosity but that it comes to us anyway as a gift. Christianity is about grace. How different would our lives be – how different would our world be – if we only lived from that paradigm?


At so here’s what I’d like to say in closing. At the end of today’s parable, the landowner asks an interesting question – he says, “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” Well, in the context of Matthew’s Gospel, this question’s actually meant to point to another parable Jesus tells about a vineyard. And in that parable, which occurs only one chapter later, the landowner sends his son into the vineyard and when the workers see the landowner’s son they seize him, throw him out of the vineyard and kill him. “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” That’s the landowner’s question. And at the heart of our faith is the belief that God does not stand removed, but that He chose to enter the vineyard himself in the person of Jesus Christ, that it cost him his life, and that, on the cross, he became the last so that we could become the first.


May that be the paradigm – the lens – through which we view our relationship with God. Because to the extent that it is, we’re going to get really serious about bringing more people into the vineyard with us, rejoicing that in the shadow of the cross, we all stand together as equals – sons and daughters of God, and co-heirs with Christ. Is Jesus’ work in the vineyard with us and for us the primary lens through which we’re viewing our relationship with God? Because if not, it’s time to subvert the paradigm.

remembering 9-11

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Peter came and said to Jesus, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.


I want to begin by introducing myself and saying what a pleasure it is to be with you this morning at Emmanuel. My name is John Newton, and I serve as the Bishop’s Canon for Lifelong Christian Formation. And it’s truly an honor to be with you this morning – and to preach the Gospel on this day in particular, as the attacks of September 11th, 2001 are no doubt weighing on our hearts.


Ten years ago to the day, 19 hijackers took control of four commercial airliners. Both towers of the World Trade Center were destroyed. The third plane crashed into the Pentagon, and the fourth on a farm in Pennsylvania after a few passengers heroically rebelled. In total, 2,996 people died in this horrific event that we now know as 9/11.


I don’t know what you remember about that day – what you were doing when you heard the news or what you felt as you processed the experience. But I do wonder what we’ve chosen to remember – the 411 ER workers who died trying to save others, or perhaps the churches that overflowed the following Sunday morning – maybe that’s what we remember. Or perhaps we just remember the darker emotions – our desire for revenge, for whoever did this to pay. I remember feeling that emotion quite well.


You see whatever 9/11 was to us personally, there’s something it was to us all – a clear and undeniable reminder that all is not right in this world. We were not meant to live in a world where people crash planes into buildings. We were not meant to live in a world where wildfires destroy our homes. We were not meant to live in a world that hurts, injures and violates us. And yet we do. That is exactly the world in which we find ourselves.


And that, more than anything, is what 9/11 is to me – a reminder that all is not well in the world; it’s a reminder that we’ve been hurt, that we’re scared, and that we’re desperate for Someone to fix things. And it matters little what makes us feel scared and hurt – a terrorist, a parent, a friend, a spouse, a child, our divorce, the media, our mortality, our health, the wildfires, politics, the economy, our loneliness or our dwindling IRA – what’s significant is that we know what it is to feel broken and to long for wholeness. Each one of us has been hurt. Injured. Violated. Wronged. And with this experience of being wronged comes, if only subconsciously, a desire for revenge – for whoever did this to pay.


Well, it’s this desire we have for revenge – this idea we have that to fix pain we need to dish out more pain, that to fix hate we have to out-hate the haters – that Jesus addresses in today’s Gospel. And what Jesus would have us understand – the whole point of the parable – is that there are only two ways to respond to the hurt and pain we experience in this life. There’s the way of revenge and the way of forgiveness. In other words, to live in a world where all is not well means that it’s a guarantee that we’ll get hurt, injured, violated and be wronged. And when that happens, Jesus says we’ve only got two options. We can absorb the pain. Or, we can return it. We can pray to the Judge or we can play the judge. We can choose forgiveness or we can choose revenge.


Now, there’s something we just need to name. Our world has chosen the way of revenge. “Getting even” – that, we think, is how we’re going to fix things. A desire for revenge was behind the attacks of September 11th, and, at least partially, behind our nation’s response to those attacks. It’s also present in every divorce, every cold shoulder, and every uncharitable word. And it’s this desire for revenge, Jesus says in today’s parable, that is absurd – that is absolutely absurd from the perspective of God.


And so let’s take a quick look at Jesus’ parable, which Jesus tells to respond to Peter’s question about forgiveness. Because what Peter wants to know – isn’t that what we all want to know? The attacks of September 11th – do we really need to forgive whoever did that? I mean, at what point do we stop forgiving? When is enough, enough?


Well, to respond to this Jesus tells a story about a slave. We’ll call him John. And John owed the king 10,000 talents. Now, 1 talent was about 7 years’ wages in Jesus’ day, and so 10,000 talents, if you do the math, is about 3.5 billion dollars. And so when John can’t pay his 3.5 billion dollar debt, the King forgives the debt out of sheer pity – because the King is good. Now, justice demanded that John and his family be sold. But the King in Jesus’ parable loves mercy, and so he releases John. Well, John then remembers that his buddy Frank owes him 100 bucks, and when Frank can’t come up with the money, John seizes him by the throat and throws him into prison.


Now, the entire scenario is obviously absurd. Who, after being forgiven a 3.5 billion dollar debt, would ever ruin another person’s life over 100 dollars? But here’s what I think Jesus is trying to say. We would. And we do. That from God’s perspective, we look just like John whenever we hold onto our anger, to our grudges, or to any other desire we have for someone else to pay.


You see the point of Jesus’ parable is that each one of us has had a massive moral debt cleared, and that rather than receiving the justice we deserve, we receive the mercy we don’t. What Jesus is trying to show Peter is that in light of the unmerited pity he’s been shown from the King of heaven, His question about forgiveness doesn’t make sense – that compared to the debt he’s been forgiven by God, Peter is essentially owed nothing.



Today we as a nation we remember 9/11 – but there’s always the question of what we’ll choose to remember, of what we will choose to place at the forefront of our minds as we acknowledge that we’ve been hurt, that we’re scared, and that we are desperate for Someone to fix things. And here is what I believe faithfulness to the Christian Gospel demands – that the first thing we remember about the events of 9/11 is the King in Jesus’ parable.


You see the entire point of Jesus’ parable is that it’s the King that absorbs an enormous loss. More than anyone else, it is the King that is hurt, injured, violated and wronged. After all, when the King forgives the debt, that debt doesn’t just disappear, and the King’s forgiveness doesn’t come cheap. No, forgiveness comes with a price tag, and it’s only the King – who must absorb the entire debt himself – that will ever fully understand that cost.


What will we choose to remember on this tenth anniversary of 9/11? My prayer for we who call ourselves Christian is that at the center of our mind will be the King of Creation nailed to the cross – paying the entire debt of sinful humanity himself.


As John Ortberg put it, “On the cross, the entire weight of the un-payable debt owed by sinful humanity would fall on Jesus. He would pay it all. This is why the cross is at the heart of Christianity. It shows us the heart of God. He chooses to pay the debt we never could. He longs to forgive.” In other words, the cross is that place where Jesus took the collective hurt, injury and wrongness of the entire world head on. On the cross Jesus absorbed all of it. The pain of the victims. The pain of their families. The pain of the terrorists. And the pain of their families. The pain of the people who lost their homes in the wildfires this week. The collective pain of humanity. On the cross, Jesus absorbed all of it. And Jesus invites us, his disciples, to do is the same.


You see returning the pain inflicted on us – or what some call revenge – that’s what cowards do. But absorbing the pain of the world with Jesus and for Jesus – that’s what disciples do.


And so let me end by saying this. It is a wonderful and Godly thing to remember the events of September 11, 2001. We need to remember. But as disciples of Jesus Christ, we are called to remember all things in light of the coming reign of God. And so as you go out into the world this week, here’s what I hope you’ll remember.


First, remember the cross. 9/11 in particular and all violence in general, is first and foremost an offense against God. We all owe a massive debt, and on the cross Jesus Christ absorbed all of it.

Second, remember those who gave their lives to save others, and who did so willingly, and remember the many smaller sacrifices people made in the weeks that followed. God created us to pour out our lives to serve other people. We need to remember and celebrate the times we do that well.


Third, remember that Jesus commands us to pray for our enemies – for those who wish us harm – and that in praying for us on the cross Jesus was praying for his enemies, for it is we who crucified Him. The cross reconciled us to God. Jesus intends us to be reconciled to our enemies.


Finally, and this is by far the most important – remember that all pain and death and disease and decay and terrorism and revenge will all come to a decisive end when the Kingdom of God arrives in its fullness. Christ had died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again. And when that happens, Jesus will bring with Him the world we were made to live in. But in the meantime, it matters tremendously how we live, how we treat people, and whether or not we choose to forgive the people that hurt us.


Let us pray. O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you, through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

I never made a sacrifice

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Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”


I want to begin by introducing myself and saying what a pleasure it is to be with you this morning at St. Catherine’s. My name is John Newton, and I currently serve as the Bishop’s Canon for Lifelong Christian Formation. And I’m really excited to be here. In fact, I was at a conference with Mike in Boston this summer where he gave a presentation on the amazing work that God was doing in this community. And it wasn’t just me who got excited – our presiding bishop was also there and she was excited, and because I work on the bishop’s staff I can say with the utmost certainty that the entire diocesan staff is excited about what’s happening in this community. And so thank you for having me this morning – this is truly a privilege.


There’s a word that I think best describes the ethos of life in 21st century America – and that’s consumeristic – you and I live in a world that teaches us to consume. And consumerism’s a powerful idea because it feeds on the deepest desires of the human heart. You see, we all want to be happy. We want to be whole. We want to know who we are and why we’re here. And consumerism’s goal is to tell us how to do that – by consuming – what I call the “if only” mentality. If only I had a newer car, a nicer suit, if only I had a bigger house, a better paying job, a thinner waistline or a 52 inch flat screen – if only I had that, then I’d be happy and whole. As Homer Simpson put it, “the answers to life’s problems aren’t at the bottom of a bottle, they’re on TV!” And so the comsumeristic worldview can be summed up like this. “Meaning is found out there, and so if any want to become fulfilled, let them deny nothing, take up their urge, and follow it. For those who want to save their life will fill it.”


Now in complete contrast to this me-centered, I need to consume or I’ll never be happy mindset stands the Christian Gospel. And a few years back I came across a quote that’s had a huge impact on how I understand this Gospel. David Livingstone was a 19th century missionary, and this quote’s his response to a Cambridge student curious as to why he’d give up everything to serve the poor in Africa. And this is what Livingstone said. “People talk of the sacrifice I’ve made in spending so much of my life in Africa. Is it a sacrifice which brings its own reward in the consciousness of doing good or that brings hope of some glorious reward in the future? Away with such a thought! It is emphatically no sacrifice, say rather a privilege. And then he said something I’ll never forget. “I never made a sacrifice.”


But isn’t sacrifice what Jesus calls us to do? I mean in today’s Gospel Jesus is pretty clear that if our primary motivation is to save our life – to preserve our own interests at all costs – we’re going to forfeit the very thing that we seek. And so here are the questions I’d like to wrestle with the morning. What exactly does Jesus ask us to give up? And second, where do we find the strength to make that sacrifice?


Now you may recall from last week that in the context of Matthew’s Gospel Peter has just confessed his faith in Jesus as the Messiah. Well, this week Peter decides to tell Jesus how to do his job. You see Peter has a really clear picture of what a successful Messiah looks like, and what Jesus says about the cross doesn’t really jive with Peter’s script. The Messiah’s supposed to restore the Jewish kingdom by defeating the Roman authorities – not be defeated by them. And so when Jesus says that his strategy is to suffer and to die, to lose his life, Peter decides to intervene. “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”


But you know what I think Peter’s really saying. “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to me.” You see Peter – I think he just wants what we all want. To be happy. To be whole. To know who he is and why he’s here. But Peter thinks that in order for this to happen, Jesus needs to start acting like a proper Messiah – like the kind that’ll overthrow Rome and appoint Peter to his cabinet. Peter’s thinking, “Jesus will be president and I’ll the VP. Because when that happens, I’ll finally be important. I’ll be happy. I’ll be whole. I’ll know who I am and why I’m here. But the cross? God forbid it. That must never happen to me.”


You see Peer didn’t rebuke Jesus because He was looking out for Jesus. Peter rebuked Jesus because He was looking out for Peter – because he was trying to find his own happiness his own way. And what I want us to see is that even though Jesus’ response is harsh, what Jesus is actually doing is showing sympathy. Because the point of today’s Gospel is not that Jesus wants us to stuff the deepest desires of our heart. It’s that he wants us to find the deepest desires of our heart in Him. “You want to be happy?” Jesus says, “You want to be whole? Do you want to know who you are and why you’re here? Then deny yourself. Take up your cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life are going to lose it, but those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”


And so let’s go back to that first question – what exactly does Jesus ask us to give up? And here’s what I’d say about that. The primary thing Jesus wants us to give up – what he wants us to sacrifice – is that consumeristic lie that says that we can have the deepest desires of our heart met outside of an intimate relationship with Him and His mission to save the world. What Jesus asks us to sacrifice is our desire to be happy apart from Him, not because He’s mean, but because it doesn’t work! Jesus loves us, and he doesn’t want us to spend our lives looking for water in the midst of empty wells. But that doesn’t stop us from trying – from investing our ultimate home in our job or our net worth or in what so-and-so thinks of us or in how we look or in our marriage or in our children or in something other than Christ. And whatever that idol is for us – whatever it is that’s out there that “if only” we had we think we’d be whole – that is the very thing that needs to die. This is how CS Lewis puts it in Mere Christianity.


Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favorite wishes every day: submit with every fiber of your being. Keep back nothing. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.


In other words, what has to die in each one of us is our desire to be happy apart from Christ.


But that’s hard – and so where do we find the strength to make those sacrifices? Well, let’s start with the good news. We’re here. We’ve gathered this morning as a community of disciples to hear the Word of God, to confess our sins, and to reach out our hands and ask to be fed. And so we start by showing up and just acknowledging that Jesus is not a seven-easy-steps to losing your life kind of Savior. I mean think about it, the disciples in today’s Gospel – they’ve been following Jesus for a while now and it’s today, for the very first time, that they begin to grasp the meaning of discipleship. And so here’s the point I’m trying to make. We never know the cost of following Jesus when we join the church, or when we’re confirmed. The disciples in today’s Gospel sure didn’t. And so we begin by showing up with an open heart, week after week, because the meaning of discipleship is always learned along the way.


But that being said it is learned, which is what formation is all about, and so here’s what I’d like to leave you with this morning. We do not find our life – the deepest desires of our heart – in Jesus by deciding to try harder. No, our heart has to be moved so that we can say with Livingstone, “I never made a sacrifice.” And so let the focus of your heart be the only sacrifice that is at the center of the Christian Gospel. And I’m not talking about our sacrifice for Jesus. I’m talking about Jesus’ sacrifice for us. Because the first cross we’re asked to embrace is not our own – it’s Jesus’. In other words, we’ll never take up our own cross until we first learn to take up His. After all, that question Jesus asks us – “what will you give in return for your life?” – is the same question the Father asked Jesus. “Jesus, what will you give in return for their life?” And the good news of the Christian Gospel is that Jesus had an answer. “My own. I will give my own life in return for theirs.”


Focus on the Lord who lost His life for you, and you’ll find the strength to lose your life for him. Mediate on Hebrews 12:2, which says, “For the sake of the joy that was set before Him Jesus endured the cross and disregarded its shame.” And then ask yourself the question – what was the joy that was set before Jesus that made the cross seem as nothing? Equality with God? Perfect bliss with the Father in Heaven? The entire creation? The worship of angels? And of course the answer is no, because Jesus already had all these things. And so what was the joy set before Jesus that, according to Hebrews, made the cross seem as nothing – what didn’t Jesus already have? And of course the answer is us. Jesus’ love for you and for me was so great that to Jesus the cross seemed as nothing.


In fact, I love thinking about God the Father, on that first Easter morning, thanking Jesus – thanking him for his willingness to sacrifice His own life for the world; for the sacrificial love of that one singular act. And then I like to imagine Jesus’ response, as He thinks about you and me and this church and the world and then deciding to say this in response. “Father, I never made a sacrifice.”

The power of our confession

TO LISTEN ONLINE:

http://traffic.libsyn.com/johnnewton/confession.mp3


When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" And they said, "Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets." He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answered, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." And Jesus answered him, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.


I want to begin by introducing myself and saying what a pleasure it is to be with you this morning at St. Paul’s. My name is John Newton, and I currently serve as the Bishop’s Canon for Lifelong Christian Formation. And I’m really excited to be here, because whenever you’re ordained in the Diocese of Texas they send you to Curate Camp once a month to be mentored, and Chuck runs that program and played a pretty big role in my formation as a priest. And so aside from just liking him, I have a lot of respect for Fr. Chuck and so to honor the role he’s had in my life, I decided to grow this beard as a tribute. Sadly, I spent a little more time on the beard than the sermon.


What I’d like to offer this morning are some thoughts on today’s Gospel, where Jesus gives Peter the keys to the kingdom of heaven. That’s right, Peter – who always misses the point, who speaks before he thinks, who tries to walk on water – Jesus gives Peter power. He gives him authority. He gives him a mission. Now remember, Peter’s that guy who cut off someone’s ear and denied Jesus in his time of need. And Jesus gives the keys to Peter.


You see I, too, was once handed a set of keys I didn’t deserve. It was my sixteenth birthday. And they were keys that, in theory, enabled me to exceed a speed of 100 miles per hour. And at sixteen I tested that theory a lot. But I’m not sure who was less mature – adult Simon Peter or adolescent John Newton – but I got keys to a car and Peter got keys to the kingdom – a symbol for power, authority and mission. And so here’s the question I’d like wrestle with this morning. As a church, what’s the basis of our authority, and second, what’s the nature of our mission?


Well, let’s just go ahead and be clear that our authority is not connected to our merits. I won’t speak for anyone else, but I can be pretty selfish, stubborn and sinful. And so to be a Christian is not to stand in this world from a place of moral superiority, and the people Jesus had the most beef with were the legalistic Pharisees who thought that they could. Perhaps my favorite quote of all time comes from St. Augustine, who was once asked by a seeker what to expect if he went to a church. Augustine responded, “Drunkards, misers, tricksters, gamblers, adulterers, fornicators, and assiduous clients of sorcerers.” Now, I’m not saying you should put that on your website, but Augustine’s point is worth noting. Jesus doesn’t give us the keys to the kingdom because we’re good. But how do we get those keys?


Well, in today’s Gospel Jesus asks his disciples a question. “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And as they begin to tap dance around Jesus’ question – “some say this, others say that” – Jesus cuts to the chase and Jesus gets personal. “Yea, but I’m asking you – who do you say that I am?” You see, there’s something about this question that forces us to take a stand.


As a church, we need to always be asking this question – what are we clinging to as the basis of our authority? And if today’s Gospel tells us anything, it’s that what makes Jesus’ church a rock is not our record. It’s our decision to confess that Jesus is Lord. In fact, a friend recently told me that the words decide and homicide share the same root. And his point was that when we decide for something we at the same time have to decide against, or kill, something else. And that’s what Jesus is asking his disciples for in today’s Gospel, a decision, he wants them to take a stand, which is exactly what Peter does. “You are the Messiah,” he says, “the Son of the Living God.”


I am convinced that there is only one thing we can cling to as disciples of Jesus Christ – our confession that Jesus is Lord – that, and nothing else, is the power we take into the world. And I’m obviously not talking about the kind of power that’s so prevalent in our world. I don’t mean power that’s coercive or violent or self-seeking. I’m talking about the power that’s unique to the Christian Gospel – the power that’s revealed in a Messiah that came not to conquer but to be conquered; that came not to be served but to serve; that came not to judge but to be judged. I’m talking about the power of Jesus – a power that’s unleashed when we answer His question. Who do you say that I am?


And for the record, this is not a question that Jesus asks us only once. It’s a question that Jesus asks us every day of our lives precisely because He wants us to always be taking a stand – not so much on doctrine, but on discipleship. Because like my friend said, the words decide and homicide share the same root, which means that whenever we decide for Jesus, something else inevitably dies – like the idea that we’re in charge, or that we take care of ourselves, or that we even know what’s best for us. In other words, to confess with Peter that Jesus is Lord is at the same time a decision to confess who isn’t Lord: us.


But with that confession comes a mission. “On this rock,” Jesus says – the rock being our confession – “I will build my church.” Now, when Jesus talks about building His church, Jesus is not talking about a building, or an institution, a denomination or a club – He’s talking about a people; a people that know the power and authority that come with confessing His name, and who consistently choose to live in this world relying on His generosity, His wisdom, and His mercy and not on themselves. In fact, the Greek word translated church is ekklesia, which literally means “an assembly of people called out.” And so to be part of that one church that Jesus Christ is building is to be among the assembly of his disciples called out into the world with a counter-cultural, confession: there is one Lord, one Messiah, one Son of the Living God who is in control of my life and this world – and thanks be to God, it isn’t me.


You see, there’s a reason this confession is so important and live giving. We live in a world that’s bought into the myth of self-sufficiency, which runs completely counter to the Christian witness that we’re utterly dependent and in desperate need of the salvation – the wholeness – that only God can give. I’m not sure when, but somewhere along the line we bought into the lie that if we just work hard enough we can build the perfect marriage, the perfect job, the perfect life and make ourselves whole. As the late Henry Nouwen put it,


“The world around us is saying in a loud voice, we can take care of ourselves. We do not need God or the Church. We are in control. And if we are not, we have to work harder to get in control. But beneath all the great accomplishments there is a deep current of despair. Broken relationships, boredom, and depression fill the hearts of millions.” In other words, what I think Nouwen is saying is this. You and I were not meant to bear the burden of Godhood, and the first thing God asks us to give up when we confess Jesus as Lord is the burden that comes with trying to be our own.


And so as you go out into the world this week, here’s what I’d offer as your mission to the world. If only to yourself in the recesses of your heart, decide to confess the Lordship of Jesus, and decide to meditate on what that means for your life. Because every single time we decide to confess that Jesus is Lord there is at the same time a homicide. And what has to die in each one of us is that false notion that we’re in control of our lives, or that we’re perfect, or that we can make ourselves whole if we just try hard enough.


And so let me end by asking you this. Are you frustrated? Burnt-out? Anxious? Angry? A little tired from trying to be your own Lord? There is so much power, so much authority, that comes with knowing we don’t have to please, perform or perfect our way into the Kingdom of God but that it always comes as a gift – not because we’re good, but because God is. Like Simon Peter, God gives us the keys to his kingdom every single time we make our confession. But then again, we all must decide for ourselves. Because some say this and others say that, but who do you say that He is?

reckless love

THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER

Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: "Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!


A few years back I bought a house here in Austin with a barren front yard. And after doing some research, it dawned on me that planting grass is pretty tough work. I’d have to loosen the ground and rake it into a thousand little furrows. The seed had to be scattered carefully and evenly. I would then put down wheat straw, which I was told would hold in the moisture before watering – which apparently is also a science. Not too much! The seeds will wash away. But not too little or the seeds won’t grow. Now, I never actually did any of this but I did learn a lesson. A careful farmer has knowledge, competency and skill. A careful farmer is diligent, patient and gentle. A careful farmer takes his time.


Now with that in mind, it’s worth asking, what’s Jesus doing in today’s Gospel by giving us a story about a farmer that just throws seed around like it’s confetti on New Year’s? On the path, the thorns, the rocky ground, the good soil – it doesn’t matter. The Farmer in Jesus’ parable throws seed around indiscriminately. He’s reckless, he’s wasteful and even seems to be in a hurry. Which is shocking – right? – Because we know who this Sower represents – God. In today’s Gospel, Jesus likens his Father to a reckless and wasteful farmer. And so here’s the question we need to ask. What is Jesus trying to say about the nature of God, and what’s he trying to tell us his disciples? Once again, what does this parable say about God, and what does this parable mean for us?

Now, you may think you know where I’m trying to take this. Be the good soil – don’t be hard hearted and shallow and materialistic like the other soils, but be the good soil. After all, this is a parable, which according to the dictionary is a short allegorical story that illustrates a well-known truth. That’s also what I was taught in Sunday school –that parables are just stories with moral lessons – and had I been a little older and a tad wiser I would have sued my church for malpractice. Why? – Because Jesus didn’t tell parables to illustrate a well-known truth. He told parables to shatter well-known truths. You see in Jesus’ day everyone thought they knew who it was that God favored – the right, the respectable, the religious, and the rule-keepers. And so to say that Jesus told this parable to confirm that belief, that He’s trying to scare us into being the respectable good soil is to entirely miss the point. Because the God Jesus reveals is not some methodical farmer looking only for the “best soil” to love. No, the God Jesus knows is like this Farmer – reckless, wasteful and in a hurry to sow His love wherever he can – on the path, the thorns, the rocky ground, the good soil – it doesn’t matter. The nature of God is to sow love everywhere!

You see, contrary to what we may have been taught, this isn’t a parable about good soil. It’s a parable about a good sower. And what Jesus is trying to say is that God isn’t cautious, strategic and calculated when it comes to sowing His love. Because He loves when we don’t love back. He blesses when we don’t say thanks. He sows when we’re surrounded by thorns. And that is what Jesus is saying about God – that He loves the rebellious and the religious as if they were the same. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done, whether you’re a regular or a visitor, whether you’re on top of the world or stuck in the pit – black/white, rich/poor, old/young, sober/addicted, popular/alone – none of that matters to this indiscriminate and reckless God. He is in a hurry to invest in you. In other words, this parable isn’t Jesus’ way of trying to convince us to be good. It’s his way of trying to convince us that God is good.

Brennan Manning, who’s one of my favorite authors, tells the true story of an Irish priest who stumbles upon a peasant praying by the side of the road. And so the priest, who’s impressed, says to the peasant, “You must be really close to God.” And this is how that peasant responded. “I am, because God is very fond of me.” How sweet would life be, how many problems would disappear, how many rocks would be removed and how many thorns would be uprooted if we only believed that? If we believed that God is fond of us –not that we’re forgiven, or accepted, or tolerated – but that we are all the apple of His eye. I sure hope you’ve heard that before – that God is so very fond of you. Because Jesus was under the impression that hearing this good news and understanding it was half the battle. After all, the good soil in today’s parable aren’t the ones that are perfect – they’re people that hear the word and understand it. Is the God we believe in legalistic? Does the God we know only favor the right, the respectable, the religious, and the rule-keepers? Because Jesus’ intention in telling this parable was to demolish that God. The God He knows is reckless, wasteful and in a hurry to sow His love among thorny, rocky, and hard-hearted people. Why? Because God is so very fond of everyone.

Now, if we believe that, there is a second question we need to ask. What does this parable mean for us, for this community here at St. James? Well, a lot but I’ll mention two things.

First, sow love everywhere. Our God is reckless and generous and He sows love indiscriminately. If you and I are serious about being a disciple of Jesus, we will do the same. I mean, can you imagine how exciting and transformative churches would be if they poured into their community like the sower in today’s parable? Or how rich and joy-filled we would be if we loved and blessed the people in our lives like God loves and blesses us? Now, I know that’s easier said than done. And as we all know, to have our love fall on rocky, arid or weed-infested ground has the capacity to break our hearts. But here’s what I’d like to say about that. Isn’t that what Jesus did for us? Did he not offer words of blessing as the crowds mocked him? If we sow love like the farmer in Jesus’ parable it will break our hearts from time to time. But you know what? It’s also going to loosen the soil of our hearts so that the love that God’s pouring in can bear fruit. Sow love everywhere – it will not return to you empty.

Second, this parable is a call to be patient. God is a farmer that sows seeds; not some general that demands change. You see all earthly kingdoms come quickly, visibly and through force, but not the Kingdom of God, it grows slowly, secretly and quietly – like a seed buried in the ground. And so be patient with yourself, and be patient with the people you’re investing in! Because the truth is, each one of us is a mix of good soil, thorns and rocks. And we need to know that God is still working on our thorny, rocky places. In fact, in the Gospel of John Jesus compares God to a gardener that prunes those places in us that need to bear more fruit. But pruning takes time, and only God has the knowledge, competency and skill to do it. And so be patient.

And so here’s what I’d like to leave you with this morning. The point of today’s parable isn’t primarily to convince us be good. It’s to help us understand that God is good. And it’s also a parable about a miraculous yield! Remember, the parable ends by reminding us that God knows what He’s doing – that all this sowing will reap a hundredfold – and of that we can be certain. After all, the Christian Gospel is not about many seeds being sown but about One Seed in particular – about One Seed in particular that embodied the fullness of God’s love and was buried beneath the earth only to be raised that first Easter morning – which is our guarantee of just how fond God is of us all. Black/white, rich/poor, young/old, sober/addicted, popular/alone, thorns/rocks – none of that matters – God is reckless with his love. Be reckless with yours, too. Sow love everywhere. It will not return to you empty. God is good, and He is so very fond of you.

in the image of (a Triune) God

TO LISTEN:
http://traffic.libsyn.com/johnnewton/trinity.mp3

“So God created humankind in His image, in the image of God he created them.”


I want to begin by introducing myself. My name is John Newton, and I currently serve as the Bishop’s Canon for Lifelong Christian Formation. It is really great to be with you this morning at Trinity Church on Trinity Sunday to preach a sermon on … drumroll … the Trinity. As John Wesley once said, “bring me the worm that can comprehend a man, and I’ll show you the man that can comprehend the Trinity.” Perhaps no Christian doctrine is more intellectually challenging than the Trinity. And so now that we’re clear that I don’t understand the subject matter, let’s dive in.


What I admire the most about kids is their questioning nature, because once they learn the word why they can’t really seem to unlearn it. “Time to go to bed. Why? Because I said so. Why? Because I’m in charge. Why?” Of course, those are all small why questions, but eventually we get to the big ones. Why are we here? Why did God create us? Why were we made? After all, those big why questions are built into our D.N.A.


I’ll never forget the first hopeless answer I ever got to that question. It was my first semester of college, and we had to read a British Philosopher by the name of Bertrand Russell, who got famous for his response to the big why question. “Man,” He said, “is nothing but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms.” Why are we here? We’re here because of a molecular accident. A hopeless answer to the why question indeed.


But then again, most people throughout history have given such an answer. In fact, if you had been born in the ancient near east around 1200 BC, just before the Book of Genesis was written, your world would have been an incredibly hopeless one. There were many gods, or so it was believed, and they all were at war. And so as a kid, you probably asked your parents why the gods created you. After all, there’s not a kid in the world that doesn’t ask that question. But every answer had a similar hopelessness. We were created because the gods were bored; because they were lonely; because the gods were lazy and needed free labor. In other words, if you were born in the ancient near east, there was no why.


Well, it was into this horribly hopeless world that these words were first recorded. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth and saw that it was good.” And then the kicker – “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them.” In other words, what we have in today’s reading from Genesis is an answer to that big why question that revolutionized this world. Why are we here? Why did God create us? Why were we made? We were created to reveal God. We were created to reflect God. We were created to image God.


You see contrary to the polytheistic beliefs of its time – where many gods existed that were all jockeying for power – the Bible reveals a supra-personal, loving God – a God that has three distinct personalities on the one hand, and yet at the same time is too unified to be more than one. And of course, I’m talking about the Trinity – that doctrine that says that the God we worship is a perfect community of love. And what our reading from Genesis reveals is that it was this Triune God that created both us and our world. As Genesis 1:1 tells us, “God created,” which we attribute to the work of the Father. And in verse two, the Spirit of God hovers over the waters, which is same language the Gospels use to talk about the Holy Spirit hovering over the water at Jesus’ baptism. And finally, Genesis 1:3 tells us that God creates by speaking His Word. Creation is not something that God thinks into existence. No, God speaks His word. And of course in the Gospel of John we learn that this “Word” is expressed fully in the person of Jesus Christ. And so it’s important to see that from the outset of our sacred story, we find one God existing in a relationship that is harmoniously intact and perfect.


We were not created because God is bored. We were not created because God is lazy. We are not a molecular accident. No, you and I exist because at the heart of all reality is this wonderful and dynamic life that we call the Trinity, and that because this God is generous and kind and good, He decided to create us to be what Karl Barth called, “a parable of His own life.” We were created to reveal, reflect and image God.


But here’s the catch – because God is a perfect community, we simply cannot reflect God alone. Because if God is a perfect community, and we were created to image this God, that means that the doctrine of the Trinity is not just an intellectual challenge – it’s an ethical one. Because to the extent that we grasp that the very thing that holds up this universe is a perfect community of love, we’re going to be challenged to be more thoughtful about how we relate to other people. After all, we were created for perfect, intact, and harmonious relationships – with God, and with each other.


And course that’s what the second chapter of Genesis is all about. Adam and Eve were both naked, but not ashamed – which apparently means that the Garden of Eden was the first nudist colony. The point being made is that both Adam and Eve were totally exposed and known. No masks. No hiding. No lies. They were in perfect communion with each other.


But at the same time, Adam and Eve were in perfect communion with God. After all, what the Bible suggests is that God was in the garden with both of them the entire time. In fact, a rabbinic tradition taught that every evening God and Adam would take a walk together. And I can only imagine they talked about how beautiful Eve was and about how great it was to be with her. And as for Eve, I bet she felt really safe and loved and cherished – not used or taken for granted – but appreciated and admired for who she was because she knew that she was seen for who she was. That is, after all, what Eden represents – perfect, intact, and harmonious relationships.

Now, I know what you could be thinking. “I’m not sure what world you’re living in, but the world you just described, that’s not the real one!” And you’re right, it’s not. Unless it is.


You see in today’s Gospel Jesus gives his disciples the Great Commission. “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” What I’d like to suggest this morning is that the Great Commission has two meanings, and what I’d like to do is say a word about the interpretation you probably haven’t heard. You see that Greek word translated baptize – it doesn’t just mean to immerse in water. It also means to overwhelm. And that Greek word translated “Name,” – that’s not just a baptismal formula, because in the Bible, to do anything in someone’s name means to do it with their character – to do it with their spirit. Do you see how that changes our view of mission? “Go and make disciples of all nations overwhelming them with the character of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. That is our mission as a church – to overwhelm the world with loving character of this Triune God so that the world is irresistibly drawn to follow Jesus as their Lord.


The Book of Genesis revolutionized our world with its answer to the big why question. The question I leave us with this morning is has it revolutionized our lives? Because the world we live in – the people we work with, spend time with and live with – they are so desperate for a hopeful answer to the big why question. And what I would like to suggest today is that the most compelling answer to that question has little to do with what we say and much more to do with how we live. The Trinity is far more of an ethical challenge than it is an intellectual one. When we jockey for power and position, when we run around with a mask, when we use criticism or sarcasm or lies to shield people from seeing us for who we are, we are not imaging the Trinity. It’s when we form deep, vulnerable, and non-violent relationships; it’s when we invest in someone we don’t know; it’s when we stop seeking to live self-sufficient lives; those are the moments when we reflect God most clearly, the moments that make it possible to overwhelm the world with God’s love.


At the center of all reality is a perfect, intact and harmonious relationship. We were made to both experience and reflect that relationship to each other and to the creation in a way that is overwhelming. That is the reason we are here. And so here’s my question. Are harmonious relationships at the center of our lives and if not … why?