"Do You Want to Be Made Well?" A Reflection by the Pool of Beth-Zatha

Preached at Trinity Episcopal Church, Iowa City on May 1, 2016

Gospel text: John 5:1-9

When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?

               Take a moment to imagine the turmoil of this man at the pool of Beth-zatha. Everyday this man crawls toward the pool that has the power to heal him, only to be blocked, day after day, week after week, year after year. For 38 years this man crawled toward the pool, only to be pushed aside before he could touch the water that promised new life, living in torment. Every day, he hoped and believed that something would happen, that he would make it. That he would be healed.  

            Then Jesus enters the scene and asks, “Do you want to be made well?” The man vents to Jesus. Of course he wants to be made well. His whole life has been consumed by this one task. Each day he works his way toward new life, and each day he is thwarted. There appears to be no release, no end to this suffering. But Jesus sets him free. Jesus allows him to move on. No longer condemned to this endless loop of crawling toward this pool, of being pushed aside and having to start all over again, this man is free to start a new life. He can walk away from where he had been and begin life again. His life was transformed by the power of Christ.

            Many of us fall into the trap of thinking that this man’s burden, this man’s struggle was being unable to walk. He couldn’t do it before Jesus came on the scene and he could after Jesus talked with him. I think it is a very able bodied way of thinking, one that assumes that there is a correct type of body and an incorrect one. And I’m not convinced that there is a right or wrong type of body, but there are certainly societal expectations and condemnations attached to each type. This man appears to be condemned by his society for inhabiting his body. He either doesn’t have any family or friends, or he isn’t connected to them. Because he doesn’t have anyone to help him, he has been living this life, crawling toward a pool that he believes contains everything he needs, only to be pushed aside by those who are connected, those who have resources, those who have people who accept them. If he can reach it, he gains resources, not least of which is the ability to walk and gain better means of supporting himself. Without the use of his legs, he will continue to be pushed aside, with the use of his legs, he has a means to support and take care of himself. He has a better place in this world.

            His world is much like our own. We think of some bodies as inherently better than others. We give them deference and honor. White able bodied cis men are given the most deference and honor. They have the “right” body, the archetypical body that all others are compared to. But is there a right body, or are there just more societally acceptable bodies? Does Jesus heal his legs to give him the right body, or does Jesus heal his legs to help him leave a place of torment and find new and better ways of interacting with the world? I believe this is the way that Jesus truly sets him free.

            Jesus finds this man, in a sea of people trying to reach this pool, a large crowd that has the ability to constantly push this man back to his starting point, Jesus sees him. Jesus calls out to him. Jesus sets him free. His societal condemnation, his disconnectedness, his isolation was recognized, and Jesus brings him a new hope and a new sense of connection. Feelings of condemnation are turned into joy and suddenly there is someone who actually sees and cares about him. He has been given a new life.

            Friends, every day our society puts people into situations similar to this man. Those who hit hard times, but have connections tend to do okay. Those without resources feel condemned to live lives of relative isolation and condemnation. A person moves to a city trying to build better life and instead finds themselves alone and homeless. Another finds that illness has stripped them of their connections as healthcare both depletes them of time and money. Someone comes out to their family and friends, only to find themselves losing them all.

            And we are called to notice. We are called to care. But in doing so, we need to ask ourselves what our definition of wellness is. What does it mean to be made whole? What does resurrection look like in the face of crucifixion? These are the questions that keep me engaged with the Gospel. This is the challenge of the Christian life.

            Within the challenge, we aren’t called to get it all right. I don’t know what wellness or wholeness looks like in every situation. I’m not always sure what resurrection means. But I know when I have felt resurrection power. I have felt resurrection power learning more about my beautifully diverse trans community, fighting alongside others for things that many take for granted, like being able to go to the bathroom when you need to, and being able to find a job. It’s in community gatherings and Facebook communities where people can ask questions and support each other throughout their journeys, coming together to help people pay for surgeries, answering questions about shots and pills, and it’s also in accepting that some people need gender affirming medical help and others don’t. We come together as community and we share with each other and we allow ourselves to grow, asking each other, “How can I help you feel well and whole? What does wellness look like for you?”

            I find resurrection power in being able to help people grow into allies, supporting each other and learning from one another. One of my favorite people who is still learning how to be an ally is my friend Jerry. Jerry is a navy veteran, and went to get his Master of Theology degree after retirement. For the first two years of my Master’s program, Jerry was a consistent presence in my life. After hearing that I was transgender, he told me that he supported me and was always curious about how things were going in my life. I had come out as transgender my last semester of undergrad and went directly to seminary, so it was an interesting journey for all of us. He was curious about my experiences as I began taking testosterone after my first semester and he paid more attention to news about people in the Trans community.  Our usual conversations went something like this: Jerry would come up to me while I was studying or after chapel and would say, “I have been thinking about you recently” and then ask a question that was either off the wall or slightly inappropriate. One time he very seriously told me about a story he had heard about a man who had become a woman in his 70’s. (His words, not mine), and asked, “Why would he do that? Couldn’t he just be him?” And I had to tell Jerry, “Maybe for the first time, she was just being herself.” And I thought of the torment, the anxiety, the fear, that comes with trying to live day after day, month after month, year after year, as someone you aren’t comfortable being. Of hearing the wrong pronouns, of dreaming of wearing certain clothing, but feeling too afraid. And this woman broke free from the fear and embraced herself after over 70 years. I can see Jesus walking up to her as she inched toward that pool of wholeness every day only to be pushed back by others or herself, and finally she hears the question, “Do you want to be made well?”  And she is granted permission to be herself, to strip off the mask of manhood and embrace the person inside. She found herself transformed into her truest self.

 Friends, Christ has the power to transform us all. We can all become whole people, living examples of resurrection power. Christ transformed my life by allowing me to come out as a transgender person, finding wholeness through this life changing journey. Christ transformed Jerry through his curiosity and willingness to learn about different ways of being human in this world.  Christ transformed the man at the well’s life by allowing him to step away from his daily struggle, from the all-consuming journey toward a pool he could not get to, releasing him from his burden.  How is Christ transforming you? What resurrection stories do you have to tell to the world? How is Christ using resurrection power through this community, bringing transformation to the world?

Let us pray: Christ, you have called us to not only be a community that follows you, but to be people who take your body into our body, to become wholly yours, people who are made well and transformed by your resurrection power. Lord, help us to see where resurrection needs to happen in our lives and in the world. Call us into the places of crucifixion.  And give us your strength to step through those burdens and struggles, those fears and real persecutions that hold us back from wholeness into new life. Amen. 

An Invitation to Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday is the odd child of Holy Week. We have washed feet, retold the story of the institution of the Eucharist, followed Jesus into the Garden of Gethsemane, heard the cries of "Crucify Him!" and marked with silence his death on the cross. And then we walk away, with Jesus in the tomb.

We don't really know what to do with this day, this in-between time after Good Friday and before we celebrate the resurrection. Many of us fill the gap day by jumping the gun on Easter, having egg hunts and parties. At the parish, the building is alive in the scurry of preparation. Everything is cleaned and polished, and what feels like millions of lilies descend upon the place in great anticipation of what is to come. Nobody tries to think about a dead body in a borrowed tomb, because we know the rest of the story.

Holy Saturday mimics the day after a funeral, when everybody is still in town, but nobody knows quite what to do with themselves. The pain of death is still fresh, and the air of loss permeates all that you do. There is an empty space, both in the heart, and in the physical space. Their chair is empty, their favorite mug goes unused. You want to do something and you want to do nothing at the same time. There is no established routine to help you through it.  It's hard to let it be.

But I think that discomfort, that sense of emptiness and loss is an important part of Holy Week. Year after year we are reminded of that disconnect, that gap when Jesus was in a tomb and the world had crucified the greatest gift it had ever been given. It is a time to grieve for the world, who is in so much pain and turmoil. It is a time to feel the loss of lives to violence and apathy. It is hard to sit with it. You want to do something and nothing at the same time. There appears to be nothing to help you through it and it's hard to just let it be, to let yourself actually feel it. You'd rather skip to the resurrection, to celebrating life, but I think there is power in being able to sit with death. It cannot harm you, it has been conquered, but it can change you.

Maybe sitting with Christ's death, you will find a new focus for your life. Maybe you will discover your apathy melting away and a call to new ministry and new life in Christ, ready to battle those things which cause so much death in the world. I invite you to take your time, to not rush through the tomb to get to the resurrection. Let it be. Invite it to shape you.

A blessed Holy Saturday to you and yours.

Ashes at the Pizza Place: Breaking Bread

Breaking Bread is a ministry that always surprises me. It began as a conversation about how my friend does beer & hymns and the possibilities of doing church in a bar. The image I had of my friend's ministry somehow being morphed into a ministry of The Episcopal Diocese of Iowa never happened. Our first location didn't allow music and I don't think we will ever have a set up like my friend has in Atlanta. She has a praise team and a bar that regularly hosts local bands. We have a small group of people who want to experience community and communion outside of church walls.

In our first gathering, we found that the reason we were there had nothing to do with trying to be edgy or provocative. We were there because there were people who needed to connect, both with each other, and with Jesus. We provided that space, that place for community in a location that didn't have a steeple and pews. Most of those who gather for Breaking Bread have a church home, some don't. All are looking for Jesus to be revealed in new ways, and sometimes a location change helps.

And last night we gathered in a cramped room at a small pizza place. A place of significance, as Chef D has his own feeding ministry, feeding those who are homeless and in need, inspired by his own faith in Christ. Twenty-two people contemplating that they are dust. There were a couple of older people, a small band of college students, and a larger group of adults with young children. Looking for connection. Seeking Christ in new ways. Interspersed in the Ash Wednesday liturgy was talking and eating, taking care of little ones and getting drink refills.  It wasn't a quiet service, but it was a holy service. When some staff came to receive ashes, I knew why we were there. When a young child handed communion bread to her friend as they played on the floor, I knew why we were there. We were there to find the sacred in the everyday, the extraordinary in the mundane. And as we asked Christ to open our eyes, I saw glimpses of the kingdom. It came simply in the breaking of the bread and the prayers.

Advent with the VA

We have entered an "in sickness" time of our marriage and are working toward new health. Jamie went into the VA early the Monday morning after Christ the King Sunday. My Advent began with what has become my new regular routine, going to work, taking care of the animals, trying to keep the house in order, and visiting Jamie at the VA. He went in because his meds weren't working anymore and his depression and PTSD were getting too hard to handle.He has begun the process of rebirth as we wait for a new birth of the Messiah into our lives and the world.

Jamie has begun an 8 week inpatient program to help him with his struggle. Most nights you can find me at the VA with him, playing cards and talking with the guys. My Advent experience is changed by his journey. And as I sit at the VA, with veterans who are both brave and broken, strong and weak, working through those things which hold them back in the world, I find the call of the Prince of Peace. My soul becomes reckless with the call for peace. The words of the hymn, "Comfort, Comfort Ye My People" ring out in my soul:

"Comfort, comfort ye My people,
Speak ye peace, thus saith our God;
Comfort those who sit in darkness,
Mourning ’neath their sorrow’s load;
Speak ye to Jerusalem
Of the peace that waits for them;
Tell her that her sins I cover,
And her warfare now is over."

And I wonder when our warfare with each other will end. Because you can't leave the VA without feeling 

both profoundly honored to be with those who risked their lives for their country and profoundly 

saddened that many are still at war, not in another country, but in their very beings. Their life paths have 

been forever altered by the actions of our government. They carry new diagnoses and conditions because of 

where they were sent and what they did. And I wonder how we speak peace to the veteran's soul? What is the

best way to comfort these, God's people, mourning 'neath their sorrow's load? When is their warfare over?

The next time those in the government call for war, I invite you into the halls of the VA.
Watch, listen. Ask if we have to go to war or if there is another way.

And hear God's call, "Comfort, Comfort Ye My People."

The Spirit of Pentecost

Sermon Preached at Church of the Incarnation, Atlanta
Texts:
Ezekiel 37:1-4
Acts 2:1-21
John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15

In today’s world, I wonder if Pentecost needs a new interpretation.  It is easy to get swept up in the beautiful imagery, of tongues of fire landing on the disciples’ heads’, of people hearing the Gospel message in their own native language, but I think it gets harder when we try to interpret what it means for us today, how it can change our lives.

            The disciples’ experiences are such a holy mystery to me. They were all together, fifty days after the Passover, after the death and resurrection of Christ, celebrating a small religious festival when suddenly there was the sound of a great violent wind, like a tornado, and it filled their entire house. All of a sudden flames appeared above their heads. They were filled with the Holy Spirit and were speaking languages they had never spoken before in their lives.

            They went outside, and a large crowd gathered around them, Jews from all nations, and the Gospel was shared with them in their own language. I imagine that it was a chaotic scene, each disciple speaking at the same time, yet every person in the crowd heard their own language, and heard the message that was being shared. It was a prophetic moment. It was a moment when the Spirit broke into human existence, human life, and shared the truth of this world that is truer than our existence. It spoke of the existence of the mysterious triune God and the Christ who was both scandalously human and divine.

            Can you imagine if that were to happen today? Can you imagine if this entire building was suddenly filled with the sound of gale force winds, flames danced upon everyone’s heads, and everybody began speaking the multitude of languages found in Atlanta? What would you say? What would you think? I can’t fault the people who thought the disciples were drunk. There would be no earthly explanation for what was happening.

            This radical demonstration of the Holy Spirit would change the world as we knew it. It certainly changed the world in the disciples’ time. Yet we would be at fault if we did not think that displays of the Holy Spirit do not happen today. What once came with wind and flame to the apostles has been passed onto us as children of God. This is the Spirit of truth, of prophecy. It has the power to completely reconfigure our lives. When we feel like we are a pile of dry bones, it can speak sinews and flesh into our lives. It can call out “Live!” and bring us life. It is the Spirit that can take fishermen from Galilee and change the course of human history. It is the Spirit that took a persecutor and turned him into the greatest evangelist the world has ever known. It is the Spirit that called out to the saints, turning ordinary humans into extraordinary examples of faithful living.

            This is the Spirit that calls to us today. The Spirit that calls us to prophesy. It calls us to listen to what God is saying to our lives, listening in our hearts to the voice of the divine. It calls us to a relationship so deep that it completely changes who we are and transforms our community. It changes how we see the world, not as a world that can be explained solely through scientific fact, through economics and human nature, but as a world that is wholly God’s, something made by God to flourish and live. It calls us to declare that because God cared so much to send a Messiah, we must care so much that we dare to see the call of this Messiah in every living being. It invites us to see visions and dream dreams of a new and better world, a heavenly kingdom, a New Jerusalem. It challenges a world that sees others as less than, seeking rather to respect the dignity of every human being. We are called to come out of the selfish nature of our lives into the selfless nature of Christ, not by lowering self-esteem, but by building us up into holy people, people who can speak the truth of God’s love into the world. We are called not just to be good people, but to be holy people, people who live in deep relationship with the divine, who can feel the tongues of flame upon our own heads.

            So who are you called to speak to? What are you called to in your own life? What is this community called to be? These are the questions the Spirit leads us into. They are answered in visions and dreams and longings for something new. The desire for difference, for change and growth, is the beginning of what can become the rushing winds of our own lives. It can lead us into greater study, greater prayer, greater visions and dreams. Slowly our dry bones can grow flesh as we find our relationship linked to this amazing Spirit. We can find it within prayer and prophecy, silence and deep conversation. As we begin to dream and vision what we are called to do and be, we can feel the Spirit rush in, speaking life into our flesh and lives. We can go out in confidence knowing that the Spirit has called us and is leading the way. It is leading us to inhabit those things that have been our deepest longings.

This Spirit comes today to completely change the history of the world. It comes to us, not in wind and fire, but bread and wine. It comes in and radically alters simple food into something holy. It comes to nourish and sustain us, to lead us in the way that is truth and life. Let it come and bring a vision into your being. Let yourself be taken over, allowing yourself to be transformed week after week, Eucharist after Eucharist, by these Spirit infused elements into a person, into a community that is fully alive, in tune with the divine, living out your call in this world. Let us come to the table today seeking this Spirit given to us at Pentecost.

Searching for Easter in Baltimore and Nepal

Two major events have occurred almost simultaneously over the past week. Thousands have been injured or died in Nepal as the result of earthquakes and in Baltimore, thousands have risen in protest against a police force that can take a black man into custody and then mysteriously sever his spine and cause his death. In the midst of questions surrounding the senseless deaths of people of color, one can only wonder where Christ is in the midst of all this.

These events can only be seen as crucifixion events, Good Fridays, in my mind. This does not make the victims Christ, but rather is a recognition that Christ is in these events alongside those who suffer, suffering with them. When Freddie Gray died, when countless other individuals died under suspicious circumstances at the hands of the authorities that were supposed to protect them, Christ was alongside them, crucified. When natural disaster occur and death tolls rise, Christ is alongside them, crucified.

But we know that crucifixion does not have the last say. We know that after the destruction and the horror, after the senseless death and betrayal of trust, after the crucifixion and death of even a Savior, life can be reborn. Resurrection can come. Things can be made new.

But what does that look like? How can we find it in the events of this week? What does it mean to believe in the power of Easter today?

I believe it means learning how to mourn and grieve as a worldwide community. It means mourning humans who were lost when structures collapsed. These structures are both literal buildings and structures of government that were supposed to protect and serve. It means allowing a space for profound grieving, a space where we can feel the full weight of loss. We often want to leave Good Friday and dive directly into Easter, but we all need space for mourning and grief. Jesus didn't rise the next day, and we need not jump immediately to rebuilding and renewal. Sometimes we just need time to cry. Funerals and protests, burials and responses to loss are part of what it means to be an Easter people.

I believe it means looking through and beyond looting and riots. It means looking at the underlying reasons for protest and working for just resolution. It means rebuilding structures in a way that provides strength against the forces of nature and providing aid to those who feel the deepest loss.  Governments can change. Accountability can happen. Nations can be strengthened. Grief can be transformed into renewal of spirit. It is not easy. In fact, it's completely unnatural. Without God, without a Savior that has overcome death, we could never overcome these losses. But we have a force that is stronger than anything that the world could throw its way. It is the force of divine love working to transform all things, a force that can face death and resurrect life.

As we mourn, as we protest, let us also lift up our voices to the God who has resurrection power. For through God, our Good Fridays can become Easters.

To those who say, "I don't really trust organized religion. It's done a lot of bad things"

Last night I heard this phrase again. "I don't really trust organized religion. It's done a lot of bad things." And I listened to a clergy person talk about fundamentalism, which while relevant to the issue, didn't really address it. Because it wasn't just fundamentalism that this person was critiquing.  This person was addressing religion as a universal concept. And the comment didn't come from someone who had a lot of personal experience with fundamentalist traditions, this came from somebody raised Episcopalian.

This comment is similar to many comments that I've heard recently, critiques of religion and more specifically of the Church, as many who I hear this from are nominal or former Christians or have mostly interacted with Christians. If you are one of these people, this letter is for you.

Dear Person who feels the pain of religious institutions,

I get it. I really do. People have hurt many in the name of religion. There were the crusades, holy wars, bickering, and battles all done over religious matters. And now today we have groups of terrorists claiming a form of Islam as their reason for destruction. In the United States, people are dying from religion in subtler ways. Children are being kicked out of religious homes for being LGBTQ. Several teenagers have recently committed suicide because their parents refused to believe that God makes some people transgender. People have died and are dying because of religious matters and organized religion.

I can't sugar coat what has happened or what is happening and I can't make it all feel okay. There is pain around the edges of every religious tradition, organization, and institution. I feel it, I see it. I know that not everything's okay.

But I have seen the power for good that comes from organized religion. I have seen groups mobilize to save lives, I have seen the hungry fed and the naked clothed. I have witnessed transformations that are remarkable. Most of them aren't big and flashy, they don't often make the headline news, though sometimes they do. But most importantly they happen. Look around you.  Look at what the institutions in your town or city are doing for those around them. It may not be much, but it's happening. When those small efforts are combined with other people's efforts, amazing things happen. Many religious people are absolutely committed to changing the world, one person, one social issue at a time. Sometimes they are Martin Luther King Jr. and sometimes they are Joy, who works at a clothing closet for the homeless. They work diligently, insisting on affirming the dignity of every human life.

With the ability to do great good comes the ability to do great evil. You see both in any organized religion. When evil things happen they can be incredibly painful. When good things happen, there is truly hope for the reformation of the world. People begin to be able to open their imaginations to all the possibilities of what the world could look like. There is inspiration that can only be divinely given. Lives are given over to divinity that is greater than anything imaginable and people begin to work to transform this world from the inside out.

Institutional and organized religion help people imagine and live out a divinely given communal identity. They are grand experiments, workshops for people to learn how to frame their lives around the identity the divine calls us to. Sometimes the people in these experimental communities falter. Sometimes these communities wrap around ideas that close them off from people they are called to care for. Sometimes they work.  Enough of these communities have transformed enough lives that they continue to flourish and crop up in new places and have done so for thousands of years. There is something in these traditions and organized religions that make them important and valuable for those who practice them. These things have not changed generation after generation.

The organized religion that I practice, Christianity, is a deep part of who I am as a person. I am learning how to live in a way that is community focused, self giving, and yet full of life. It shapes how I act and how I think. It is a deep part of my identity as a person. I know I do not need to be a Christian in order to be a good person, and I am not Christian because I think it will give me an advantage in the afterlife.  What Christianity offers that keeps me going week after week is a relationship with God, who is both relational and wholly other. This is a God who became human so that we might be closer to the divine.  This is a God who sees all the faults of the world, all our problems, all the pain, and yet still calls humanity good and seeks to help us become the people we are meant to be. This is a God who triumphs over death and seeks to love those who cause the deepest pains. I would be willing to die for God because God was willing to die for me.

I am a part of the experimental community called the Church. This has taught me about my identity, cultivated it within me, and communally comes together to support each other as we try to live out this identity. The Church is a community that not only seeks to learn about God, but to learn how we are to be in relationship with one another as Christians and with the rest of the world. We are learning how to shape our relational lives together in a way that mirrors how God relates to us. We ask God to help us not fail in our tasks to live as Christian communities. And some communities fail miserably. Sometimes communities wound. But some communities really do come closer to the heart of the Christian faith and the areas around them are transformed. The divine begins to touch all of the humanity in those regions and affirms that they are indeed God's own creation, beloved and good.

I affirm that a lot of bad has been done in the name of religion, but I also invite you to also look into all the good that has been done in the name of religion. I also invite you to be open to those whose lives have been transformed by their faith. You don't have to follow their religion, but allow yourself to be inspired by their faith journeys. Some of them are truly incredible. Organized religion has done a lot of bad things, but it has also done a lot of good. I hope you are able to open yourself up to see that balance.

Thank you for your critical eye, for not taking things at face value. Thank you for questioning motives and holding religious people accountable for their actions. I appreciate your sentiments and I respect them.

Sincerely,
Zeb