A Sacred Gift
Gospel: Matthew 10:40-42
[Jesus continued speaking to the twelve:] 40“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. 41Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; 42and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
Woe & Weight
Matthew 10 begins when Jesus gathers and sends his disciples into the surrounding areas to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. He sent them to do these things as evidence of what he compelled them to proclaim as they went, “The Kingdom of God has come near!”
Jesus charges the disciples to proclaim God’s kingdom, cure, and cleanse — works of mercy that come near when God is close. He warns them it’s not all going to be candy and roses. In fact, the fact that not everyone has ears to hear about what God’s nearness brings doesn’t seem to bother Jesus one bit. They’ll hear or they won’t, but we’ll still do the work set before us.
Then Jesus proclaims woe to the cities who won’t listen for several paragraphs. Then at the end of Chapter 11, he finally offers a vision of God’s nearness for those who need what he brings.
Are you tired of injustice?
Are the powerful bearing down upon very soul?
Come to me if you’re tired or carrying heavy burdens. I will give you rest. Hear my teaching and learn what I have to share about God’s love. God is near to me, so I’m gentle and humble of heart. This makes the burden of my commandments light, and the weight of my teaching easy.
Because this is what God’s nearness is like, following me will give you rest for your soul.
Looking for Rest
Rest for my soul is what I’m looking for. Over the next week and a few days while I’m on vacation, I’m looking forward to time with my family, and time to find my center again.
I knew last week’s congregational meeting was going to be challenging, and I knew it would leave the feelings I heard all week. People disclosed to me that the meeting was hard, heart wrenching, challenging, disappointing, and somewhat hopeful. All those things are true, and because I knew it would all be true and people needed to talk about it, I spent a lot of time talking to people about their experience.
I spoke to those who voted against allowing endowment interest to be used for operating expenses if needed. I spoke to those who voted for it. I called people I knew were upset, and I visited some in their home who I knew were having the hardest time figuring out how to respond faithfully in the face of such a difficult conversation and decision.
I’m here today and not yet on vacation because I knew I need to be here with you today for worship because this is what it means to be the Church: we face hard things together, and we don’t bury our hurt hoping it will just go away.
Maybe the most important lesson I’ve learned in my entire life is that nothing heals when we hide it and ignore it.
For about three weeks recently, I had what I thought was a scrape on my leg that wouldn’t heal. I cleaned the area around it and put a bandage on it, but nothing seemed to do the trick. My dermatologist told me it’s some sort of fungal weirdness, which I assume is a technical term. It would not start healing until I began treating it as directed. It’s a little ugly and embarrassing, but it’s healing. Hurtful moments in the Church are like this too.
It’s the most common mistake we make as human beings; to hide the pain we feel and cause. To be honest, it’s easy to get talked into hiding it. It’s also easy for me to believe my own experience and relative success in ministry makes me an expert in all situations. You know what I hate more than anything most of the time? People who tell me they’re experts.
We confess that we’re captive to Sin and cannot free ourselves aren’t just words on a page, but they’re some of most important words of my faith. They’re the words I speak in prayer when I’m disappointed and embarrassed. They’re words that I speak when I know the best thing I can do is be dead on honest, because there’s really nothing I value more than the truth.
In all sincerity, I’d rather people tell me the absolute truth of what they think about me or my decisions than blow smoke by being polite. I’d rather it be in private, but you know what? Hearing it publicly can provide healing too. I consider the truth a gift of immense worth, especially when it’s about things I said or did.
I’m about to share something challenging, and I need you to bear with me to the end, because we need to speak in the light what we’d rather hide in the dark. Secrecy only breeds shame. Careful honesty brings healing.
The Gift
As I was speaking to people this week, someone gave me a gift as I sat in their house.
They told me in no uncertain terms as plainly as they could that they are still deeply wounded because I acted callously in September 2021. They pointed out how my actions reflected parts of myself and my own shortcomings that I work very hard to overcome through therapy and prayer. They’re still hurt, because it felt like I was correcting in public something that should have been done in private. More, they disclosed to me that it still affects them and their sense of belonging at St. John.
To be really frank, I believe this is now the biggest regret of my life, because I failed to make the true reconciliation that they deserved. I failed to bring them peace, and in so doing, failed to bring peace with myself.
Aside from the fact of it, the biggest regret about it is that I followed advice I felt in my bones was bad from the start. “Let it lie, it will calm down and resolve itself”. This left those I hurt feeling left out and ignored because when we hurt someone, nothing ever resolves itself without sincere attempts for reconciliation rooted in the truth.
I listened to hard truths about how this person feels to this day. I find I’m also grieving the fact that because it’s been so long, it’s become messier, more complicated, more deeply rooted than it would have been if I’d been gentle and humble of heart in the face of my own grave error.
This has been a really messy week from the start of it, and you now know it got messier as it went along.
Energy, but for what?
So now what? What do we do with this?
I speak this here today from the pulpit because I value two things above everything else: integrity in relationships, and speaking the truth as far as we’re able. I value these things more than my reputation, and more than my pride.
Healing cannot happen without directly treating the underlying problem. I share this today because integrity in relationships demands a high degree of accountability. Pastoral ministry demands it even more. One of the reasons congregations have trouble healing from conflicts and disagreements is that pastors very rarely expose themselves to the kind of accountability that’s needed to bring true healing.
I share this today because an opportunity to make a sincere effort in attempt to heal something that’s hurt those of us involved for nearly two years presented itself; because someone courageously told me the truth about their hurt. For their sake and for my own, I can’t let this opportunity pass us by because I’ll regret that even more.
This is my promise today. Whatever I can do to heal this, I will.
Now, also hear this. In order for us to move forward from the hardest conversations we have as a congregation — especially those that feel the most divisive — we have to be willing to be as courageous in our honesty with each other as this person was with me this week.
Jesus said last week that he didn’t come to bring peace, but a sword. His sword is the truth about how the way we treat each other can bring God near, or make God feel infinitely distant. It’s a sword because honesty is hard, and a lot of times it’s really scary.
Someone told me this week that they’re thirsty. I hope this provides them with some cold water so we can move toward reconciliation.
I hope too that in modeling the riskiest form of honesty I can muster, our congregation can begin healing wounds that still need to be treated so we can continue to grow in faith, hope, and love in the name of the one who not only calls us to confess, but also forgive.
As for St. John, I have immense hope that we will move beyond our current issues because of who I know this congregation to be at its core. Whatever hard conversations we have, whatever challenge we face, whatever the topic whether it’s money, ministry, projects, or any other topic, the people in this congregation are always concerned with how our decisions will affect the people here.
People are at the center of our ministry, and at the heart of the decisions we make.
This week, know that the decisions we make an impact much more than we might ever imagine. The same God who calls breath into our lungs calls us into honest relationships that heal the world around and inside us. Amen.