Whom Shall We Care For?
Esther and Mark 9:38-50
St. Michael and All Angels
September 27, 2009
The Revd Sue Joiner

One of the gifts of the lectionary is that it places texts in our hands that we would ordinarily ignore and says, “do something with this.” While I don’t like to admit it, I know how easy it is to be a pick-and-choose Christian. We take to heart the texts we like: Jesus blessing the children, feeding the 5,000, healing a young girl, and comparing the kingdom to a mustard seed… We hear those stories and we are comforted, satisfied, and at times, relieved to be part of a tradition rich with hope and promise.

      At the same time, it is easy to ignore the ones that we find threatening or offensive. Today’s gospel lesson fits the “threatening” category. It is certainly not the text we would use to tell others about the joy of the Christian faith. Even the folks who take the Bible literally have found a way around Jesus telling us to cut off the body parts that cause us to stumble. Really, how many of us would have tongues if we had to cut them out every time our words hurt someone? If this passage were taken literally, our sanctuaries would be full of people without arms, legs, feet, eyes, and tongues.

      Rather than avoid this embarrassing text, Barbara Brown Taylor digs in to these harsh words: “Jesus is trying to impress upon [the disciples] the importance of their actions. Following him is no casual thing. It is life or death that is about to get very dangerous for everyone involved—not only because of what others may do to them, but because of what they may do to themselves by failing to take themselves seriously enough. As disciples, they have no time off…everything they do has consequences… They have power they do not even know about. This passage is both a threat and a promise. The disciples are full of unrealized power and Jesus is begging them to wake up and use it wisely.” (Bread of Angels, p. 116)

      The disciples aren’t the only ones with unrealized power. Esther is a young girl who suddenly finds herself risking her own life to save her people. Few of us will ever find our faith calling us to risk our life, but whether we are married to a king or living a simple, quiet life in Albuquerque, our actions impact others in ways well beyond our ability to imagine. 

      Frankly, I read these two texts and I want to spiritualize them, to soften them. But these are not feel-good stories. They are asking us to confront our own capacity to help or harm others. There is a clear message that “All day long we are doing eternally important things without knowing it. All through the day we inadvertently speak words that enter people’s lives and change them in minor or major ways, and we never know it.” (Eugene Peterson, Reversed Thunder)

      There is the question about how our words and actions impact the world, but underneath that is the invitation to look inward and draw on the depths of our own hearts. Before Esther risked her life, she fasted for three days and invited the entire Jewish community to fast with her. Our lives as people of faith are grounded in our relationship with God and the fruits of that relationship are seen in our care for others. I really believe that Esther’s courage grew out of that inner preparation. Rather than be overwhelmed by the needs in the world and ask “why me? Isn’t there someone else?” we can stop and listen to what we hear God saying. We can invite others to listen with us. Jesus chose twelve disciples and when he sent them out, he sent them in pairs. Christian community is more than something we do through weekly worship – it is the essence of who we are and it sustains us to do the hard work of faith. Together as a community of faith we listen for God’s call to serve and together we are nourished to feed those who are hungry, create housing for those who have no place to go, and make sure that health care is available to all.

      The apostle Paul was very clear in his language, “if one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” (I Corinthians 12:26) That is the gift of the Christian faith. We are all in this together. It is what makes us who we are. It is through us that God’s kingdom is realized. It is through our actions that lives are healed and people are made whole. 

      Marian Wright Edelman, founder of the Children’s Defense Fund, was awarded the Turquoise Chalice award by the New Mexico Conference of Churches Friday evening. She is an unfailing advocate for children. She publicly challenges the systems and structures in this country that perpetuate the suffering of children. The statistics about how America ranks among industrialized countries are staggering:

      •    1st in gross domestic product

      •    1st in number of billionaires in the world

      •    1st in number of persons incarcerated

      •    1st in defense expenditures

      •    Last in protecting children against gun violence

      •    In NM, we spend 4.7 times more on each prisoner than we do on each public school student.


      I came home and opened her book The Sea is So Wide and My Boat is So Small: Charting a Course for the Next Generation. Some months ago I read the chapter “A Letter to Faith Leaders”. I returned to the chapter and guess how it begins? “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones… it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea.” (Matthew 18:6) When I read that chapter months ago, I skimmed right over that part. I wonder how often we avoid the hard words of faith. 

      Marian Wright Edelman asks “What’s wrong with our children?” Her answer is “Adults are what’s wrong with our children.” 

      Yesterday’s paper included the front page headline: “State, APS Feud Over Graduation Rates: Each blames the other for numbers mix-up.” The entire article was State Education Secretary and APS Superintended expressing their righteous indignation that the other messed up. It is full of “it’s not my fault” and nowhere in their comments was there mention of the people who make up that percentage of drop outs – whatever it may be. I think Edelman is right… adults are what’s wrong with our children. Young people are not completing school and they need our help. 

      Jesus is clear in his call to care for the “little ones” in our world. The little ones are not someone else’s responsibility, they are ours. We are invited into a life of great freedom when we choose to follow Jesus, but along with that freedom comes great responsibility. Marian Wright Edelman boldly speaks out for children. Her life mission is to alleviate children’s suffering. Two things strike me about this powerful woman: she has not tried to do this alone – she has created organizations that include many in her mission. She travels around the country and calls everyone (not just a few select people) to join her. The second thing is that she is a woman of faith. Her books are filled with alarming statistics of children’s suffering and they are also filled with prayers as she calls on our faith to make the world a safe, healthy place for children.

      Marian is an ordinary woman who has done extraordinary things. She offers us a powerful example of discipleship as she engages in community and opens herself to hear God’s voice. Then she puts her prayers into action by living out God’s word in the world, and ministering to the smallest and most powerless.

      We have power we cannot imagine. We may not be married to a king, we may not have national name recognition, and we may not be asked to put our life on the line, but we are asked to live our faith every day. We are called to be disciples wherever we are, whether it is convenient or not, whether we feel like it or not. This life of discipleship is sustained by a life of prayer lived out in community. 

      We are called to be disciples all the time and to trust that our words, our actions, our lives – all of who we are – matters. 


______________________________

Barbara Brown Taylor. Bread of Angels. Cowley Publications, Boston, 1997.

Eugene H. Peterson. Reversed Thunder: The Revelation of John & the Praying Imagination. Harper & Row, San Francisco, 1988. 

Marian Wright Edelman. The Sea is So Wide and My Boat is So Small: Charting a Course for the Next Generation. Hyperion. New York, 2008.


“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

– Marianne Williamson

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church   
Sunday September 20, 2009 Proper 20 B 
Preacher: Christopher McLaren 
Text: Mark 9:30-37
Theme: Opening the Circle 


I once saw a bumper sticker that proclaimed, “God does have a plan for your life and it is very, very difficult.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be comforted by that or afraid? Jesus seems to know that there is a plan or trajectory to his life. He speaks openly about his coming betrayal and death and enigmatically about his rising again for the second time in this gospel. His disciples are struck silent, afraid to ask any questions. They are not like the children in my life who seem willing and able to ask the most penetrating and difficult questions with relative ease.  At the same time it is interesting how we adults protect ourselves from seeming ignorant or uninformed by losing the voice of curiosity. 

While the disciples are fearfully silent about Jesus’ strange speech, they evidently had no problem arguing openly about their status and pecking order in the group.  Seizing this teachable moment Jesus calls the twelve to him and in characteristic fashion sits down to offer a rabbinic teaching. The task of wisdom is to know the right time to tell a story. Jesus delivers a wisdom speech steeped in paradox. "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Desire is still at its center, “whoever wants to be first,” is not eliminated, but it is desire transformed by God’s upside down hilarious ways.  

When I read this passage, I have a fantasy about our Christian community and in fact all Christian communities.  I wonder what life of the church would be like if we were engaged in a seriously playful competition to outdo one another in acts of service? What if we embraced the crazy competitive nature of our world in this entirely unorthodox way? What if competition did not mean winners and losers but who could actually pull-off the most surprising act of kindness? Who could listen the most deeply to another’s pain? Who could show up first with a meal when a loved one went into the hospital? Who could find the most joy in teaching children about the love of God in creative and connective ways?  Who could sneak 12 cases of Tuna into the food pantry over the weekend without anyone else knowing? What if in doing so we discovered that or normal ways of keeping score, our social competitiveness, our economic superiority, our tendency to run from deep service was actually keeping us from understanding the gracious presence of God in our lives? 

Jesus teaching does not end with this paradoxical wisdom. It continues with an enacted parable. Jesus places a child in the center of the circle of disciples, picks them up and continues his teaching. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” One could easily make this passage into an extended meditation about hospitality toward children. While I do believe that there is literally a blessing from God for all who work with and care for children, the symbolic action of the parable suggests something more to us. 

Childhood in the ancient world was a very different reality than how we moderns think of it.  There were no chore lists, popsicles in the freezer, play dates, and Saturday soccer outings. Children were held in low-esteem in the Greco-Roman world and considered the lowliest, least and in fact were the servants of all.  Understanding this background the parable and in fact this passage opens up in an unexpected way.  The child placed at the center of the teaching circle becomes symbolic of anyone in need of help, of anyone on the outside of the circle, those on the margins, the powerless, the invisible, the untouchable, the at risk, the vulnerable, the fragile, or the easily exploited.  

In Galilee, a symbol for the place from which Jesus calls us to follow, Jesus’ answers to the question of greatness by placing the most vulnerable of human beings at center of the conversation. The picture is one of the circle of disciples being broken and reformed around one from the margins.  Is this what it means to be the servant of all? To be willing to put someone who is outside the circle into the center? To allow our community to become permeable to the vulnerable? 

This parabolic action of Jesus suddenly becomes very challenging and interesting. Servanthood is not always about scrubbing toilets or taking care of the sick though is certainly can and does mean those things. Becoming a servant of all could mean inviting whatever or whoever we are tempted to try to keep on the margins into the center of the conversation. 

Consider the current national conversation about healthcare. When we as one of the most powerful and prosperous nations admit to ourselves and to the world that 45 million of our citizens lack adequate healthcare and begin to place them at the center our national conversation becomes very interesting.  It is a fascinating attempt to serve the least, those on the outside of the circle and of course it is quite messy. As Christians we struggle to keep the moral issue of caring for every person’s bodily health at the center of the conversation.  This is a teachable moment and a difficult one at that. What does it mean to say as people of faith called to respect the dignity of every human being that healthcare is important for every person in our society no matter what their social or economic status not because they deserve it or are entitled to it but simply because they are children of God? Sometimes the only way to become open to this kind of servanthood is to listen to the stories for whom this debate really matters and you don’t look far. You can find these stories here in this place of worship. The business person who let their health coverage lapse in the midst of this economic crisis and now cannot get accepted again because of something in their medical history.

Perhaps the action of moving something from the margins to the center is a more personal form of servanthood for you. What is it that you are tempted to leave outside the circle of your life, to push away from you, forcing it out of view?  Is there something that you know needs to be brought into the center of the conversation of your life that is hurting you or others? Is there someplace that you know you are stiff-arming God? Servanthood may mean taking a hard look at your life?  It may mean admitting that the demands of your career, the hours you are working are slowing killing you and your family? It may be admitting that you have unhealthy ways of living that are putting you at risk? It could be the uncomfortable realization that you are enabling another’s addiction and have been for a long time? It could be that you become aware of others around you that want to belong to this community but somehow after months or years of being in the church still do not feel at home? It might mean coming clean to the fact that you’ve lost control of your schedule, gotten stuck in one of your old ruts, or really just lost track of your own priorities or calling? Perhaps what really gets pushed to the margins of your life is time to listen and pray and really discern where God is leading you, urging you into joyful service? 

This spiritual task of listening to your life of becoming attentive to one’s fears, to those things outside the circle calls to mind a poem by Wendell Berry that seems to fit today’s text. So I want to invite you to get quiet for a moment. Close your eyes and listen to this call to Sabbath servanthood. 

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

- Wendell Berry


I’m still not sure that God actually has a plan for you life that is very, very difficult. What I do know is that Jesus wants you to be the greatest but it is a rather peculiar and at times difficult path toward that goal. You must be willing to look outside your own comfortable circle and haul some unusual characters into the center. You are called to believe that among the most vulnerable God is waiting to be discovered.  You may need to do some circle busting of your own to haul your own issues into the center so God can really get to you, to heal your soul. In the end what is important is hearing the song of servanthood, that you can just hear whispering through the trees and swirling around the chalice and paten on this holy table. And once you’ve heard it, to being to sing it, no matter how halting your first notes may be. 

Parish Life Sunday
Sept. 13, 2009
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Today we celebrate Parish Life Sunday. You’ll find doors all over the campus today, as we open the door of our heart to God, to one another, and to the world around us. 

Today we will be looking at our shared ministries from 3 different points of view. The first is what we actually do in ministry; to learn about this, we’re inviting you to stroll around to the various exhibits outside and in the parish hall. The second is the space that is needed to house these burgeoning ministries; Steve Shelly will talk to you about that a little later. The third point of view is how we fund these ministries through your pledges; this is what I’ll be addressing in this sermon. 

Usually when we address money, we talk about spiritual reasons for giving. God gives us everything we have, and so giving to others is simply giving back a portion of what we have received. We point to scriptures such as today’s gospel, where Jesus reminds us that in self-sacrifice, we find our true meaning. We talk about how God created us to be generous to others, and how we are most fulfilled when we give. 

Now all of this is still true and at the heart of things, but this year I would like to take a different approach. I want to talk about pledging from a purely practical standpoint. Some of you will be relieved, saying “well, finally!” Others will wish that you had heard a more “spiritual” sermon when you came to church today. To you, I’d like to challenge your idea of what is “spiritual.” If money is needed to provide spiritual resources, how could talking about that money be unspiritual? 

I will begin with what is funded by your pledge. Then I will address why it is important that you pledge. And finally, I will recommend a way of thinking about how much to pledge. I would like to ask you to consider what I have to say prayerfully, so that when you pick up your pledge card today or wait until it comes in the mail this week, you keep these things in mind as you respond.  

So first, what is funded by your pledge? Everything that happens here. We do not have an outside source of income. All our income comes from you. $700,000 a year: that’s an average of $2,000 per household. 

60% of your pledge pays for the salaries and benefits of 10 people, half of them part-time. Christopher, Jan, Kathryn, Kate, Randy, Ken, Darby, Ellen, Julie, and me – these paid staff members support everything we do: worship, preaching and music, copying bulletins, pastoral counseling, bookkeeping, cleaning the floors, calling together meetings, giving food to hungry neighbors. 

Nothing we do here would happen without staff support. Behind every youth group meeting, potluck, retreat, and hospital visit are 10 people working very hard, 5, 6, sometimes 7 days a week, making sure it happens well. That’s what over half of your pledge goes towards. 

The remaining 40% of your pays for everything else: the utilities and maintenance, support to the diocese, all outreach and education programs, worship supplies, printing and mailing, computers and telephones. Obviously these things are essential, too. 

So that is what gets funded here. Secondly, I want to talk about why it is important for you to pledge. To do this, I’d like to address some of the practical reasons I have heard, over the years, for not making a formal pledge. 

Some say that they can’t pledge because they don’t know how much money they are going to make next year; they are reluctant to make a commitment. So they give spontaneously, whenever and in whatever amount they can at the time. We certainly appreciate whatever anyone gives to us, but the result of a spontaneous approach is that we cannot make a commitment to people we employ, to programs like Godly Play, or to supplies. Here’s what is important to understand: we don’t put anything in the budget that we don’t have the committed pledges to support, including staff positions. 

So if you are unsure of next year’s income, and many of you are, make an estimate and pledge according to that. Have a little faith. Risk a little. If you turn out to have estimated high, all it takes is a phone call to reduce your pledge. There is no shame in that. No one is going to point the bony finger at you and say that you have failed to live up to your commitment. Circumstances change, and we all understand that. On the other hand, if you make more money than you estimated, you can also raise your pledge with a simple phone call. 

Some say that they are unable to pledge because their income is so low: the amount they could pledge would be inconsequential, or they would be embarrassed by such a low number. Believe me, every dollar helps us plan for next year. Your pledge will pay for something important: candles or coffee or a mailing to members. And remember the story of the widow’s mite. The woman who joyfully and humbly gave a small amount out of her poverty was considered by Jesus to be generous, and blessed by God. 

Others say that they only come on Sundays when all the music and preaching is already happening whether they pledge or not. They don’t really want to take part in all the other things that pledging supports. But I would estimate that at least ¼ of our overall budget, directly or indirectly, is what it takes to do Sunday mornings. That’s about $500 per household per year. 

Still others say that they will pledge, just not right away. They need more time to think about it. They continue to think about it all fall, after two letters, announcements, and two phone calls to their house. As a parish, we seem to have gotten into the habit of taking about 5 months to conclude our pledge drive every year. Sometimes I think “wouldn’t it be wonderful if every year, everyone made a decision within a month, so that the Vestry and clergy could spend their time in the fall talking about developing ministry instead of worrying whether we will have to cut existing staff and program?” 

So I’ve talked about what gets funded by your pledge and why it is important to pledge. Finally, I want to talk about how much to pledge, offering you one approach. 

One traditional method for determining how much to give to others is the tithe, 10% of one’s income. Many of you believe strongly in this biblical principle. For others, this either seems exorbitantly high, or they question whether in modern times the 10% number means what it used to - what with taxes and whatnot. 

To me, the important principle about the tithe is not the specific number. It is that we think realistically about whether we are spending amounts of money for various things in proportion to how important they are to us. Until we look at percentages, we may never realize that while we say that charity and church are very important to us, we actually spend more on lunches out or clothing or other things that may be less important to us. 

So I recommend you not just come up with a number that seems reasonable in the moment, like you might for a donation to this or that charity. Instead, sit down with your spouse or your partner or your cat, and write down your total income. Divide what you spend into categories – housing, food, entertainment, childcare, etc. Calculate what percentage of your income you are spending for each. 

Then ask yourself whether the percentage you are spending for each category accurately reflects how important it is to you. When you think about the category of St. Michael’s, consider a percentage that would be consistent with how you feel about your faith community in relation to other things in your life. If the percentage you want to give is impossible, back it down point by point until you get to a number that is manageable, including a little risk, and then try to increase it a little bit each year until you reach your goal. 

You’ve been patient with me as I’ve gone through all this. But we can’t be naïve, pretending that everything here will just happen magically on faith and spirituality, without discussing the practicalities. Like any household, we need to be open and concrete, educating one another about finances. 

This is a very generous parish community. Many of you joyfully give a great deal of time and money so that we can do some beautiful things here that deeply affect people’s lives. We are a village that shines with the goodness of God, and this is a rarity in our world. I am grateful to be a part of such a generous and light-filled village, going through life together. I intend to pledge a proportion of my income in the next month as a way of expressing my gratitude. Won’t you join me? 

Sept. 6, 2009
Healing our prejudice
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

In the last few days I took a quick trip to Louisville to visit my younger son, who is there for a few weeks. During our visit we decided to check out the Muhammad Ali Center, a museum that showcases the city’s most famous son. It covered his boxing career, his vocal opposition to racism and the Vietnam War, his conversion to Islam, his struggle with Parkinson’s Disease, and his charitable work. 

What struck me was the way in which this museum served as a monument to healing from prejudice – the prejudice of one man and the prejudice of a city. For here we were, in a city that once had one of the largest slave markets in the South, that now enthusiastically celebrated a draft-resisting, militant black Muslim. Amazing. 

As for Muhammad Ali, he started as an arrogant young man who openly bragged about his affairs and how all his women were submissive to him. And as one who was on the receiving end of a lifetime of bigotry, he was angry, once calling all whites “blue-eyed devils.” 

But his conversion to Islam eventually humbled him, and it introduced him to people of good will all around the world. Like Malcolm X, he began to realize that all people, female and male, all races and creeds, are God’s children and every one of them is worthy of respect. The angry fighter became an ambassador for world peace. And then, after he was further softened by Parkinson’s Disease, he became an empathetic advocate for others who suffer, the poor and the abandoned. 

Both the city of Louisville and Muhammad Ali had been through a transformation. Both were healed of their prejudices. 

This is the theme of both of our readings from the New Testament today. In the Epistle, James puts it bluntly: If a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and [dishonor the poor] have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?

Every honest clergy and most lay leaders in the church squirm when we hear these words. For during coffee hour, really, how do we usually respond to a well-put-together person who tells us that they are a doctor or a lawyer or a University professor? We eagerly introduce them to others, and we all hope they will become a real resource to our community. 

And how do we respond when a poor person in dirty clothes person walks in? Do we even talk to them? Do we see them as a potential asset to our community? James reminds us of how much we miss when we ignore them: God [has] chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him. Because of our prejudice, we are blind to the treasure of faith that they offer us. 

The gospel reading is also about prejudice. I’m probably going to surprise you here, but I think that this story is about Jesus being healed of his prejudice. 

Now I believe that Jesus was and is fully divine; otherwise he could not have done many of the things I believe he really did: heal the sick, walk on water, multiply loaves and fishes, or, as in today’s gospel, cast out the demons of a little girl,  from a distance, no less! Jesus was fully divine. 

But we often minimize or completely deny the ways in which Jesus was fully human, too. And if he was fully human, then he had to have evolved in his moral development, just as we do. He couldn’t have sprung complete from the womb, with no need for normal human development. Jesus was a man of his time, sharing many of the cultural views and limitations of his upbringing. These come out in today’s story when a Gentile woman approaches Jesus, begging him to heal her daughter. 

At first, Jesus says cruel words, words that express his culture’s male-dominated, anti-Gentile prejudices: It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs. But courageously, she comes right back at him: Yes, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs. 

By these words, she apparently stops Jesus right in his tracks, because something remarkable then happens. Jesus evolves. In this moment he grows, as he sees himself; he recognizes the limitations he grew up with. He no longer views this woman as an object; he sees her suffering, her humanity, and he empathizes with her. He relents, and heals the daughter. So to our great surprise, not only is it a story about the healing of a Gentile girl. It is a story about the healing of Jesus. 

Well, if the early church - who had lived with Jesus and still had the recent memory of Jesus’ bodily resurrection - were prejudiced against poor people in their community; if Jesus himself was initially prejudiced against Gentiles and women, surely we have our prejudices too. And surely we are also in need of healing from them. 

Prejudice begins in the individual heart, when we make assumptions about others based upon the group that we think they are a part of. We attribute the worst possible characteristics to them that we think their group shares. Making them an object, a thing, we dehumanize them. We justify all of this because we know we are right about the other, even if we don’t even know them. Prejudice leads to indifference, hatred, polarization, injustice, and war. 

What makes healing from prejudice possible? First of all, it begins when we admit that we are, like everyone else, prejudiced. I admit that I am prejudiced against people I think of as empty-headed consumers. I see them passively consuming whatever is marketed to them – new car payments and huge mortgages on cheap, ugly houses, clothes they don’t need, and copious amounts of unhealthy food. I see them consuming countless hours in front of the television and digital devices. I see them naively consuming distorted information fed to them by news media; consuming even blind patriotism and self-serving religion.  

When I see people in a restaurant or airport that I think are like this,  I can just feel the alienation and contempt rising up in me. I am prejudiced. 

But admitting our prejudices doesn’t, by itself, heal us of them. We must actually get to know the other as a human being. When we listen to their story and we hear especially the pain they suffer, we empathize. They become three-dimensional, a human being who is, we often realize, doing the best they can. 

This is what happens when a person like Muhammad Ali gets out into the world, or a city like Louisville finally integrates and blacks and whites stop seeing one another as manifestations of one another’s fear. They learn to empathize. 

This is what happens when we take the time to talk to a poor visitor with just as much interest as we would a successful one. We find out that they are, in fact, treasures to us.

This is what happened to Jesus when he saw the courage and the suffering in the Gentile woman’s eyes that day. He gained respect and empathy for her as a child of God. 

And it is what happens whenever I actually have a conversation with one of those supposedly empty-headed consumers. I just might hear a surprising story, if I listen for it, a story of selflessness, faith, and intelligence, of pain and creativity. They become human, and a bit of my prejudice is healed. 

Now this doesn’t mean that all forms of judgment are wrong, that all people should be appreciated and affirmed no matter what they do. God gave us the ability and the responsibility to judge people’s actions. That’s what morals and ethics are for. I will probably always judge actions of empty-headed consumerism. 

What God does not give us license to do is to judge another by what we assume about them, attributing to an individual the worst characteristics that we imagine are typical of the group we think they belong to. That’s prejudice, and we all do it. 

When we notice our contempt rising up within us, when we notice ourselves ignoring others because we think they have nothing to offer us, it is a spiritual opportunity to stop, to be stopped, as Jesus was that day. Stopped in our tracks, taking a deep breath, we can open our minds, cross the divide, and find out who the other really is. 

Today we offer anointing for healing, as we do several times a year when we have a healing story in the gospel. During communion, some of you will come to one of the clergy, asking God for healing for yourselves. During the Prayers of the People, all of us will ask for healing for others. Our need for healing is probably something that troubles us – a physical illness, anxiety, depression, or a painful circumstance. 

But today, with our New Testament readings still hanging in the air, we can also pray for healing of our prejudices, that God might help us see the assumptions we carry about others, that God might place in our paths the very people we hold in contempt, so that we might come to know them. 

And as we are healed of our own prejudices, we can then be a part of God’s healing of this divided world. Let us pray. 

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: 
Look with compassion on the whole human family; 
take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; 
break down the walls that separate us; 
unite us in bonds of love; 
and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; 
that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony 
around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.