Chris Yaw

When my friend Ed was 11 years old he decided to climb out his bedroom window with his cousin and sit on the roof.

Arriving home, his mother and aunt pulled up in the front driveway, gazed up at the roof, and saw their two sons happily perched on the steep incline, nearly two stories above the concrete driveway.

"Jacob, you get back into the house immediately!" Shouted Ed's aunt, as his embarrassed cousin scampered toward the open window, "Jacob, you could fall off that roof and break your neck in a heartbeat! What's gotten into your head?"

That left Ed sitting alone on the roof as his mother looked up at him. He waved to her and then she asked nonchalantly, "Ed, where's your coat?"

Of course I could have just told you that my friends' mother had a parenting style that encouraged independence and maturity, but chances are you will remember that lesson much better after hearing this story.

In Sunday's gospel Jesus declares that he always told important lessons to his followers through parables, through stories.

Human beings are narrative creatures, meaning makers, who look for patterns and get through life by imitation.

Of course, the most important stories are the ones we tell ourselves.

Psychologists say we're not very good at this. Many of us endure excessive stress because we tell ourselves we're not smart enough, good looking enough, talented enough, or rich enough, etc which leads to stories that add to our discontent.

One of the fruits of the gospel is that it gives us much healthier, authentic, and more life-giving stories.

Jesus tells us that we are light, we are salt, we are chosen, and we are adored. Our narrative is not one of defeat, condemnation, and damnation, but of abundance, caregiving, and provision.

Our challenge, is to make God's story our story, to chase away that untruthful and false self-talk and work toward a more authentic depiction of our story as a people who live in God.

Coming out of covid, we have a rare opportunity to make ourselves different, to live more fully into our authentic selves, as defined by the God of courage and love, not out of the fears and haunting frailties told us by our lesser angels.

How might we choose this day, this week, this summer, to talk to ourselves more kindly and more truthfully, as we move to see ourselves as God sees us?

How can we help long-time felons get paroled?

This was the question a group of law students recently asked before forming an organization dedicated to helping inmates gain their freedom.

Apparently there are a lot of inmates eligible for parole, but time and again they fail to get past parole boards because of inadequate preparation and poor interviewing skills. So this group of students arranged to coach eligible inmates during the weeks preceding their parole board interviews.

But the students kept running into the same problem: time and again inmates refused to admit guilt or take real responsibility for their crimes. The students couldn’t understand that even in the face of overwhelming evidence of guilt, pride and years of telling themselves the same dubious story of Innocence had made it pretty much impossible for the inmates to change. And sympathetic parole boards, wanting simply to hear contrition and remorse, never did. So the next parole meeting was set for 5 years down the road and inmates were returned to their cells.

It was Friedrich Nietzsche who said, "People don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed."

I wonder how often I buy into this.

On Sunday we will hear Jesus talk about something similar. The topic is hell - and C.S. Lewis famously described it as a place we’d rather stay in than give up our illusions.

But this is what the truth of the Gospel asks us to do.

When I look at my stubborn beliefs and behaviors I can't help but wonder how much is illusion I’ve cultivated to make me feel safe, comfortable, and at peace. I wonder how much is really a prison that I desperately want to leave, but only if the change isn’t too painful.

Admitting fault, owning mistakes, apologizing, and facing the music are things we all have trouble doing. And while they are often at the heart of what keeps us locked up, they are also the key to opening our prison doors.

How is Jesus calling us to greater honesty and transparent self-evaluation?

If the truth may hurt for a little while but a lie hurts forever, how are we being called to rip off the band-aid and embrace the freedom Jesus wants for us - and we want for ourselves?

I heard something tragic the other day.

My friend's husband, who battled drug addiction, had begun using again. Unwilling to pay closer attention, my friend came home from work one day and found him dead on the floor from an overdose.

The trauma sent her over the edge. So she went out and got rip-roaring drunk. Driving home with her young daughter, she got into a wreck - and killed her only child.

What can be said in the face of something so horrific?

Why does stuff like this happen?

How do we answer the eventual question: where was God?

We don’t have to live long on this earth to hear about, or even experience, tragedies like this. They happen all the time. They're part of the human experience.

How does a God who created such beauty as we find in nature, music, and the human soul also create or permit unfathomable horror, violence and just plain evil? As we know there are many theories and no one agrees on just one.

But what this Sunday, Trinity Sunday, does, is give us insight into the nature of God and help us endure tragedies like this.

When Christians say God is ’Trinity’ - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - they do so as proverbial blind men feeling different parts of the elephant: while a complete picture is not possible, we can make a couple of solid observations.

God as Father means God is powerful, it reminds us that God created everything and understands everything even when we don’t.

God as Son shows God has empathy for the human condition. God is not unaware or faraway, but comes down from heaven to endure tragedy with us.

And God as Holy Spirit tells us that God wants to be with us at all times - to comfort, inspire, guide, and protect.

While I’ll never now why my friend - or anyone else - has to face tragedies - what I do know is that my loss to understand doesn’t negate my ability to comprehend at least some things: that God understands, God cares, and God is present with us.

We endure tragedies better when we understand that God is not part of the problem but part of the solution.

My friend has has great success with Alcoholics Anonymous.

After he discovered his drinking problem he tried quitting on his own, he tried different therapies and read several books, but it wasn't until he joined AA that he saw his life turn around - it was the education, the discipline, and especially the community that clicked with him, and he was finally able to stay away from drinking like he wanted to do, he staying sober for years, living the good life he wanted to live.

Then COVID hit.

And his AA meetings were canceled or moved online, which was not an ideal substitute.

Slowly, he began drinking again. Not a lot, not enough for anyone to notice, and not enough to make him think he needed to return to AA now that COVID is receding and his group is starting in-person meetings again.

So he called me last week and asked me if he should return.

I told him he should consider three things.

First, does he feel as good as he used to when he was a committed member, or just 75% as good?

Second, does he think that he has licked his problem completely, and there's no chance it will resurface?

And third, because this is an important part of AA, does he feel a need to pay it forward? By his absence, will someone coming to the group, newly struggling with alcoholism, need someone like him to be there for him like the group was for him? Are there others in the community who are struggling with alcohol, and if everyone decided to no longer attend meetings, would the community be better without Alcoholics Anonymous?

This Sunday is Pentecost.

It's recognized as the birthday of the church, at a time when COVID-weary believers are asking questions about returning to their congregations. After all, we've been doing without for more than a year, and we've survived!

So why church?

Churches help us address the broken parts of our lives - like a mirror, they can help us see ourselves and the world more clearly. Thanks to the sacraments, teaching, and fellowship they also help us keep on the straight and narrow - we build strong friendships with people like us, who are committed to following the ways of Jesus.

And churches also help us, help others, with spiritual, physical, even practical needs. Churches become vital parts of their communities that are much less without groups of good people doing good things, that churches tend to be.

Sure, by the grace of God many of us have done okay through COVID, And the temptation to continue living as independently is strong. But let's not forget why God has called us to come together - and what good we can do as a community for others, and for ourselves.

Let's not settle for 75% - for being less hopeful, less encouraging, less forgiving, less patient, less kind, less loving, and less giving than we could be - as individuals, as a community, and as a world.

Pentecost is about making the world a better place - and how you and I help.

My friend finally found the perfect place to build his dream house.

It's a quiet, serene, piece of land that overlooks a beautiful lake. The problem is that it's near a floodplain. So his insurance agent told him that he could build the house - but if there was ever a flood, he would not be covered.

Not wanting to see his dream thwarted, my friend called another insurance agent, then another, then another. He finally found an agent that would give him the proper coverage. And it was with this confidence that he went out, built his gorgeous house, and saw his dream come true.

This Sunday we meet Jesus as he prays for his disciples. He reminds them of how he watched over them, how he guarded them, and how he now prays for their protection.

Why does he do this?

Because you and I have dreams and plans that we’re scared to pursue - and need to know that God’s protection is more comprehensive than any insurance policy.

God's dream is for you and me to go out into the world and do bold things. And in our fear, we need the assurance of God’s presence and protection.

Do we know how important this is?

You know, there's something only you can hear, only you can see, and only you can do. Yet we’re scared to speak up, go out, and act on it.

So we need the assurance that, as we pursue the life we are meant to live, as we take chances, as we take risks, God has us covered.

What’s holding you back?

Why aren’t we jumping up, jumping out, or jumping in?

May that Holy Spirit of comfort - and power - come and do a new work in us.

It's been said that the purpose of parenting is to raise functional adults who are able to care for themselves, preferably by the age of 18.

The goal is to love them, provide for them, teach them good values, be an example for them, support them, and to show them how to be parents themselves. Of course we want them to be happy, fulfilled, and important contributors to the healing and prosperity of the world as well.

A bonus would be to have them as friends.

As our heavenly parent, God is trying to do all these things for you and me: teach, instruct, prepare, love, and support - as well as help us be happy and fulfilled.

The bonus is that God wants us to be friends.

As we approach Mother's Day, this weekend, this pinnacle celebration of parenthood, we hear Jesus talk about this in John 15.

And once again we are overcome with the depth of God's love as someone who is not simply interested in raising functional children, but who deeply desires our friendship.

This is the character of God.

This is how God made us.

This is how loved we are.

So how do we pay it forward?

How do we love not just out of command or commitment, but out of the genuine affection God has for us?

See you Sunday.

A dear friend recently gave me a big box of assorted chocolates.

I opened them up and offered them to the children. My daughter pointed to a square covered in dark chocolate drizzled with a white swirl and said, "What's inside that one dad?" I said, "I don't know."

She then pointed to a rectangular, darker chocolate piece with sprinkles on top and asked, "What's inside that one?" I said, "I have no idea.”

She then pointed to the shiny, round, milk chocolate dome that stands up above the others and asked, "What's inside that one dad?" Of course, that one I knew, that one is always the chocolate covered cherry.

I often wish my life was like that, that people could see the outside and instantly know what's on the inside.

If that were the case with us all then we would clearly see in one another the kindness, love, and good intentions that most people have and move through the world with. Too many times, of course, we come across much differently.

Getting our outside to match our inside is one of the most important goals of the Christian journey. How do we become more authentically ourselves? How do we let the love, generosity, kindness, and hospitality of God that is in each one of our hearts, become the most obvious thing about us?

We get some insight in Sunday's gospel. We will hear Jesus use that famous analogy about God being the vine and us being the branches - and that our thriving has everything to do with how well connected we are with the vine.

Jesus will use a distinctive Bible word, abide, to communicate the secret to authentic living: the more we abide, marinate in, surround ourselves with, make a bigger part of our lives, the words and teachings of Jesus, the more we will thrive and grow and change. We will bear fruit. And that fruit is love, kindness, forgiveness, encouragement, self-control, this kind of thing.

Yes, when these kinds of things become our most obvious traits then our outside matches our inside - and people can see us for who we really are.

Forget martyrdom, even sainthood, perhaps we’d all be better off trying to be chocolate covered cherries.

On Tuesday our nation breathed a collective sigh of relief as the jurors in the Derek Chavin case confirmed what we suspected: that the death of George Floyd, a black man, at the hands of Chauvin, a white former cop, was indeed as egregious and as illegal as we thought it was.

There were cheers and signs of elation as thousands of blacks and others applauded this all too rare affirmation of justice in a case, that in years past and in all too many courtrooms, would not have yielded the same verdict.

Theologian Theodore Parker famously said that the great moral arc of the universe bends towards justice, reminding us that the road toward a more equitable, just, therefore peaceful society, is a very long one.

That the George Floyd case now means justice in particular will yield justice in general, is a conclusion none of us are reaching. What we are seeing is that our efforts, by speaking up, by speaking out, by standing up to unjust and inequitable laws and treatment, can yield fruit.

It also means the reckoning must continue.

Mr. Floyd’s death affirmed to privileged white men like me that the time is long past when I can look the other way or pretend we white men don’t see the systemic racism that benefits us. We must work to change systems. We must yield our privilege. We must, as Jesus commanded us, love our neighbors.

The work cannot end until people of color can live freely and peacefully with no fear of the bias of racist law enforcement.

This week’s hearing comes on the heels of a racial audit of our beloved Episcopal Church’s leadership. Here we learn that our majority-white denomination has a long way to go. The report makes recommendations for steps we can take to help our church get better - like advocating for justice when we see injustice, looking carefully at our lives to see what changes we might make, and being that brave person who objects to a racist joke, speaks out, or intervenes when we see a risk of discrimination or harm.

It was George Floyd's murder that inspired our congregation to take the issue of racial equity more seriously, to read books, to sponsor movies, to hold regular discussions - and I hope you will continue to join us in the work - because none of us changes our mimds on important things very quickly.

So let this week's verdict be a cause for celebration, a cause for inspiration, and something we can look to as progress in a society where so much remains broken, indeed, we cannot breathe fully or easily until we alll can breathe fully and easily.

As our Prayer Book invites us to do, Let us pray.

Grant, O God, that your holy and life-giving Spirit may so move every human heart and especially the hearts of the people of this land, that barriers which divide us may crumble, suspicions disappear, and hatreds cease; that our divisions being healed, we may live in justice and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP 823)

Another week another accidental killing.

At least that’s what the white police officer in Minneapolis would have us believe after she says she mistook her handgun for a Taser before she shot and killed an unarmed black man.

I don’t know how that happens, but I do know what it’s like to make big, regretful mistakes.

I do know that, as police put up barricades around her house in expectation of a vengeful mob that won’t be very forgiving - that officer, now in the throes of the biggest trauma of her life, will have one of the biggest challenges of her life in her quest for forgiveness and making things right.

In this third week of Easter we are going to hear Jesus tell his followers to go out and proclaim forgiveness and hope for a world full of broken police officers like this one.

Jesus knows how you and I grieve and mourn for those we've harmed, and pray for their well-being - and how we, beat up, penalize, and punish ourselves for the mistakes we’ve made.

The good word from Jesus is that pain and suffering is not the end of the story. We can help make things right. We can be forgiven. We can get through this.

By following Jesus, over time, as we embrace the reality of love in us and in God, we can find ways to help those we've harmed, to cope, carry on, and even come to believe that we are lovable - and capable of love - even in light of the big trouble we’ve caused.

This is ‘good news’ because you and I suffer too much from the fallout of our mistakes - aside from the damage we've caused, the people we’ve harmed - we talk cruelly to ourselves, get frustrated, fed up, and get mad at others because we’re mad at ourselves.

Jesus shows us how to give it all to God, to call on that ‘higher power’ - admitting we can’t do it on our own.

And when we do that, we see that we can be forgiven, by God, by ourselves, and maybe even find the courage to say we’re sorry to those we’ve hurt, as we work to fix what we've broken and pray for their forgiveness as well.

So who have we hurt?

How can we make it right?

How can we give it to God?

How can we embrace forgiveness - for others and for ourselves?

If we can’t make things right, we can make things better.

This is our Easter challenge, this is our Easter gift.

I have a friend who lost her son in a firearms accident.

Both her children were looking at a new rifle that one of them had purchased when the gun went off, killing one child, and sending the other child and his parents into an abyss of unimaginable grief.

It was from the cell block of this sadness that she wrote, detailing what had happened and expressing the depth of her family's sadness.

As a byproduct of love, grief is not something we cure, but something with which we cope. And so my words to her were much along these lines, laced with encouragement, hope, and concern, for no one can bring her son back, make the accident go away, or otherwise fix it.

This Sunday you and I will hear the story of one of Jesus's post-resurrection appearances. This one famously stars the apostle Thomas who's best known by his first name, Doubting,

In this story Jesus appears to the apostles, who are hidden behind closed doors, rapt in their own anxiety, pain, and mourning over the crucifixion. And Jesus mysteriously appears to them and tells them, more than once, "Peace be with you."

We notice that Jesus does not then go out and magically vanquish the Romans and their occupation - nor does he rid the land of corrupt religious leaders - Jesus' solution is to simply offer his followers his presence in the midst of brokenness - his presence of peace.

As we you and I experience life's trauma and life's pain, and as we come out of this lengthy, devastating, period of COVID, our prayers may also resemble a yearning for what we've missed, a restoration of what's been taken away.

But we soon realize, things can't be fixed, the clock can't be turned back, we simply have to develop new ways of coping, and at the heart of that is Jesus and the peace he offers by trusting in him.

My friend's son is not coming back, at least to this world anytime soon, but Jesus remains, and in him there is the newness of resurrection, a new way of being in the world, that promises fulfillment of its own.

The irony of trauma, is that these things that most devastate us are the things that most shape us - and more times than not - they make us better people - more understanding, more empathetic, more aware of the fragility, and hence the value, of our lives.

So let us not fear too much for what has been lost, but like Thomas, exclaim. "My Lord and my God," in faith that the resurrected One has plans for us that are needful for the world - and that promise fulfillment of their own.

Every year during Holy Week when we hear the story of Jesus's unjust trial, torture, and death I like to think that could never happen today in America.

But then I think of Matthew 25 and that famous story Jesus told about the sheep and the goats. He sorts out good people from bad people based on how they treated others.

At one point, the condemned ask, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry, lonely, or naked and fail to help you?' And Jesus says, 'Whenever you failed to help somebody, anybody, in that situation, you failed to help me.'

A prison reformer named Henry Brubaker once said that, "The treatment society affords its outcasts reveals the way its members view one another—and themselves."

In other words, when we allow 4,000 people to be homeless in our county, half of whom are children; when we build a health care system that allows the poor and people of color a substandard level of care that increases their suffering and shortens their life span; when we legally kill the incarcerated, we're not just doing this to other people, we're doing this to Jesus.

Friends, how we treat others is how we treat God.

Holy Week isn't just about an unjust killing 2,000 years ago, it's about the George Floyds and Breonna Taylors of today - it's about how we love others as we love ourselves - personally and communally.

The question Holy Week asks of us is, 'How are we treating others?' Is it 'me first?' Or is it 'God first,' which means 'Others first?'

This week, Jesus was put to death in his quest to care about others, how can we go and do likewise?

If Lent 2021 barely made a blip on the radar screen of your daily life, I think I know why.

It’s because we’ve been sitting here in Lent for the past year.

Lent is when we give things up we like in order to suffer like Jesus - so we can strengthen ourselves against temptation, become more resilient, and live a more focused life of service.

But we’ve been giving up things we like all year - and not because we’ve wanted to!

No wonder our stamina is gone and our strength to withstand temptation has been zapped.

So if you’re coming to Holy Week - which starts Sunday - and you feel tired and tapped out - I wonder if we can’t better understand how Jesus felt.

On Sunday we mark the beginning of the end of his life-long journey to wake up a world that’s been hopelessly asleep to God's message of love, compassion, justice, and peace.

Jesus spent three years grooming 12 disciples who still don’t get it. And he's about to run headlong into a crowd that celebrates his grand entrance into Jerusalem one moment, and then calls for his crucifixion the next.

So when Jesus finally arrives at this week, the pinnacle week of his life and ministry, we can understand how tired and spent he is as well.

And what Jesus does is what you and I are attempting to do. We are trying to summon our strength, center ourselves, and trust that just as God met Jesus in his valley, God will meet us in ours.

If holy week is about anything, it's about God's faithfulness. God’s provision. God doesn't forget us. God turns our pain into purpose. And perhaps it's our knowledge of that that can help us get through this.

Chris Yaw

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