15 July 2018 – 8th Sunday after Pentecost

At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of good news in today’s readings. Between prophets foretelling the death of kings and kings killing prophets, there seems to be mostly a message of prophetic death. However, between the Psalmist’s faithful response to God’s faithful presence and love, and our Epistle’s passionate reminder of God’s eternal passionate longing for relationship with all of humankind, there is hope to be found even in the darkness of ill fated kings and beheaded prophets.

For those who may not already know, a plumb line is a heavy conical weight suspended at the end of a string. Utilized in construction, it uses gravity to measure the straightness of a wall. Used metaphorically in our first reading, it judges the straightness—or more pointed to its use in Amos, the crookedness—of human character and action. Used in this sense, the selfishness of the indolent rich, including king Jeroboam, is measured against God’s teachings and intentions for humankind to live in relational cooperation, love, and service. As described by our Psalmist, the one who listens to God’s word recognizes God in the other, recognizes the value of relationships, and seeks opportunities to serve, to love, and to build up God’s kingdom—to bring it to life in the world around themselves by loving as God loves. Those Amos finds himself prophesying against are those who, quite to the contrary, close in on themselves, walling themselves off from others for their own personal and selfish gain, dealing dishonestly with others, ignoring the needs of those around them and hoarding God’s abundance to themselves. In this way, what the plumb line demonstrates is the self-destructive behaviors, which distain relationship in favor of selfish ambition and which systematically alienate, isolate, and cut one off from extended relationships of care that sustain the self and the whole community.

Our Epistle from Ephesians today echoes the Psalmist’s sentiment. Here we are reminded that God’s intention for all of humankind is to bless us as God’s own children. Since even before the foundations of the world, the writer passionately insists, God chose us—every human person—to be in relationship with us and through us; to bring God’s passionate and eternal love to life in the world through each of us who has been blessed with the task of loving as God loves. This is the love that Christ testified to in his life, teachings, and ministry. It is a courageous, prodigal, radical love, given to the world as the living embodiment of God’s love. Learning from Christ, we are called back to living as God created us to live—just as did Christ— living freely as embodiments of God’s love; as Christ’s hands and heart in this world.

Our Gospel from today picks up where last week’s gospel left off. Christ had endured the unbelief of his hometown as a prophet powerless to effect change in the hearts of those who merely saw him as a carpenter’s son. He had sent out his disciples with the reminder to love freely and without resentment for those who did not receive them. Their only testimony against those who failed to be moved by God’s love was to be shaking the dust off of their feet as they departed.

Following on the theme of prophets’ reception from last week’s gospel and from Amos’ reception at the hand of the king in today’s first reading, this week’s gospel describes John the Baptist’s reception at the hand of King Herod.

Clearly intrigued by John’s words, Herod is said to have respected and feared John as a prophet, giving him protection despite his lack of popularity amongst the rest of the royal house. Ultimately, however, Herod is perplexed by John’s words. He has made a rich life of luxury and power, and he is accustomed to taking what he wants. As with King Jeroboam and the rich of Israel from our first reading, so too Herod has made a life for himself out of hoarding God’s abundance and trading God’s life-sustaining love for selfish ambition that has cut him off from God and from the recognition of his kinship to all those on whose fallen bodies he stands. Enclosed behind walls of his own making, he cannot see that he has cut himself off and alienated himself from the relationships of love and care that make a human human. From the prison of his own selfishness and greed, he cannot begin to understand what it means to live as an agent of God’s love. He simply cannot live as humans were intended to live—as God’s children. And thus John the Baptist dies. Just another fallen body under Herod’s feet, beheaded as a mere token of appreciation for a pleasant dance. Yet John’s words continue haunting Herod, who had so little humanity left in his heart that love itself was a perplexing and foreign notion—haunted him so much that when word of Christ’s embodiment of God’s love reached him, he was certain that it was John, who had been raised from the dead. It would be just another couple years before Christ himself would fulfill Herod’s greatest fear—the fear of a love so powerful and incorruptible that it was unconquerable even by death itself.

This is the love that was commended to us by Jesus before his death and resurrection, and which we are called on to carry into the world as we love God’s kingdom into the here and now of our lives. It is a preference toward relationship, community, and the loving service of the other that values and loves neighbor and self equally. It is the love and compassion that reaches out with the abundance of God’s kingdom to offer healing to the sick and infirm, food to the hungry, companionship to the lonely, estranged, and outcast, clothing to the naked, and extends the love of Christ to the world beyond our own selfish needs, ambitions, and intentions. In our real, everyday lives it is the moments in which we step outside of ourselves and risk encountering the need of the world surrounding us with Christ’s eyes—not with the unrealistic expectation that we can cure the ails of the world, but with the compassion simply to make what difference we can, even if it’s no more than recognizing the dignity of a fellow human being who has lost everything by meeting their eyes with compassion.

For many of us, these past ten weeks have been an amazing experience of drawing together even more closely as a community. In this smaller space and its unique challenges as a shared space with so many other parish activities, we have had to rely on one another even more than usual. We have also had to occupy seats next to each other, rather than having most of a pew to ourselves, or even several rows between us. It’s been an exercise in becoming even stronger as we voice our vulnerabilities, voice our needs to one another, and work together to meet those needs. Were there a prophetic voice at the outset of this process, it might have been a calling to reexamine who we are as a worshipping community, that we might find God in one another through the closeness that we would share in this more intimate and very different space. For me, it has been an experience I’ll never forget, and one I hope each of you will look back on fondly as we move forward together back into our larger worship space with it’s beautiful new roof.

What I hope we can take back with us other than fond memories are some of the practices that have brought us together in this smaller space. I’d love for the closeness that has surprised and blessed us over these past weeks to continue as we continue to find our strength perfected in mutuality, care for one another, and vulnerability. Together we are a community that has incredible strength. How we use that strength to shine God’s love beyond this gathering has already made a tremendous difference in Santa Cruz.

The Good News of this morning’s Gospel is perhaps most poignantly in the reminder that even those who brush off God’s love in distain may yet be changed by encountering God’s love in us. Herod’s example is certainly not one of transformation. But the haunting encounter with God’s love in the person of John the Baptist was one that left a permanent impression on his heart.

May it be our prayer to be so changed by encountering God’s love that we find ourselves willing to risk coming out from behind our walls to live our lives as a testament to the intriguing, perplexing, passionate and eternal love of God. Freely, courageously, prodigally, and heedless of the consequences.

Amen.