Tag: miracle

Rules are What Make Things Fun?

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Readings here

There was a time, back in the day, when living in Florida came with one very special advantage. At any theme park in the state, from Disney World to Adventure Island, you could get deeply discounted annual passes. When I was a pre-teen, my parents invested in four of these passes, getting unlimited entry for the whole family, to Busch Gardens in Tampa.

One Saturday morning, at the break of day, I woke up to my mom by my bedside, practically bursting at the seams with excitement. She and my dad had decided to surprise my sister and me, by planning a fun day at Busch Gardens.

I’m sure she expected me to cheer: to jump out of bed, give her a hug, and hurry off to get ready. But, as soon as the good news came out of her mouth, I was angry. “Absolutely not!” I responded. I simply couldn’t do it. I had already planned my day. I had written things down in a neat row in my planner. I had thought through my leisure activities: when I would read, scrapbook, and play with my cat. Guidelines for the day had been set, and now they had to be accomplished.

In the words of comedian Amy Poehler: “Rules are what make things fun.” And I lived by that statement.

I regret to tell you that we didn’t go to Busch Gardens that day. In fact, my parents never tried to surprise me again. On that Saturday 25 years ago, meeting expectations was more important to me than a happy surprise. Even good news was bad news, if it meant I had to think outside the box.

On a different Saturday, 2,000 years ago, we encounter another occurrence of expectations conflicting with a happy surprise: A woman is healed. And as soon as it happens, someone is angry about it. Of course, the events of today’s Gospel reading are far more serious than a day at the theme park. But what exactly is happening here? And what does it tell us about human nature, and about Jesus?

First, let’s talk about the setting of the story… Luke tells us: “Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath.”

Sabbath is the Jewish day of rest. It starts at sundown on Friday evening and ends at sundown on Saturday. The word sabbath comes from the Hebrew word, shabbat, which literally means “rest” or “ceasing.” Sabbath is mandated in the Ten Commandments. And, according to the Bible, has been a central part of Jewish life, since the beginning of the world.

Work is not done on shabbat, especially work associated with using your hands. Things like shopping, cooking, cleaning, mending, and plowing are forbidden. And attention is turned to God: in a shared meal, worship, study, and thanksgiving.

Sabbath finds its earliest example in the rest of God after the creation of the world. And it is reemphasized in the context of the Israelites’ flight from Egypt. In Deuteronomy 5, God says: “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the sabbath day.”

So, sabbath is a day for Jewish people to become free from their hectic lives, and from the obligations that distract them, So that they may be brought nearer to the God who created them and freed them from slavery.

The “sabbath” talked about in the Bible is shabbat – it is not the same thing as Sunday worship in a Christian context. Since the first generation of Christians were converts from Judaism, they participated in both Saturday and Sunday religious gatherings, Sabbath on Saturday and “The Lord’s Day” on Sunday. The Lord’s Day was a complement to sabbath study, specifically centered on the resurrection of Jesus. Over time, as more people from other religions converted to Christianity, the Lord’s Day became an official day of rest for Christians, and gradually Christians stopped observing the Jewish sabbath.

But, in our Gospel story today, the important thing to know is that sabbath was a religiously and legally required practice for Jews; It was mandated by God himself. And, mostly, it was a blessing to the community that there were rules and regulations for the sabbath, because it ensured that people could justify walking away from their tasks and focus their attention on God, finding restoration along the way. This is the context in which Jesus gathers with the community and begins to teach.

Luke tells us that, right as Jesus begins speaking, he notices a woman who is suffering from a serious physical condition. Moved with an innate sense of compassion, he immediately shouts to her: “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” Then he touches her, and she stands upright and begins praising God. This miracle, like all of Jesus’ miracles, is astounding. It defies medical expectation and crosses social barriers. Like so many of his healing miracles, it shocks the crowd. And the healed woman immediately recognizes that she is in the presence of God.

But the center of this story is not about a miracle…

We are not encouraged to linger on this happy surprise of hope and healing. Instead, a religious leader immediately interjects, and proclaims that Jesus has made so grave an error that it is an affront to God. The man suggests that when Jesus raised his hands to touch the woman, he was using those hands for labor. Jesus’ action, miracle or not, was just the kind of work that was forbidden on the sabbath day. Jesus has broken the rules. He has rejected the guidelines. He has acted against expectation!

But Jesus reminds the gathered crowd that sabbath finds its meaning, not in meeting expectations, but in the freedom of God. And no one can doubt that this woman is free, for the first time in 18 years. Jesus declares that his action wasn’t work – it was worship. He didn’t just follow the rules, he followed them perfectly, by fulfilling the ideal of sabbath. Jesus acted against expectation, and the result was more than a happy surprise: it was a miracle.

As Christians living in the twenty-first century, there are parts of today’s Gospel reading that we can’t fully inhabit. Our tradition doesn’t practice shabbat in the Jewish sense. And I’d bet many of us are not taking a sabbath day of any kind.

But, we can still understand how this story mattered for the first Christians. It revealed, not that “rules are meant to be broken,” but that rules aren’t ends in themselves: they are always intended to help us live up to our ideals.

And we can still see how that matters to us. Jesus shows us that worship is intended to re-form the gathered community around a vision of wholeness, freedom, and rest. He shows us that his mission, and thus the church’s mission, is about using our liturgies, creeds, and traditions for the sake of a wider and fuller embrace, not for policing one another’s holiness.

To follow Jesus is to get comfortable with the fact that he loves to defy expectations. He will wake us up and proclaim good news, even if it’s not the good news we wanted. And, at times, this will make things messy, disruptive, and challenging. Our choice is to embrace it as a happy surprise, or refuse it. We can always refuse it. We can always choose the comfort of narrowly defined rules and expectations over the freedom of the ideals they lead us to. But would that really be worth it, in the end?

If I could visit my preteen self, I would tell her this: Don’t let your expectations get in the way of rejoicing when there’s something to rejoice about. Lord knows life is hard enough – embrace the miracles in your midst. Amen.

God Found a Way: A Christmas Sermon

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Sometimes God speaks in unlikely places through unlikely people… 

Yesterday morning, I took the rare opportunity to sleep in. When I finally did get around to stirring, I did what many of us do these days: I rolled over in bed, picked up my phone, and clicked into Facebook.  

After scrolling through friends’ pictures of poinsettias and children’s pageants for a few minutes, I happened upon an ABC Science video, hosted by historian and science communicator, Dr. Ann Jones. She was describing a curious case of parthenogenesis. Parthonogenesis, which literally translates to “virgin birth” in Greek, is the process by which some animals reproduce without mating. 

It seems that a crocodile, named Coquita, who had been held in a Costa Rican Zoo by herself for 16 years, had somehow managed to produce eggs that were developing. (Note the irony here: Coquita means flirtatious in Spanish.) 

Now, parthenogenesis isn’t that unusual in the natural world. Many insects can reproduce without the aid of fertilization. And some fish and sharks can, too. But until 2018, there was no evidence that parthenogenesis could occur in crocodiles. I’m sure some people here know a lot more about crocodiles than I do, but this was all news to me. 

So, let me get back to the basics for a minute…The thing about crocodiles is that they often lay eggs without the usual prompting from the mating process. But, these eggs are never fertilized and so they don’t develop…at least, that was the case until Coquita came along. In Coquita’s case, one of the embryos developed to full-term, though unfortunately, the baby – a female – was stillborn.  

When scientists analyzed the baby’s DNA, they found that she shared 99.9% of it with her mother. The evidence was clear. Coquita had a virgin birth.  

Before anyone jumps to conclusions, rest assured that I am not suggesting that Coquita the Crocodile’s reproductive miracle offers irrefutable evidence of the truth of the virgin birth of Jesus Christ. Humans are not crocodiles, after all.  And believing in the virgin birth is more properly assigned to the realm of faith than reptile science. 

The inbreaking of God in our world through the embodiment, or incarnation, of Jesus Christ does not have to find its proof in the biological sciences. Because God is allowed to break the rules. And, in fact, he often does. 

But, I’m sharing the story of Coquita the Crocodile, because I need you to know the background of her story, so that you can hear Dr. Ann Jones’ final sentence the way it rang in my ears on the eve of Christmas Eve. 

Sometimes God speaks in unlikely places through unlikely people… 

And, Dr. Jones, at the very end of the video, inadvertently makes a theological claim: “Parthenogenesis, [virgin birth], is nature’s last-ditch attempt to save a species.” 

You see, virgin births occur because things have gotten dire. They occur in contexts where the chances of survival have become slim to none. Whether due to habitat loss, isolation, disease, or any number of dystopian scenarios, scientists widely agree that virgin births occur to make the future possible, when the population is in jeopardy, and there is no other way forward. 

The survival of just one baby produced by parthenogenesis could make mating possible for the next generation. It is quite literally a matter of life and death. 

And in a way, isn’t this what our scriptures claim, too? 

“Parthenogenesis is nature’s last-ditch attempt to save a species.” In a world of violence, oppression, apathy, and desperation, the virgin birth, of Jesus Christ, was God’s final attempt to save the world. 

And it worked.  In his first, shrill cry out into the cold night in Bethlehem, Jesus Christ used his brand-new lungs to proclaim LIFE in the midst of death. 

Sometimes God speaks in unlikely places through unlikely people… 

In the Christmas story, God speaks in the voice of an infant; in the bafflement of anxious, young parents; in the lowing of livestock; in the song of angels; and in the excited voices of unkempt shepherds. And God-incarnate makes his first appearance in a room that was the last-ditch effort at last-minute shelter, on a cold night in Bethlehem. 

The curious virgin birth, of Jesus Christ, made the future possible for us. And not just any future: An abundant and joyful future, where wrongs are righted,  and peace mends all the broken things. 

It was just as the prophets foretold… 

The people who walked in darkness 
have seen a great light; 
those who lived in a land of deep darkness– 
on them light has shined… 
For a child has been born for us, 
a son given to us; 
authority rests upon his shoulders; 
and he is named 
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, 
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 

The baby was born, and so, salvation was born into the world. As the angels announced and the shepherds declared, Jesus had come to bring abundant, loving, expansive, incomprehensible, unending life. 

Finally, God had come down into the thick of it to forge a straight path through the rubble of our lives, and to show us, by word and example, what it means to keep a promise, and what it takes to build and birth an abundant future for the whole world. 

Joy to the world! The Lord is come! 

…against all odds, after so much waiting, just when we thought we couldn’t survive. 

This is the story of Christmas:  A curious virgin birth, a cry piercing the night, a baby in a manger. A message in the sky, the surprising witness of shepherds, the ponderings of a new mother. The salvation of the world. 

And it only took one baby, born in a time and place just as difficult and dystopian as our own. Born to make the future possible.  And it worked. 

Just when humanity thought it couldn’t survive, God found a way. 

Jesus, Our Neighbor (in the Buy Nothing Group)

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You open wide your hand 
and satisfy the needs of every living creature. 

Readings here.

Ever since the start of the start of the pandemic, I have been a member of my neighborhood’s “Buy Nothing Group.”  The Buy Nothing Project is a national organization with one goal in mind: forge community connections by giving and receiving, without exchanging any money. 

To join one, you simply find your neighborhood group on Facebook and verify with the admin that you actually live there. From there, you start interacting with your neighbors in a “gift economy.” 

During the pandemic, I was part of a large Buy Nothing group that included nearly all of New Haven, Connecticut, from scrappy grad students in falling-apart duplexes to rich people in Victorian mansions to residents in subsidized housing. 

In a Buy Nothing Group, none of these economic categories mattered. The only thing that mattered is that you were willing to give and receive without judgment. 

When we adopted a kitten who was destroying all our house plants, I gave them away to my neighbors for a better chance at survival. When my French Press coffee maker broke, a neighbor gave me hers.  And when we were getting ready to move to Texas, I was able to give away three bags full of groceries to a woman whose refrigerator had just broken down, spoiling all her food. 

But these were just the small things.  

Being in a Buy Nothing Group wasn’t just about what I could offer or receive.  It was about witnessing other people’s generosity. 

Someone offered up their car on loan so a neighbor could get to doctors’ appointments.  People painted each other’s houses, moved heavy furniture up and down third-floor walkups, and shared backyard garden harvests. They offered their skills, like carpentry, and their time as babysitters.  

In some ways, I think I mentally survived those dark days of lockdown because I was in a Buy Nothing group. That group gave me more than hope. It gave me proof that goodness was already in the world. 

In the middle of an apocalypse, we were still living in beatitude.

— 

At a basic level, the Buy Nothing Project is just a common-sense way to get rid of things you don’t want. But it’s transformative because it is principled – community connection matters more than transactional exchange. 

One of the primary principles is that: “We come from a place of abundance ~ not scarcity.” 

It asks its participants to behave as though there is more than enough to go around. 

Which is actually a big deal, considering our entire economic system runs on “scarcity.” The idea that “supply is limited” is good for business, because it convinces us that we should spend now and spend more to get what we want or need. 

But economic scarcity impacts more than the bottom line. It forms our social world, too. Scarcity thrives on a dichotomy between the haves and have-nots, and on the power differential between the “self-made” success stories and the naive poor.  It implies there’s not enough to go around. It makes every person on this planet our competition. 

Scarcity discourages us from being generous. Because we feel like we will never have enough. And in all this, it keeps us from building meaningful, dependent relationships with our neighbors and communities.  

We keep everyone at arm’s length, either to protect our assets or protect our pride. We can’t risk giving or receiving in a world of scarcity. 

— 

Over the years, I have often returned to an article written by Hebrew Bible scholar and theologian Walter Brueggemann, entitled “The Liturgy of Abundance, the Myth of Scarcity.”  

In the article, he rejects the idea of scarcity by tracing a theme of “abundance” in the Bible. He starts from the beginning, when God creates the lush and bountiful earth and all its creatures, calling it “very good.” 

He talks about God’s promise to the chosen people of Israel – how, even in hardship, war, and slavery, God ultimately provides for their need. 

  • God gives them manna in the wilderness, and quail when they complain it’s not enough.  
  • God promises them a land flowing with “milk and honey,” a phrase that points toward, not just sustenance, but an overabundance of good things. 
  • God raises up radicals and prophets who constantly remind them to turn away from idols and kings that promise them the world’s riches in exchange for their freedom.  
  • God folds foreigners, women, the poor, and the ostracized into the ongoing story of God and his people, widening the boundaries of the Kingdom of God. 

In all this, God reveals that scarcity, with all its hoarding, boundary-making, withholding, and harsh judgment is not the ethic of the Kingdom of God. 

Today’s story continues that theme of abundance… 

The message of Jesus has been spreading, and now over 5,000 people are gathered to catch a glimpse of him. They have come for healing and hope. But right now, they are hungry. 

And apparently only one boy remembered to pack a lunch. And it’s the lunch of a peasant: bread made from cheap barley and two fish. 

Jesus begins distributing the food and miraculously, everyone is fed, with twelve baskets of food left over. Here, in the most obvious way, our Scriptures reveal that God is a God of abundance. He not only provides for the basic needs of those surrounding him, his generosity overflows. 

This miraculous act of feeding shows the 5,000 that God’s act of abundant creation in Genesis never stopped. Now, it is being lived out in the person of Jesus Christ. More than providing hope, it was proof that goodness was still active in the world. 

— 

But notice that this miracle of abundance was not solely an act of God.  

The Feeding of the 5,000 was kind of like a Buy Nothing Group, if Jesus was your neighbor. The people were hungry. The disciples facilitated. A boy offered what he had. Jesus opened his hands and spread it around. And the people willingly received. 

Giving and receiving required participation from the people in the crowd.  It required a willingness to try from the skeptical disciples, deep trust from the boy, and an honoring of that trust from Jesus.  

And it required a different economic principle – where the entire point was community flourishing. Each person’s open heart and open hand was acknowledged there on that hillside, and then multiplied exponentially in the hands of Jesus. 

Those who bore witness to the Feeding of the 5,000 – as we do now – were reminded that God’s economy is one of abundance, where even the passive desire to care for one another can lead to a miracle. 

— 

We live so much of our lives with our fists closed tight around what we have, afraid that if we lose it, we won’t have what we need. But our scriptures reveal a God who is continually working to gain our trust, and to pry our fingers open.  

God “opens wide his hand” and shows us how to live into abundance. True freedom comes when we trust him enough let go of our pride and accept the gift he is handing to us, take what we need, and then keep passing it on. 

Even the smallest act of letting go and receiving can destabilize the myth of scarcity that poisons our society. Even the most meager resource, offered with open hands, can meet the need and change the hearts of those who witness the exchange. 

And so, we pray that God will pry open our fingers and open our hands, to receive his abundant gift and to pass it on to others until the whole world is not only fed, but full.  Amen. 

Little Lamb, Get Up!

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Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Reading available here (Track 2)

God did not make death, 
And he does not delight in the death of the living.

Last week, a group of us from the congregation went to the movie theater to see “Jesus: A Deaf Missions Film.” 

This movie is a big deal, because it’s the first film about the life of Jesus ever produced in American Sign Language.  And it was made by an all-Deaf production team with all-Deaf lead actors. (Fortunately for me, there were also English subtitles.)

I never saw the Passion of the Christ. And I still haven’t watched The Chosen series. So, for me, it was out of the ordinary to see the Gospel story acted out on the big screen.  I found it immediately captivating. 

The filmmakers made an interesting choice to begin the film with the Pentecost scene… 

The disciples had left the upper room, where they’d been hiding from political authorities.  They had been compelled by the Holy Spirit to pour into the streets.  

The film depicts these disciples signing in many different languages. People in the crowd who had never learned about Jesus were now receiving the good news in their own language – sign language – for the very first time. 

As a hearing person and a native English speaker, before watching that scene last Sunday,  I had never really thought about what a privilege it is to have such easy access to the words and stories of my faith tradition. 

It has always been easy to see myself in the story. I never felt like it wasn’t for me.  Because, for me, there was no barrier to entry. 

And, I think, because of that, I’d always thought of Pentecost as the moment when the select few people who comprise the church, of which I am a part, were empowered to share the good news of Jesus Christ to “everyone else.” 

But watching the movie in ASL, I realized that Pentecost was actually the moment when “everyone else” was empowered to be the church, because the Holy Spirit had translated the good news for them. 

Put another way, the disciples were instruments of the message, but they were not instigators of it. Their proximity to the incarnate Christ didn’t make them any better than those who heard the message for the first time that day. 

Now, everyone understood that Jesus, who lived and died as a human, identified with their fragile humanity,  regardless of their identity, language, or ability. 

At the same time, they understand that Christ, who came back to life, had invited them to something bigger than their fragile humanity.  All people were entrusted with the work of building God’s kingdom. They were invited to refuse the terms of their mortal existence, and to live into the abundant, eternal life of God. 

— 

After that opening scene, the movie goes back three years, to the day Jesus met Peter. From there, it closely follows the story of Jesus all the way to his Ascension. 

But, after my glorious Pentecost epiphany, watching Jesus and his disciples slowly walk across the grasslands and hills of Galilee and Judea, felt a bit like pulling teeth. Jesus’ earthly ministry was a lot of things, but in some ways, it wasn’t very impressive. 

What I mean is, it wasn’t flashy or boisterous. The crowds were small by today’s standards. And Jesus was kind of shy about his miracles, even telling some people not to tell anyone about them. Even his crucifixion was the shameful punishment of the poor. 

But something revolutionary was happening. Not necessarily because Jesus was charismatic or charming. Or because he righted the wrongs of the world with the *snap* of a finger. But because, every action he took proclaimed life in the midst of a culture of death. 

Every miracle, every interaction, every loving glance, and every decision he made not to give up on someone – these were seeds of hope, planted in depleted hearts. 

Everything Jesus touched, and everywhere he went, it was as if a garden had started growing. Jesus was infecting the world with a culture of resurrection. 

— 

In today’s Gospel reading, we encounter a pairing of two intense miracle stories, stuck together like nesting dolls. 

Here, illness is interrupted by illness, which is then interrupted by death. But just when you think there can’t be any more interruption, the spiral of death is interrupted by resurrection. 

First, the president of the synagogue falls at Jesus’ feet, begging him to come heal his daughter, who is at the point of death.  

Jesus agrees, but is confronted by a dense crowd as he begins to walk through town. 

Then, within the crowd, a woman who has struggled with incurable bleeding reaches out to Jesus. 

The contrast between these two people couldn’t be much vaster: Jairus is a well-regarded, male religious leader who leans on his social position to ask for healing. But the woman in the crowd doesn’t have that option… 

She has been rendered “impure” by twelve years of menstrual bleeding. (This means that she has not been able to participate in religious life for twelve whole years.) And she is most certainly not allowed to touch a man outside her own household. 

But Jesus is worth the risk of further social isolation. She boldly yanks the hem of Jesus’ clothing, a last-ditch effort at healing. 

Jesus doesn’t balk. He finds and affirms the woman who has been healed through his Divine power.  

“Daughter, your faith has made you well.” 

I can imagine the crowd murmuring: Can it be? Even the lost cause can be healed. Even years of grief can lead to hope. If Christ can restore this woman to community, maybe he can restore our broken society. 

— 

By now, Jairus’ daughter is dead.  

Twelve years old – alive as long as the woman bled – and nearly at the age of “womanhood” herself, Jesus was already taking a risk by touching her. But now, he will have to touch a corpse, in clear violation of purity laws. 

But Jesus still doesn’t balk.  He approaches her bedside, takes ahold of her hand, and raises her from the dead.  

“Talitha cum”: Which literally means, Little lamb, get up. 

I can imagine the crowd murmuring in amazement: Can it be? Even the dead can be restored to life. Even the deepest grief can lead to hope. If Christ can resurrect this child, maybe he can resurrect the dying world. 

In these nesting doll stories, Jesus reveals that his Kingdom is one where life prevails over a culture of death. 

Jesus does not delight in our grief, illness, hardship, or loss. Neither does he delight in the way we judge and ostracize one another. 

The “bleeding woman” and the “dead girl” are no longer defined by what others them and makes them “impure.” Thanks to Jesus, now there is no barrier to entry. Now, they are free to live, abundantly. 

— 

As we follow the story of Jesus’ earthly ministry, we journey with him on a path that leads to the cross.  It is tempting, living as we are in a world filled with death, to believe that the cross is the end of the story. 

But each part of the story of Jesus, from birth ‘til Pentecost, reveals a God who does not delight in death. A God who, in fact, refuses death altogether. Each relationship, parable, and miracle bend toward resurrection, not just for him, but for all of us. 

Our job as his disciples is not to decide who gets access to abundant life, because Christ has already made that clear: Everyone. Our job is to bend toward resurrection, by breaking down barriers that separate us from God and one another. 

We live into the broad and wide and growing Kingdom of God, when we refuse judgments that stigmatize, policies that polarize, and words that dehumanize.  

Our commission is to open the doors wide and join the crowd, where we might just witness a miracle: restored community, renewed hope, green things growing where death had entered in. 

Talitha cum. Little lamb(s), get up.

Jesus is calling us toward resurrection. 

Amen. 

Not to Hurt Us, But to Heal Us

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Lectionary readings linked here

O God, your never-failing providence sets in order all things both in heaven and earth: Put away from us, we entreat you, all hurtful things, and give us those things which are profitable for us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

On Pentecost Sunday, in St. Cloud, Florida, a priest bit a woman during communion.  

Now, this wasn’t just another case of so-called “Florida Man” doing something erratic under the influence of a novel new street drug. In fact, if the priest could be said to be high on anything, he was high on his religious principles… 

Here’s a portion of the press release from the Catholic Diocese of Orlando, shared by ABC News: 

The incident between the priest and a female parishioner began at approximately 10 a.m. on Sunday during Mass at St. Thomas Aquinas Church in St. Cloud, Florida, when a woman “came through Father Fidel Rodriguez’s Holy Communion line and appeared unaware of the proper procedure,”… 

The same woman is said to have arrived at 12 p.m. for Mass on Sunday and stood in Father Rodriguez’s Communion line when he asked her if she had been to the Sacrament of the Penance (Confession) to which she replied that “it was not his business,”… “Father Rodriguez offered the woman Holy Communion on the tongue,” church officials said. “At that point, the woman forcefully placed her hand in the vessel and grabbed some sacred Communion hosts, crushing them.  

Having only one hand free, Father Rodriguez struggled to restrain the woman as she refused to let go of the hosts. When the woman pushed him, and reacting to a perceived act of aggression, Father Rodriguez bit her hand so she would let go of the hosts she grabbed.” 

Honestly, when I read that story, I am a little sympathetic to Father Rodriguez. Not because I think that what he did was right. But because, in some ways, I can imagine myself in his shoes.  

I can almost feel the horror he must have felt in that split second before he took action.  

I can imagine a scenario where the remaining consecrated wafers fly out of their container as the woman lunges for it. They fall onto the dirty floor,  where they’re scattered and crushed by the feet of people coming forward for communion.  The Body of Christ bruised and broken, now lies desecrated on the ground. 

And then, the priest looks up, only to meet the judging faces of those around him. His parishioners condemn him for failing in his most important task.  His clergy colleagues’ eyes drill into him. 

The stakes are high. If he doesn’t act quickly, people will act as if Father Rodriguez himself crucified Christ. 

Under immense pressure, he did what he thought he needed to do.  To protect the Body of Christ, he bit a woman.  

Ironically, in doing so, he hurt the Body of Christ, embodied in that woman. And, he scandalized the Body of Christ, gathered there in the church. 

It was Father Rodriguez’ very commitment to God, and his very love for God, that led him to do the unthinkable.  

It led him to forget that Christ gave his body for us as a living sacrifice, in order to heal us, not hurt us. It led him to prioritize the image of God in sterile and uniform communion wafers, instead of the image of God in an erratic and noncompliant human. 

The incident is a powerful object lesson for Christians.  

It forces us to grapple with how we respond when our ordered ceremonies and straightforward principles are disrupted by humans…being human. 

In a choice between principles and people, haven’t we sometimes landed on the side of Father Rodriguez? 

Haven’t we been tempted to refuse the messy, fragile, annoying, and weird people who stretch out their hands to us for care, choosing instead those who are safe, reasonable, and poised? Haven’t we scowled at the disruptive, avoided the eccentric, or turned away the person asking for help?  Haven’t we decided it might not be worth the trouble to do the humane thing, if that means being judged by people whose opinions carry consequences for us? 

And to the extent that we have done these things, I doubt we have done them out of malice. In many cases, we have done them out of a desire to love God in exactly the right way. But we lost our way somehow… 

And in that regard, we’re an awful lot like the Pharisees… 

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus gets into it with some fellow Jewish theologians known as Pharisees. They are condemning him for not taking his religious principles seriously.  

It was the Sabbath day – a day set aside for rest from all labor – but the disciples were hungry. The story indicates that they were gleaning grain from a field. According to Jewish law, farmers were obligated to leave a certain amount of grain behind, so that those who needed it could sustain themselves. The disciples were basically using an ancient version of Social Services. 

Shortly after, Jesus performs a healing miracle in the synagogue. The man stretches out his hand, and Jesus gives of himself, healing the man in front of the gathered community. 

The Pharisees don’t even bat an eye at this miracle! In fact, they seem to expect it! In the presence of Jesus, miracles have apparently become commonplace. 

They don’t doubt Jesus – they doubt his interpretation of sabbath law. Somewhere along the way, they forgot that their religious principles were intended for the benefit of people. So, Jesus reminds them: “The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath.” 

In interpreting this passage, it can be tempting for Christians to suggest that Jesus is “doing away with all that legalism” and “bending the rules” in response to human need. 

But, I want to be clear that Jesus is not rejecting Jewish religious principles. Jesus is reminding those first witnesses, and now us, that our religious principles are intended to make us more generous, not more hard-hearted. 

Put another way, our liturgies, theologies, and rituals are not the ends of our worship.  They are the means to true worship.  And true worship is our enthusiastic participation in God’s loving transformation of the world. 

The problem has never been our principles – it’s that our attempts at reverence can so quickly turn into idolatry.  It’s that our desire for God to be glorified becomes a source of personal pride rather than public solidarity. 

As a church, we’re not always good at remembering that, in the Eucharist, we don’t only receive the Body of Christ – we become a part of it.  

Communion points us to sacredness by revealing the living Christ here at the table, and then boldly insisting that we, made in the image of God, are part of that sacredness. 

And this gift, of the Body of Christ, is not only for those of us gathered here – it is for all people. Because, in Christ’s giving of himself, we have become consecrated to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world. 

Our religious principles should always lead us closer to each other, and closer to all of humanity. They should persuade us to proclaim the good news of God’s unconditional love to weird, imperfect, beautiful people, even at the risk of judgment from those who prefer a sterile and uniform Christianity. 

Christ has come, not to hurt us, but to heal us. 

Amen.