I was given the opportunity to preach the homily this Sunday at St. John the Evangelist in Aberdeen. Below is the text of the sermon.
Laundry seems to be anything but holy, yet American folk singer Carrie Newcomer invites us to reimagine the ordinary actions of our lives as part of the holiness of creation. The quiet moments, the laundry, even the sound and smell of eggs and salt in the frying pan, make up the tangible liturgy of the day. It is in the ordinary that she sees the outworking of grace.
At times it’s difficult to see the beauty in the ordinary. It is even more difficult to expect the holy in the ordinary. Although Genesis narrates the story of creation to remind us of God’s breathe and word in all of creation, we often take that for granted and trample upon it and each other without a second thought.
We expect the extraordinary from God and have lost sight that God doesn’t need the explosions of lightning and the splintering of rocks to accomplish anything. The flash is for our benefit. Too often our actions indicate that our belief that if God is using the church to accomplish something, then we, those in the church, must be extraordinary. We are the “in” crowd. There is something that we have because we have been explicitly chosen that those we don’t recognize as “in” are without.
The readings today counter that thought. The disciples encounter someone outside of their circle casting out evil spirits by Christ’s name. Last week Jesus chastised them for arguing about who was the greatest, but the disciples can be a bit slow at processing. Immediately after that exchange we arrive at this scene. I can imagine the thought clouds forming above their heads as they declare, “we told him to stop because he was not one of us”:
Jesus, who I assume can read minds, rebukes them yet again. Anyone who calls on the name of Christ has the same privileges as the disciples.
It’s a puncture wound to inflated egos. Egos are not needed in the kingdom. All are called by Christ to come and die, not just the extraordinary. In the history of the church it is actually the extra- ordinary that God works through.
The Old Testament lesson recounted the story of Esther. By all measures, Esther should never have been remembered or done anything remotely important. She lived in a land that was on the verge of eliminating the Jews. She was young. She was an orphan. She was a woman. She married the king as a result of a beauty pageant. She was a sort of ancient near eastern trophy wife. All of these characteristics logically preclude her from having any sort of power. Yet, her courage to approach the king (an act that very well could have gotten her killed), ask him to dinner, and then petition him to spare the Jews ends up working. The wholly ordinary girl is used for extraordinary means in God’s narrative.
Esther isn’t the only example. God consistently chooses those that no one expects anything of to be the workers of the kingdom. A man and wife past the point of childbearing to parent a nation, an Egyptian adopted Israelite rancher with a speech impediment to free the Israelites, a prostitute to bring down Jericho, various prophets that people considered a few apples short of a bushel to preach repentance, fishermen and tax collectors to be disciples, a young unmarried teenager to bear God.
God choses time and again to work with the ordinary, yet we think we are extraordinary and the gatekeepers to the kingdom, as though salvation is dependent on people getting approved by us first. Jesus warns his disciples of the stumbling blocks. Have we never caused people to stumble on the path to God because we felt that somehow they weren’t “ready” or “worthy”? Do our egos not prevent us from showing the love of Christ to all of those around us?
The Gospel reading concludes with Jesus giving a short lesson on the properties of salt. Part of the tradition of my home church is that when you are baptized (and it’s a Baptist church so most people will remember this happening), our pastor gives you a candle and impresses kosher salt on your lips. It is a tangible reminder that we are called to be the salt of the earth and a light unto the world. Nowhere in that liturgy is the call to be extraordinary. Instead it is a call to be the “salt of the earth” type of person.
In the course of my life I have met few people that could qualify as extraordinary. The remarkable thing is that the most extraordinary people I’ve encountered have been the humblest and most helpful people. They are the salt of the earth types. In looking up the etymology of the phrase, I came across a message board and a distressed poster. This individual had paid his friend a compliment by saying that he was the “salt of the earth” type, but upon google searching the phrase, he discovered that one of the meanings associated with the phrase is “simple.” The poster emphatically asked those on the message board if he had inadvertently insulted his friend.
But our question should be- What world do we live in where being a “salt of the earth” person is an insult?
It’s a world where it is truly extraordinary to want to be joyful in the ordinary. To live a life so rooted in that contentment, it is imagined to be an insult. Those who find their joy in the ordinary are by and large the people who are present in the midst of a crisis and ready to help. They need no acclaim for doing the right thing, yet they are the most deserving. Their contentment isn’t found in trying to keep others out, but in welcoming them in. They show up with casseroles and pies in hard times, even when we didn’t know that you wanted a pie. Each day is a gift and a blessing to them and “another wonderful day in which to excel” because excelling is simply following the prescription of Micah 6:8 to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.
God calls us to be salt. Salt is important because of its multiplicity of uses. It flavors. It preserves. It heals. But salt is tied to the earth. When we start to fancy ourselves extraordinary we lose our connectivity to the creation. We forget that we are formed in both the image of God and the earth. We imagine ourselves transcending the banality of the ash and dirt. Jesus prescribed cutting off the parts of our body that cause stumbling. When Christ calls us to be salt, good salt, the salt of the earth, is he not calling us to cut off our egos that cause us and others to stumble? It is when we lose our grounding that we fall. It is when we lose our saltiness that we stop working for the kingdom.
The disciples needed reminding that they were ordinary like salt. Extraordinary is not a description we can give ourselves. Our aspirations should not be to look upon ourselves and believe that in our profession of faith we have accomplished something extraordinary and thus elevate ourselves. God did the extraordinary work and accomplished this work using the most extra ordinary of people.
We should aspire to be extra ordinary.
Lectionary texts: Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22, James 5:13-20, and Mark 9:38-50
Holy is the familiar room
And quiet moments in the afternoon
And folding sheets like folding hands
To pray as only laundry can
Laundry seems to be anything but holy, yet American folk singer Carrie Newcomer invites us to reimagine the ordinary actions of our lives as part of the holiness of creation. The quiet moments, the laundry, even the sound and smell of eggs and salt in the frying pan, make up the tangible liturgy of the day. It is in the ordinary that she sees the outworking of grace.
At times it’s difficult to see the beauty in the ordinary. It is even more difficult to expect the holy in the ordinary. Although Genesis narrates the story of creation to remind us of God’s breathe and word in all of creation, we often take that for granted and trample upon it and each other without a second thought.
We expect the extraordinary from God and have lost sight that God doesn’t need the explosions of lightning and the splintering of rocks to accomplish anything. The flash is for our benefit. Too often our actions indicate that our belief that if God is using the church to accomplish something, then we, those in the church, must be extraordinary. We are the “in” crowd. There is something that we have because we have been explicitly chosen that those we don’t recognize as “in” are without.
The readings today counter that thought. The disciples encounter someone outside of their circle casting out evil spirits by Christ’s name. Last week Jesus chastised them for arguing about who was the greatest, but the disciples can be a bit slow at processing. Immediately after that exchange we arrive at this scene. I can imagine the thought clouds forming above their heads as they declare, “we told him to stop because he was not one of us”:
“He can’t actually be casting out demons!”
“What authority does he have? Doesn’t he know you have to be chosen by Jesus before you can do that?”
“What will people think if everyone can cast out demons?” “Aren’t we special?”
Jesus, who I assume can read minds, rebukes them yet again. Anyone who calls on the name of Christ has the same privileges as the disciples.
“Whoever is not against us is for us.”
It’s a puncture wound to inflated egos. Egos are not needed in the kingdom. All are called by Christ to come and die, not just the extraordinary. In the history of the church it is actually the extra- ordinary that God works through.
The Old Testament lesson recounted the story of Esther. By all measures, Esther should never have been remembered or done anything remotely important. She lived in a land that was on the verge of eliminating the Jews. She was young. She was an orphan. She was a woman. She married the king as a result of a beauty pageant. She was a sort of ancient near eastern trophy wife. All of these characteristics logically preclude her from having any sort of power. Yet, her courage to approach the king (an act that very well could have gotten her killed), ask him to dinner, and then petition him to spare the Jews ends up working. The wholly ordinary girl is used for extraordinary means in God’s narrative.
Esther isn’t the only example. God consistently chooses those that no one expects anything of to be the workers of the kingdom. A man and wife past the point of childbearing to parent a nation, an Egyptian adopted Israelite rancher with a speech impediment to free the Israelites, a prostitute to bring down Jericho, various prophets that people considered a few apples short of a bushel to preach repentance, fishermen and tax collectors to be disciples, a young unmarried teenager to bear God.
God choses time and again to work with the ordinary, yet we think we are extraordinary and the gatekeepers to the kingdom, as though salvation is dependent on people getting approved by us first. Jesus warns his disciples of the stumbling blocks. Have we never caused people to stumble on the path to God because we felt that somehow they weren’t “ready” or “worthy”? Do our egos not prevent us from showing the love of Christ to all of those around us?
The Gospel reading concludes with Jesus giving a short lesson on the properties of salt. Part of the tradition of my home church is that when you are baptized (and it’s a Baptist church so most people will remember this happening), our pastor gives you a candle and impresses kosher salt on your lips. It is a tangible reminder that we are called to be the salt of the earth and a light unto the world. Nowhere in that liturgy is the call to be extraordinary. Instead it is a call to be the “salt of the earth” type of person.
In the course of my life I have met few people that could qualify as extraordinary. The remarkable thing is that the most extraordinary people I’ve encountered have been the humblest and most helpful people. They are the salt of the earth types. In looking up the etymology of the phrase, I came across a message board and a distressed poster. This individual had paid his friend a compliment by saying that he was the “salt of the earth” type, but upon google searching the phrase, he discovered that one of the meanings associated with the phrase is “simple.” The poster emphatically asked those on the message board if he had inadvertently insulted his friend.
But our question should be- What world do we live in where being a “salt of the earth” person is an insult?
It’s a world where it is truly extraordinary to want to be joyful in the ordinary. To live a life so rooted in that contentment, it is imagined to be an insult. Those who find their joy in the ordinary are by and large the people who are present in the midst of a crisis and ready to help. They need no acclaim for doing the right thing, yet they are the most deserving. Their contentment isn’t found in trying to keep others out, but in welcoming them in. They show up with casseroles and pies in hard times, even when we didn’t know that you wanted a pie. Each day is a gift and a blessing to them and “another wonderful day in which to excel” because excelling is simply following the prescription of Micah 6:8 to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.
God calls us to be salt. Salt is important because of its multiplicity of uses. It flavors. It preserves. It heals. But salt is tied to the earth. When we start to fancy ourselves extraordinary we lose our connectivity to the creation. We forget that we are formed in both the image of God and the earth. We imagine ourselves transcending the banality of the ash and dirt. Jesus prescribed cutting off the parts of our body that cause stumbling. When Christ calls us to be salt, good salt, the salt of the earth, is he not calling us to cut off our egos that cause us and others to stumble? It is when we lose our grounding that we fall. It is when we lose our saltiness that we stop working for the kingdom.
The disciples needed reminding that they were ordinary like salt. Extraordinary is not a description we can give ourselves. Our aspirations should not be to look upon ourselves and believe that in our profession of faith we have accomplished something extraordinary and thus elevate ourselves. God did the extraordinary work and accomplished this work using the most extra ordinary of people.
We should aspire to be extra ordinary.
We should aspire to look at creation as a reminder that God breathed life into it and made it good and remember that we are rooted in it.
We should aspire to be “salt of the earth” people and find joy in the ordinary.
It is in the ordinary that we find Christ. In the waters of baptism. In the breaking of bread and sharing of wine at the table. In the prayers of those who journey alongside us. God makes himself known through the light and the wind, in our pain and our joy. Why do we assume that life’s holiest moments must not be life’s most ordinary as well?
The disciples worried that if too many people could claim the power of Christ, they would be thought of as lesser men. The surprise ending is that God didn’t need them to keep a closed fist on Christ’s power, God had already enveloped the world and the most ordinary people would be the ones calling on Christ and carrying that message forward.
May we pray to never expect to be the extraordinary but instead recognize the beauty and the holy in the ordinary places and routines of our lives.
It is in the ordinary that we find Christ. In the waters of baptism. In the breaking of bread and sharing of wine at the table. In the prayers of those who journey alongside us. God makes himself known through the light and the wind, in our pain and our joy. Why do we assume that life’s holiest moments must not be life’s most ordinary as well?
The disciples worried that if too many people could claim the power of Christ, they would be thought of as lesser men. The surprise ending is that God didn’t need them to keep a closed fist on Christ’s power, God had already enveloped the world and the most ordinary people would be the ones calling on Christ and carrying that message forward.
May we pray to never expect to be the extraordinary but instead recognize the beauty and the holy in the ordinary places and routines of our lives.
Holy is the place I stand
To give whatever small good I can
And the empty page, and the open book
Redemption everywhere I look
Unknowingly we slow our pace
In the shade of unexpected grace
And with grateful smiles and sad lament
As holy as a day is spent
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