Run and not go weary . . .together

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Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. James’s, West Hartford, CT

5th Sunday after Epiphany, February 4, 2024

Isaiah 40:21-31; Mark 1:29-39; Psalm 147:1-12, 21c

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Our reading from Isaiah ends with the lines: “but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

They shall run and not be weary? Really? I want to say, Isaiah, are you paying attention? Have you read the news headlines? Have you seen our calendars? Do you know that we still have not figured out what it means to have lived through a pandemic? Can’t you see that we are exhausted? From work, from school, from the stress and strain of all that we are supposed to be doing. Also, it’s February. It’s cold outside and the days are still short. It’s hard to be energetic when we can’t get enough sunshine.

And then I pause. I take a deep breath. I think about what I know of the world in Isaiah’s time. The plagues. The persecutions. The stress and strain of everyday life where you had to walk to get your water and there was no such thing as food security for anyone. Oh. Maybe instead of arguing with Isaiah, I should listen more deeply, because if he can talk about running and not being weary then maybe he really does know something. 

So, how could we keep going and not burn out? What is it that allows us to be capable of more than we think we are? Well, our faith, for sure. And there’s more to it than that. 

A story my brother told me kept coming back to me this week. In high school, he did a number of NOLS wilderness trips in the summers. One of his leaders told a story of leading a group in the tundra of Alaska. The leader was out ahead of the group. He came up over the crest of a hill to discover that he was only yards away from a mother grizzly bear and her cubs. He froze. He stood absolutely stock still. The mother bear rose up on her hind legs and stared. He thought: Well, this is it. Not sure how I can get out of this one. Then she returned to all fours and quietly walked away with her cubs. The leader was stunned. How could that possibly be? And then he turned around and realized that the entire group of 20 people had come up behind him. With their arrival instead of being a lone person far smaller than the bear, he had become something enormous that frightened the bear. 

I have held onto the image of that story for years and years now. Whenever I have had to go into a difficult situation, I have thought about who I am bringing with me. My family, my friends, my mentors, those people in my life who incarnate God’s love for me, whose wisdom has always helped me be grounded - sure of who God is and who I am. 

And if we turn to the Gospel for today, we see that Jesus is not doing his ministry alone either. He is with his disciples. He does his healing ministry with others. He sends them out two by two to minister on his behalf. Jesus takes time for himself, of course, but he does not stay on his own. He knows that success only comes with shared power and authority - with shared ministry. 

Oh. That. Not doing it all alone. Not thinking we are on our own to face this challenge or that crisis. Hmm. Maybe that is what Isaiah meant? We won’t grow weary as long as we stay connected to God and to each other. 

So, my friends, just in case you have been or are ever tempted to go ahead on your own like that NOLS leader, may I remind you that there truly is safety in numbers.  You might think you are just fine out on your own. I might think that too. I often have - usually with poor results. So may I recommend that whatever challenges lie ahead, you do not face them alone. Look around. See? You are surrounded by people who care about you and would drop everything to help. That’s what it means to be community. That’s what it means to be Church. We hold the faith for each other. We incarnate God’s love for you. This community is here. Day after day. Week after week to remind us that we are never alone. And we are beloved of God. Amen. 

Christmas Day Homily 2023

St. James’s, West Hartford, CT

Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20); Psalm 96

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the hallway at the Holy Family Retreat Center just up the road, there is a small painting that caught my eye years ago and has stayed with me. It is an image of Joseph cradling the baby Jesus while Mary sleeps behind him. 

It is an image that seems to pick up where our Gospel story ends. It has been quite a night. Mary has given birth. There has been a multitude of the heavenly host in the countryside. The shepherds have come to visit. It is just what you want when you are two new parents trying to take care of a baby in a barn - a whole crowd of visitors you have never seen before! 

Of course, this is no ordinary baby. Mary and Joseph already knew that, so they aren’t surprised to see the shepherds, and Mary treasures all the words in her heart. She knows who this baby is and what a difference he will make in the world. 

So there she is peacefully sleeping after all the hub-bub. I imagine Joseph is rejoicing that he finally got Jesus to sleep too. Ah, he thinks, a few minutes of quiet. The painting captures this beautiful, peaceful moment. And we know it is only a moment. 

Our Gospel tells us that just a little while earlier there was joyful chaos and the stable was full of visitors. And anyone who has spent time around an infant knows that it does not stay endlessly quiet. Sleep does not come in glorious eight hour chunks in the beginning. Soon Jesus will wake up and need to be fed or changed or soothed. 

That bit about being fully human and fully God - yup, he needed milk and diapers like every other baby ever. Of course Jesus had his blissfully peaceful moments where everyone just oohed and ahhed at the beautiful baby. And he had his very loud and upset moments where no doubt Mary and Joseph wondered what they were doing wrong and when was this baby going to stop screaming. 

I think it is that both/and that is so important for us to hold on to this Christmas. That peaceful moment captured by that painting could make it seem all perfect and divine. And yet that doesn’t tell the whole story. It is much more complicated. Christmas was messy. Birth is messy. Babies are messy. They are also beautiful and inspire in us a level of love we did not know we had. 

The Christmas story is one of breathtaking beauty and life-changing truths. It is also a story of the mess of human existence, of suffering, exclusion, and oppression. 

No doubt our own Christmases have been, are, and will be complicated too. There will be those moments where we wish we could just stop time and savor all the beauty and love around us. There will be moments where it seems like chaos reigns or nothing is going as we had hoped or we are just profoundly aware of what or who is missing in our lives. 

It is okay. Christmas doesn’t have to look like the perfection on someone else’s Christmas card or Instagram feed. It can be messy and complicated and beautiful - sometimes all at once. That’s the thing. That’s life. That is the world into which Jesus was born. That’s what God chose. God chose to come be right there with us in the complicated and the messy. 

God chose to come into the mess. That is the Good News of great joy. God is with us. Emmanuel. God’s love is with us. And God’s love is more powerful than any pain or suffering we might encounter. God’s love is louder than the chaos. It is stronger than our grief. 

Maybe that’s why Mary was sleeping so soundly. She knew who Jesus was and that his presence, God’s love incarnate, would make all the difference for the whole world.

So however your Christmas is going and however it continues, I hope you will hold the mess and the beauty together. I hope you will remember that God’s love is as real in our lives as it was for Mary and Joseph that first night. I hope you will remember that Love makes all the difference. Today and always. Merry Christmas. Amen. 

Funeral for Jim Shafer

 

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Grace Church, Hartford

Funeral Mass for James Shafer, November 11, 2023

Ecclesiastes 3:1-18, Psalm 23, Revelation 7:9-17, John 14:1-6

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

It’s 8 am on a Wednesday morning in 2014 or maybe 2015. We are seated at the table at Effie’s. Jim and Father Jerry in their usual spots at the end. Then Charlie Morse and Father Wayne. Then Father John, Tom, and me. Although there are four priests at the table, I am the only one in a collar. A woman comes up to me and says, “What is this?” She was trying to make sense of what a woman priest in her early thirties was doing having breakfast with a group of men who are decades her senior. I explained simply that we were sharing breakfast after Church. 

Because it would have taken me the rest of the morning to explain to her that as surprising a group as we may have seemed, I treasured those breakfast conversations. Even though I had to stop participating in them when I took on my current role at the Church Center in NYC, I still treasure all those years of Wednesday mornings conversations. And most days, with Pamela and Rowena and Sandra there was a far more equal gender balance. Throughout the years there was always laughter and joy. Topics ranged from the mundane to the sublime. We talked about church, politics, history, and daily life. I am a better priest for all those conversations. I am a better human for all those conversations.

Jim’s quiet, kind, gentle presence at that breakfast table and throughout so much of the life of Grace was a true gift. Always attentive to the needs of others. He had a small bowl of oatmeal every Wednesday because he had another meal with a friend later in the morning. He had quite a busy calendar, and often it was not just social. He seemed to be always taking care of or helping someone out. 

It seems so fitting that today as we remember Jim and celebrate the new life he has in the nearer presence of our Lord, we hear the Gospel story of Jesus going to prepare a place for us. You know how we come to know Jesus more fully through the gifts and presence of those who are our companions on the way? Having known Jim and been the recipient of his myriad gifts of preparation and care for our sacred spaces, particularly our altars and all that goes into the celebration of the Eucharist, I have a new understanding of what it means to have a place prepared for us. 

The preparation would be meticulous. It would be quiet and gracious. Everything one might need or want never more than an arms length away. No matter the age of a vessel or a linen, it would be spotless and in perfect working order. All the stress would melt away. Everything is right there so that we can focus solely on the act of worship. Everything is prepared so that we can be fully present to our Lord. 

For one who spent so much of his life giving to others, it makes me smile to think of Jim at peace, fully cared for in the presence of our Lord. All the burdens are gone. As Revelation reminds us there is no more hunger or thirst, and the temperature is perfect. There is no physical discomfort. Only springs of life. And no more tears. The pain has ended. 

That is our hope. As followers of Jesus, as people of faith, we know that life has changed, not ended. We may no longer be able to sit across the breakfast table from Jim, and yet he is not gone from our hearts or from this community he loved and which loved him. He is with us. His example is with us. We will carry his spirit forward in our own acts of kindness and generosity. As we take care in our own preparations or gratefully receive the preparations of others, we will be reminded what a gift it is to care and serve. God is in the details, and God is glorified by our ministries and our relationships with each other. 

Our hearts are full. Of sadness and grief, of course. And also of joy and gratitude. For this community. For the saints, like Jim, whose life inspires us to be a more faithful follower of Jesus. Who reminds us that quiet grace and seemingly small acts of generosity can have an impact far greater than we might imagine. 

May each of us go forth from this day, from this celebration, to walk a little more faithfully, and may we remember that each of us is beloved of God. Indeed we are loved more than we know. AMEN. 

Hope in the midst of uncertainty

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. James’s Episcopal Church, West Hartford, CT

November 12, 2023

Psalm 78:1-7; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

We are coming to the end of Ordinary Time, and it’s almost Advent. This means that we get texts about judgment and the second coming of Christ. Our Gospel says, “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” Our Collect for today reminds us that Christ will come again with power and great glory. And then our Epistle reminds us that so many in the early church thought Christ was going to return in their lifetime. 

So here we are 2000 years later, and he hasn’t come back yet. What are we supposed to do with these texts? What exactly is the 21st century meaning of the parable of the ten bridesmaids with their lamps? Are we just supposed to remember to keep our cell phones charged and flashlights on hand in case the power goes out? Well, that is wise practical advice, I think there is more to it than that. 

There is a profound lesson at the heart of today’s texts. Life is uncertain. There are no guarantees. Indeed none of us knows how long we have nor how long those we love have. Our news headlines regularly remind us of the fragility of human life. Whether it is war or violence or natural disasters. And I would bet that most of us don’t need news headlines to know this fact. We have plenty of reminders in our own lives and our own communities that life is precious, sacred, and uncertain. 

I know that for many of us whenever this reminder comes along it can bring us up short or feel like we got punched in the stomach. It is a hard truth to face. One we would prefer we did not have to face. 

That is why I think it is so important that we read this Gospel alongside our Epistle. We need to hear again and again that we are a people of hope. We do not need to grieve as others do, as those who have no hope. 

We have hope. We have hope in God, in our faith, and in each other. The fragility of life can be a source of inspiration. It can inspire us to live life to the fullest. To be grateful each day for the myriad blessings in our lives. It can help us slow down a little and pay attention. We can be present to the moment. 

We believe that Jesus was raised from the dead. We believe that neither death nor evil have the last word. Love is stronger than death. Love wins. Hope wins. There is more to life than what we can see or know at this moment. 

And there are days when it is hard to hold on to that truth. Hard to believe that Love is the most powerful force there is. We can feel overwhelmed by the stresses and strains of our daily lives. By the magnitude of suffering that is all around us. 

And so we have to return again to the words of our Epistle today. We have to remember that we will grieve. It is important to note that nowhere does Jesus promise a carefree life or a life free from suffering. What Jesus does promise us is that we have hope in the midst of that grief. 

Grief will never consume us or define us. We are never alone in our grief. There is no grief in this life that Jesus does not know. We can trust in that truth. We can trust that grief will never have the last word. The love of God made manifest to us in Christ is stronger than any grief. 

If today is a day where you are struggling to hold on to that truth, it is okay. You are not alone. We have all had those days. And that’s why we have each other. That’s why we have Church. That’s why we have community. We hold the faith for each other. So, if you are struggling, know that we got you. We will hold the truths of our faith for you today. And next week or next month, when its someone else’s turn, you can hold the faith for them. 

So, even if it feels tenuous today, know that the beautiful truths of our faith are real. The words we say, the hymns we sing, the food we share - all of it - grounds us and connects us more deeply to God and each other. So no matter what the future brings, know that you are standing, we are standing together, on a foundation that cannot be shaken. AMEN.

Lessons on Communication from Job

 

https://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-xpm-2013-apr-07-la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407-story.html

Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

DFMS Noonday Prayer

Psalm 122; Job 5:8-9, 20-27; John 16:33–17:5

Commemoration of Conrad Weiser 

July 13, 2023

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

So today we commemorate Conrad Weiser, who was a peacebuilder between Pennsylvania settlers and the Indigenous People, particularly the Mohawk and Iroquoi. He had a gift for facilitating communication across difference. So much so that when he died, an Iroquois man said, “We are at a great loss and sit in darkness ... as since his death we cannot so well understand one another.”  And relations between British colonists and the Iroquois deteriorated after his death. 

I find it amusing that our OT reading is from Job. While the passage we just read is okay on its own, as it emphasizes that we can trust in God. This passage in its wider context is much more problematic. Here’s a refresher, in case you haven’t read Job lately. God makes a bet with Satan to test Job’s faithfulness. He sends all kinds of tribulations Job’s way - he loses family members, livestock, property, and has no end of physical suffering. In the midst of it, his friends come to see him and offer pastoral support. Although, I am very glad that Job’s friends never came to visit me in the hospital. While they are correct to affirm God’s goodness and righteousness, the only way they have to explain suffering is that Job must have done something very wrong to deserve so much pain and suffering. So basically they have come to see Job to find why he screwed up and to affirm their own superiority. 

Think of how it would feel in the midst of great loss and personal suffering to have people come to see what you did to cause it?  In the midst of great suffering, I am not sure we even want to hear a lot of sermons about how righteous God is or how everything happens for a reason. We don’t need platitudes or all those unhelpful things people say. I am sure we have all had the experience in the midst of our own suffering when we find ourselves having to comfort someone who has come to see us, because it is clear that our suffering is causing them great anxiety. I lost count of the number of people who told me about their relatives who died from cancer upon learning my diagnosis. I know they were trying to make a connection, but it was really not helpful to be reminded that I had a life threatening illness. 

So I find it intriguing that on a day when we are commemorating someone whose gifts for communicating across differences supported peace in Colonial America, we read from Scripture’s most profound lesson about how not to show up when your friend is suffering. 

What are we supposed to remember and take away on this day? I think it is the importance of communication and humility. We need to honor each other’s differences and never assume we have all the answers. If someone we love is suffering, don’t try to explain it. If you are not sure what to say, just be present. Knowing we are not alone in suffering means more than all the theological treatises we could ever read. Incarnate God’s presence. Affirm the truth that we are beloved and will never be alone. 

And don’t bring them your anxiety. If you are not familiar with the idea, I commend to you the concept of the ring theory (see picture above), which I first encountered in an opinion piece in the LA Times (https://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-xpm-2013-apr-07-la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407-story.html). 

Wherever you find yourself in the circle, you are only allowed to dump out. Never in. 

If only someone had drawn this diagram for Job’s friends. Fortunately, we have it, and we have countless good examples of listening and being present in Scripture, in history, and in our own lives. So we can follow in the footsteps of the women at the cross and be steadfast and present whenever someone we love needs us. God is with us always. May we live and act in ways that always point to that truth. AMEN. 

Love and Hope in the midst of Violence and Pain

 

Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

DFMS Noonday Prayer

March 29, 2023

Feast of John Keble: Psalm 15; Romans 12:9-21; Mark 1:9-13

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Oh my friends. We have been here before, and I don’t like it one bit. There was the original idea I had for a sermon at the beginning of this week. And then someone walked into an elementary school and shot children and teachers. Again. Our hearts are breaking. Again. 

It is hard to find words. There is just pain and anguish. And fury at a country that loves its guns more than its children. 

I think all of you know that I assisted Trinity, Newtown and our bishops in the wake of Sandy Hook, so there is a particular pain in watching another elementary school go through this horror. Especially since it has been more than a decade. Benjamin Wheeler should be in high school. He should have his driver’s license, and be beginning to think about where he is going to college. 

The pain is real. No doubt we all have our own stories where we have been closer or more connected to the horrors of gun violence - in supermarkets, in neighborhoods, in religious communities, in night clubs, in so many places where people gather to seek the simple joy of being together. 

So what do we do with all this pain? Well, I think the Holy Spirit has given us a gift in the midst of all the challenges. Our readings and the commemoration of John Keble. That passage from Romans . . . Let love be genuine. . . Don’t seek to do vengeance. Don’t act in spite or hate. Indeed. The only way forward is to keep being grounded in love. To keep acting out of love. Over and over again. 

And find all the small ways we can be a prophet for God and for Love. That’s what John Keble is most known for - preaching a sermon to the legal community and government leaders to criticize them for forgetting God. For seeing the Church as a mere institution and not a prophetic messenger of God’s love. May we not fall prey to the same error. May we find our ways to preach God’s love wherever we are. May we not lose heart even when it seems things will not change. 

I found myself thinking of John Lewis this week. Do you remember when he spent hours sitting on the House of Representatives floor advocating for gun control?

There was a photo that went around social media from the March in Selma, with the caption of something like: “I don’t think John Lewis is afraid of the gun lobby.” 

I found myself thinking of him and so many others in the civil rights era who persisted and persisted - even when things looked very bleak, even when children were dying. They did not give up. They did not turn to violence. They kept marching. They kept sitting. They kept showing up, until the laws changed. All the residents of Nashville today can sit at the same tables in a restaurant because John Lewis and his fellow college students staged sit-in after sit-in enduring humiliation and arrest until the laws changed. Side note, if you haven’t seen the documentary “Good Trouble” I highly recommend it. 

So in the midst of our pain this week, let’s remember John Keble and John Lewis. Let us remember that even a single person can indeed make an impact. Let us remember the truth that they proclaimed with their words and their lives: Love always has the last word. Amen. 

Homily for my Dad

The altar at Cathedral of St. Luke. The kneeler was given in memory of my Dad's mom.

                                            

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Homily for Eliot Field

Lamentations 3:22-33; Psalm 46; 1 Corinthians 13:1-7; Luke 24:13-35

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” The Road to Emmaus is the story of the holy, of God’s very person and presence, being made manifest in the midst of ordinary life. Jesus meets the disciples while they are walking on the road. But they are so self focused, so distracted that they do not realize the resurrected Christ is walking along with them. It is not until they stop to rest and eat at the end of the day, that they realize who had been their companion on the way. 

For all of us who had the privilege of traveling with my Dad - walking, hiking, sitting on a train or boat, bus or plane - or the gift of sitting next to him at a dinner table, we know something of what the disciples experienced. We know how God can be made manifest in the course of conversation and a meal. My Dad was someone who lived with gratitude for the present moment. He paid careful attention to the beauty of his surroundings, and especially to the people he was with. I like to think if he had been walking with the disciples on that road, it might not have taken him so long to recognize Christ’s presence among them. Because even in the midst of the ordinary moments and interactions of daily life, my Dad was always on the lookout for the holy, for the extraordinary. He knew that God - God’s very being and love - were most evident to us in the midst of our interactions with each other. 

And there is a far more profound truth being communicated in the story of the disciples on the road. It is not only that God’s love and presence are made manifest to the disciples that day. It is the fact that the resurrected Christ is walking with them. There in their midst is the truth at the heart of the Christian faith. The truth that God is always at work, even in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances. Even in the midst of tragedy and loss and pain and heartbreak. God is present. The horrors of life, the evil realities of this world, never have the last word. Hope is real. New life is possible. Love is stronger than death. That is the beautiful truth of Easter morning. And the glorious reality is that truth was not just for the disciples. It was not just for that first Easter. It is a truth that continues to be manifest again and again in our lives and in the world. 

The best compliment I think we can give to a person of faith is that their life pointed us to God. Their life pointed us to hope, to beauty, to love, to the reality that there is more to life than we can comprehend. My Dad was such a person. A person willing to embrace the mystery, that there is so much we cannot fully understand. Remarkably acknowledging all that is beyond the limits of human comprehension can be a source of comfort. It is an act of surrender, of turning it over. 

An act of faith to trust that even in the midst of that which we cannot fully understand, even as we are going through life, at times like the disciples, distracted, afraid, grieving, or uncertain, God is with us - pointing us to the future with hope and love. 

That was what my Dad did. Pointed us to the future with hope and love. It was especially evident in the care and attention he took for each conversation. Whether you had come to him for legal advice or life advice or for help on a worksheet from school or just had the opportunity to sit next to him at dinner, he was fully present to whatever questions you had, whatever might be weighing on your heart or your mind. You would feel as though sitting with you and your question was the most important thing he had to do all day. This joy of conversation, of connection, of learning together, were central to who he was and how he lived.

All of us gathered here, all of us who have had the privilege of sharing some piece of our journey, walking some portion of the road of life with the remarkable human being who was Eliot Field, have benefited from his wisdom and grace. Whether it was because he taught us some scientific fact, helped us out of a sticky legal situation, invited us to marvel at the splendor of creation, or inspired us to be more graceful and pay more attention in the present moment. 

He has left us a multifaceted legacy. You can find his name in legal briefs and court cases. His influence in improved processes and more compassionate, rational municipal governments. In the speed of Jesse’s backhand. In the napkins and first aid kit in my car. In the fact that all his grandchildren know how to ski and hit a tennis ball. In the fact that meals on that Dresden hilltop still stop so we can all stand in awe as the sun sinks slowly behind the White Mountains. We will remember him in so many actions and places. Perhaps most of all, though, we will remember and honor him in how we are in the world. When we hold on to the lessons of the Road to Emmaus and all the meals and conversations we have shared. When we slow down and pay attention. When we trust that hope is real and love always has the last word. When our first reactions are patience, grace, and good humor. When we look for the holy in the midst of the ordinary. 

Whenever you have one of those moments in the days and weeks and years ahead. I hope you will pause. I hope you will remember. I hope you will smile. And I hope you feel that my Dad is smiling right there with you. Amen.