Worship Schedule

Sunday8:00 amHoly Eucharist Rite I - Chapel
Sunday9:00 amChristian Formation
Sunday10:15 amGlad News/Sad News
Sunday10:30 amHoly Eucharist Rite II - Sanctuary w/Music
Monday6:00 pmCentering Prayer and Study
Wednesday12:15 pmHoly Eucharist with Healing Ministry

St. Lukes Blog

St. Luke's

Community Page

Organization Page


The Current and Currency of our Lives

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; All Saints—Year B; Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44 — Video

We’ve got one of those wonderful, holy collisions today—as your Priest and Rector, it’s my turn to address Annual Giving and it’s All Saints Day—that’s some fun stuff to work with.

I want to start by thanking Lynne Getz for her powerful, powerful sermon a few weeks ago as the Vestry Liaison for Stewardship and Finance. Lynne posed a question, “What is the Church to you?” and then, she proceeded to answer that question from the depths of her being and told us what this church means to her. She gave a witness—yes, Episcopalians really can give a witness. And, as she spoke, I watched you, and you resonated with what she said—St. Luke’s embodies our best hopes about what the church can and should be. We come here and get fed in so many ways, so that we can go out there and be bread for the world. That’s what it means to be Christ’s body—together, for the sake of the world.

And I want to thank Lynne for her great interviewing and Jim Banks for his editing of this year’s “Why I Love St. Luke’s” video. A great range of people and ages all spoke to why they love this community. This is a place where we can stretch and share our gifts; this is a place where we can refine and discern and release our passion in a multitude of ways; what happens here is worth our time, and our energy, and our money.

But there is always a prior question to the why-give-to-St. Luke’s question, and that question is this, “Why give at all?” Lynne Twist is the thinker who continues to capture my imagination here. In her book The Soul of Money, she talks about money as currency, as current, as energy that flows. And she tells story after story about what happens when you align your use of money with your deepest core values; she describes how this sort of alignment unleashes all this energy. She notes that currency, like current, is meant to flow. It makes me think about how Richard Rohr talks about God and the Trinity as the flow of love and how sin is anything that blocks the flow of love. Love, life, energy, current, currency—they are all meant to flow.

Lynne Twist joins others in talking about the difference between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea—the Jordan River flows into both, but one is alive and one is dead. The Jordan River feeds the Sea of Galilee at the north end, and the Sea of Galilee is full of abundant life, and at the south end, the water flows out and continues south as the Jordan River. The Dead Sea receives the water from the Jordan at its northern end, but it holds everything; nothing flows out, the salt content is 33%, and nothing can thrive in that environment.

We are constantly being invited into this dance of giving and receiving—try to close your arms in and hold it all, and it all starts to shut down. Creativity shuts down, dreams and possibility shut down, sharp edges rise up, fear sets in, anxiety starts to hold sway, “there’s not enough” messages start encroaching on our imaginations, and we don’t step out as much, try as much, risk as much. There’s too much at stake; too much to lose.

These are the stories that we start to tell ourselves, but as people of faith, there is a deeper story that holds us. The saints remind us that we always stand in this stream, this flow that transcends time and space, that is bigger and more alive than we can imagine. We stand in the flow of the God who makes all things new, who is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. If God is holding the beginning and the end and everything in-between, then you and I are free to leap out and take risks knowing and trusting that God is always taking the offering of our lives and making them new.

We have to give—it is a matter of our salvation—not to get into heaven—that’s really bad theology, but it is a matter of our wholeness. We have to give to remember that all that we have and all that we are come from God, and our task is to receive all that is poured toward us—all the love, all the gifts we’ve been given, all our talents, all our material treasures—our task is to make sure that all that has flowed toward us keeps on flowing. We’re not meant to hold it; we’re meant to steward the flow.

Giving is spiritual practice—it enables us bless, not only with our lips but with the whole of our lives, and it’s how we learn to trust that we will indeed be given our daily bread. So, giving is one of those bedrock, foundational, spiritual practices that hits a lot of us where we live. Even when we get the spirituality of it, taking seriously our practice of giving will always drive us into a wilderness where we have to confront our deepest financial fears and anxieties. And, like all spiritual practices that the church sets before us, that’s a really good stretch for our souls.

Wrestling with our giving practice is also a way that we wrestle with our commitment to one another in this community; it’s a way to incarnate, to make tangible that this community matters to me. It’s one of the ways that we lay claim to the fact that St. Luke’s is my community; it’s the way I can say, “I’m all in, and I take responsibility for our common life here.” Committing to a group of people, some of whom think like I do and some of whom don’t—it’s big—it’s not the done thing in our culture—but there is wisdom and power in saying “to you, I belong, and to me, you belong,” and we will find our way forward together.

I don’t care what you pledge; what I care about is this—if you consider St. Luke’s to be your community, I care that you pledge, that you make some tangible commitment to this community as a way of owning that we share responsibility for our common life. And I care deeply that you wrestle with the amount because the wrestling is good. I care that your giving practice helps you examine, deeply, how and where your money is flowing, and helps you ask, “These places where my money is flowing, do they represent the values, the passions, the commitments that I hold most dear?”

The amount that will draw us into this creative wrestling will be different for each one of us. I have always believed in leading by example, and be assured, our family wrestles with this. For us, 11% of our gross income is that sweet spot that invites us to wrestle deeply with these questions—10% of that flows to St. Luke’s because this is the place that embodies our deepest core values, and the rest goes to places in the local community and across the world that are doing work aligned with our passions. Your tithe includes all the places you bless with support, not just the church.

If the flow of your money and your values are in alignment, there’s going to be energy and life. If your money and your values are out of alignment, or if they’re out of balance, you’ll feel a drain, a drag. If that’s the case, then what is one step you could take, right now, to start to align that flow differently? If you haven’t pledged before, a pledge of $1 in alignment with your values can shift the flow.

Annual Giving Season is an invitation to all of us, as a spiritual community, to wrestle with our relationship to this thing that holds so many of us captive.

And this wrestling can also be such a source of blessing, and a means of dreaming. I am really struck by the story from John’s gospel today. Lazarus has been dead for four days—stinky dead—and yet, Jesus calls Lazarus to come out of that tomb of death, and when Lazarus comes out, he is all bound up, his hands, his feet, his face—bound with strips and layers of cloth. And Jesus says, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

How are we all bound up with money, with our fears, with our anxieties, with our dreams, with our hopes? What are those layers that we need to peel away and shed? What needs to be unbound in us, as individuals, as a community, so that we may be set free?

On this All Saints Day, I am mindful of all of our St. Luke’s saints—some in this room and some in that great and glorious communion of saints that lives beyond us—and how they dared to dream big dreams, big scary dreams with big scary financial implications. They dreamed of a church that would remain downtown and bought a piece of land and built this beautiful, holy, sacred space, and it was such a financial stretch. I think of all the saints who gave of their money, and their skill, and their sweat, and how a community came together to accomplish something that seemed far beyond them. I think of the saints who made provision for this church in their wills that enabled us to pay off our mortgage just before the financial crash which enabled us to weather a difficult financial season that hit many of our families hard. Those who have gone before us dared to dream big dreams, and they trusted that there would be a way to get there.

And year after year, the faithful of this community, we find a way to get the Lord’s work done—together. What does that look like in numbers? $327,000 flowing through this community—72% of it coming from pledges, 8% from the collection plate, 5% from the Hunger Basket, 12% from other income sources, and 3% from pure faith (as opposed to the financially-sound-reasonable-assumptions-and-expectations kind of faith).

And where does that money flow? Some of it flows through us very quickly and right back out into the world blessing Hospitality House, the Community Care Clinic, the Hunger Coalition, and WeCan. Some of it flows to our Diocese helping to support creative ministry all across the Diocese, and in wonderful Trinitarian fashion, even flowing back to us through Diocesan Support of the Campus Ministry at ASU. It flows into care of our building, and resources for ministry, and care of our staff who provide leadership and the support that enables this community to be the church that we are.

And let me flesh this out a little more—there is only ONE MISSIONto be in the flow of God’s love—to receive it and to give it—in our lives, in this community, in the world. Sometimes, we make these distinctions between monies that go for outreach and monies that take care of the building or pay our utilities or compensate the staff, and we often weight that money for outreach more heavily. But it’s all ONE MISSION.

We are able to do great outreach in the world because we build up the body of Christ here—with fellowship and community and formation and worship. We are empowered to do incredible ministry in our community outside those doors because of what goes on in this community inside of these doors. Music and preaching and bread and wine and prayers and praise feed us every week. Fellowship enables us to bear one another’s burdens and share one another’s joys and emboldens us to risk great things for the sake of the gospel. We grow in the faith together—asking questions together, challenging each other, helping one another to discover and claim and live the way of Jesus 24×7.

Yes, it takes a lot of energy and resources to sustain St. Luke’s, but we’re not sustaining an institutionwe’re feeding and clothing and caring for the body of Christ that is alive in this place, a body that pours its life out into the world.

Some of our dreams for 2016 are in that realm of good, sound, regular care of the body:

  • supporting the work of our staff who lead us, and create the container for music and worship, and who support those often unseen structures that keep our body sound
  • caring well for this physical space—our building and our grounds—and setting money aside for future maintenance needs that we know are coming
  • and, in good early church fashion, binding ourselves to other Christian communities across western North Carolina through our support of the Diocese.

Some of our dreams are in that realm of allowing money to flow through us and toward those in deepest need in our community through our support of WeCan, Hospitality House, the Hunger Coalition, and the Community Care Clinic.

And some of our dreams for 2016 are in that realm of great big scary wonderful dreams. On December 31st, the Rev. Beth Turner is stepping down as the ASU Campus Minister to go ¾ time at St. Thomas, Burnsville. This is a really good move for Beth and for St. Thomas. Any time you have a change like this, it opens up the space to completely rethink a ministry. And Bishop Taylor is asking us, here at St. Luke’s, to do just that. He wants to invite us into dreaming about this ministry at ASU, and to wonder if and how it might be linked to us here at St. Luke’s, and what else might be possible.

The Diocese supports a ½ time position at ASU. What if we joined the Diocese as a partner and added a ¼ time Youth Missioner position here at St. Luke’s to work with 6th-12th graders? And then, what if we went for a Mission Enterprise Block Grant from the National Church to fund creative ministry based at 3rd Place that would reach out to young adults and others in Boone who just can’t walk through the doors of a church for a whole host of reasons, but who can get through the door of 3rd Place located just off of King Street?

What if we dared to dream big dreams for our community and imagined how St. Luke’s could reach out further into the community through being a strong base camp dedicated to new models of being church outside of this building? This spring, we will be engaged in this sort of dreaming, and it will take several months to discern the specific shape of what this could be, but we need to make financial provision now—about $18,000—to support whatever dream might emerge.

And the Vestry is also still discerning whether or not to go forward with the Picnic Shelter Solar Project.

Is it crazy to be considering all of these things? Maybe, but probably no more crazy than buying a piece of land in this location probably seemed all those years ago. These moments don’t come along very often, and there is something in being willing to leap when they do.

We don’t know what capacity exists among us until we reach for a dream. And when passion gets married to a dream, who knows what financial capacity exists among us that has just been yearning to be unleashed. Maybe there is pent up financial current that has just been waiting to be invited to flow. And it’s my guess that that current can flow in multiple directions at once, and in fact, maybe we’re more alive when it does because it means life and passion are flowing freely.

So, next Sunday, we will gather to pledge ourselves to this community, and to make tangible our commitments to one another through the sacrament of our money. This week, you will receive a letter and an email with links to Lynne’s sermon, and this sermon, and the “Why I Love St. Luke’s” video—please sit with these reflections.

Take this week and ask yourself the hard questions about your relationship to money—is the flow of money through your life aligned with your deepest values?

Take this week to think about what St. Luke’s means to you and how you want the current and currency of your lives to reflect all that you value here.

And then, come and live into the dream that God is inviting us to build—together. Amen.



The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

November 1, 2015

We go together even when we part

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 21—Year B; Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29; Psalm 19:7-14; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50. Video.

Have you ever embarked upon some new journey, and you start off all excited—maybe what you are leaving behind was really bad, or maybe it was just time for a change, but you summon the courage to step out on a new path? Your energy is high, your step is light, the air is different, the smell of adventure is in the air. And then, you hit your first snag, your first barrier, and it gets a little scary. You start to second guess yourself and your decision. You throw a glance over your shoulder toward that place you left, but then, lo and behold, God gives you a sign that you are on the right track. That thing you needed, that way forward, it becomes clear, and it’s all good, and forward you go.

Then you get a little deeper into your new adventure, a little deeper into this unchartered territory, a little deeper into this wilderness. You are now in the stage of the journey where it’s a slog. You can no longer see that land you left, and the promised land is not anywhere close to being in view. You are just out in the middle of nowhere. And without the adrenalin of your leaving and without the excitement of your destination—in that uncomfortable in-between space—that’s when your deepest desires and longings can rise up, and that’s when nostalgia can swoop in and take over your mind, your heart, and your spirit.

And that’s where God’s people are today in Numbers. The rabble among them had a strong craving; and the Israelites also wept again, and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.” The rabble and the Israelites—this motley crew is a mixed multitude—about 600,000 in all—all sorts and conditions of people, scraped together, a ragtag group of people who had attached themselves to this band of Israelites making their way to the promised land. So this rabble had a strong craving—and we’re back to this desire thing again—deep, deep desire and longing, and the rabble isn’t the whole group—it’s just a part of the group.

Oh, this is a lesson in group dynamics. So, a small group starts getting all worked up, and pretty soon, the Israelites are all upset, weeping again! Oh, if only we had meat to eat…remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt (nostalgia), the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up (woe is me), and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at. Hello, the manna that God provided for them when they hit that first snag out in the wilderness, the manna that had sustained them daily ever since, the manna that was quite, quite substantial, that you could boil and make into cakes, and it would taste like a cake baked in olive oil? That manna?

It seems to be a human maxim that when we are moving forward and things get really hard, or the journey is just taking a whole lot longer than we would like, it seems to be a human maxim that we will long for Egypt. All those ways that we were held captive look better than this immeasurably uncomfortable unknown that we are slogging through. That daily manna that has been sustaining us, that gift from God that reminds us that we’re on the right track, all of the sudden, it doesn’t seem like it’s near enough. Food tasted better in that old life, never mind that the life that came with it constrained us and left our souls hungry.

And if you’re a leader—and let’s think broad here…this can be leadership you exercise in the classroom or at work, or leading a team in some aspect of ministry here at church or out in the community, or the ways we lead in our families or among our friends—if you’re a leader leading a group on this journey from what was to what will be, well, there is a special place of misery reserved for you. You have the duel role of hearing the weeping and longing and doubts of the people while at the same time processing your own grief and doubt. Oh joy. That can be a recipe for a down moment every now and again, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad leader; it means you’re a human one.

So, it’s really helpful to see Moses have his dark night of the soul—here’s how his conversation goes with God: “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight, that you lay the burden of all this people on me? Did I conceive all this people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom, as a nurse carries a sucking child,’ to the land that you promised on oath to their ancestors? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people? For they come weeping to me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me. If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—if I have found favor in your sight—and do not let me see my misery.”

Yep, sometimes, leaders just want to crawl into their cave and not come out again. I love Moses, and I especially love Moses when he is raw and unfiltered, and he just lets it fly with God. The text describes Moses as displeased, but the hebrew word also means broken. The beginning of humility is to know that you can’t carry what you are holding in your heart and soul. And once we know that, and once we make that known to God, then God has some space to work with.

And here’s God’s answer: “Uh, Moses, you don’t have to carry this all on your own. Gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be the elders of the people and officers over them; bring them to the tent of meeting, and have them take their place there with you. Moses, you’ve got to share the leadership. So Moses went out and told the people the words of the LORD; and he gathered seventy elders of the people, and placed them all around the tent. Then the LORD came down in the cloud and spoke to him, and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders; and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied. But they did not do so again.

This is exactly what Jesus has done to us in baptism. That spirit that rested upon him, he has given it to us, fully and completely. We don’t do this work alone; none of us does this work alone; we have been given different gifts, but we are all gifted and empowered. Moses had to admit his need to God, but it was God who supplied the way forward—that divine spirit that animated him was shared and given around the circle so that the whole community could move forward toward the promised land.

And you get the sense that this whole sharing-of-power freaked the elders out a little bit. When that spirit rested upon them, they were speaking with courage in ways that they had never spoken before. It spooked them to feel that power and to speak that power out into the world. And they shut it down, at least for the moment. When this incredible power that we’ve been given hits us, it takes some time to figure out how to live in this new empowered normal; it takes time to appropriate this power and figure out how best to move with it and deploy it in God’s service.

And what happens next is so, so classic. No sooner do they feel the power than they start developing the right and wrong way to exercise it. Poor ol’ Eldad and Medad. They remained in the camp; they were registered, their credentials were in order, but for some reason, they had not gone out to the tent, and so they prophesied in the camp. And true to form, someone tattled on them. A young man ran and told Moses, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” And Moses assistant, Joshua son of Nun, he went straight up to Moses and appealed to Moses to stop them!

It’s that anxiety that gets going when we really empower people and tell them that they have the power and authority to act. When we decentralize in that way, it means some people are going to act in ways that aren’t going to be under central control. And some odd stuff might happen, even some great big crash-and-burns, but can we trust the greater vision of what’s at work? Can we accord people the best of motives? Can we exercise the virtues of grace and forgiveness with one another? Can we circle back and talk it through and figure out where to go from here?

And just as Moses was the exemplary leader in laying his weariness and misery before God, so he remains the exemplary leader now. Moses didn’t get flapped by Eldad and Medad. Moses understood the power of giving up control and letting that power go where God willed it to go. Moses saw what was possible if everyone claimed their share of the spirit and spoke that power out into the world in word and deed. Moses called Joshua on his narrow vision, “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit on them!”

Moses could see what’s possible when all the LORD’s people exercise the power that God has placed upon them. We, in this community, have just had a glorious example of what happens when power is shared and the spirit flows. Pat Kohles and Suzi Mills graciously empowered a whole lot of folks in this community and in the university community to be about the ministry of hospitality, and it involved a whole lot of letting go and trusting on their part. Pat could have managed the St. Luke’s side of the equation down to the ingredients in recipes, but she didn’t; she trusted all of you. And look what happened! A glorious, glorious experience of blessing unfolded for a whole multitude of people. Power was shared which freed power to flow, and we, the UniZulu Chorale, the ASU community, and the wider community of Boone and Watauga and Ashe Counties were all blessed in the process. It would have been too much to bear for any one person, and not near as much fun.

And Ted, you have been a glorious and gracious icon for us of sharing power. Musically and creatively, you have brought out the very best in all of us. It has never been about ego with you, but only and always about opening up mystical space; it has always been about opening up that space where people can encounter the spirit of the LORD. As we now part ways, I pray that you may continue to manifest God’s spirit and prophesy in the beautiful way that is uniquely yours. I pray that we may graciously release you for this journey trusting that it’s all good. I pray that when you, or we, hit those moments of longing for what has been, I pray that we both will trust that God will continue to provide us the manna we need—daily and in abundance. And even from afar, I pray that we, you and we, all remember that we are bound together in spirit and love and gifted for the journeys to which we now are called and which are now ours to travel apart.

It takes a community who is empowered to get to the promised land. We do the journey together, and when Egypt starts to look good, we help each other remember where we’re going and why. We’ll be doing that for one another here. Ted, trust the community that is waiting to embrace you and let them help you remember where you’re going and why.

Thank you for 12 ½ years of letting the spirit pour through you, and through your fingers and your fabulous feet; thank you for 12 ½ years of Sunday mornings and baptisms and weddings and funerals. Thank you for glorious experiments and pushing the boundaries and grounding us in the very best of the tradition.

Ted, thank you for more moments than we can name            where you lifted our hearts and ignited our souls and gave us a glimpse of the promised land.

Words fall short; we love you more than we can say. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

September 27, 2015

Let a child lead them

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 20—Year B; Jeremiah 11:18-20; Psalm 54; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

James just keeps coming at us. First, he lays out some criteria for being wise and understanding. It’s not enough for James just to live a good life—the works that make up that good life have to be done with gentleness born of wisdom. Oh man. James notes that bitter envy and selfish ambition can lead to being boastful and false to the truth—not good things in his book. And if people claim these things under the rubric of wisdom, well, for James, it isn’t a wisdom that’s coming from God.

James then goes on to teach us the physics of magnetism—envy and selfish ambition, these attract disorder and wickedness of every kind. The wisdom from above—it’s going to put out a clean energy; it’s going to put out an energy that is peaceable and gentle; it’s going to have a capacity to yield; it’s going to be full of mercy and good fruits with no traces of partiality or hypocrisy; and it’s going to spin off a harvest of righteousness, an abundance of right relationships.

Envy and selfish ambition—these will invariably attract conflicts and disputes. James asks, “Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? You want something and do not have it; so you commit murder. And you covet something and cannot obtain it; so you engage in disputes and conflicts.”

Okay, our translation isn’t doing justice to the greek in this passage. Let’s unpack some words. The word translated as envy is actually jealousy, and it means “zeal…the kind of zeal where you will defend anything;” this jealousy is “the fierceness of indignation, punitive zeal,” and it comes from the root “to boil with heat, to be hot,” as in “zeal with a good dose of boiling hot anger.” Got the picture?

And selfish ambition. Oh, you’re going to like this one; I promise that I’m not making this up. The greek means “electioneering, intriguing for office, partisanship, fractiousness.” Thank you, James.

When James drills down into the source of the conflicts and disputes among us, our translation says that James points to the cravings that are at war within us. I like the word cravings; I think it captures that insatiable appetite that we have, but that’s not quite what the greek word means. The greek word is hedone“pleasure, the desire for pleasure”—think hedonist. For James, it is all these desires that are often at war within us that are the source of the conflicts and disputes that can engulf us. Now, desire in and of itself isn’t a bad thing—in fact, it’s a very good thing; it’s the source of passion and energy and new life. However, desire only focused on pleasure divorced from the wisdom from above and mercy and peace and gentleness and right relationship, that’s a problem. Think desire run amok, and maybe we are getting closer to the sense in which James is using hedone.

Then the translation has James saying, “You want something and do not have it; so you commit murder.” Okay, it’s a little stronger than that; this wanting is again rooted in desire and longing. It’s not just a little wanting; it’s a whole lot of wanting; it’s wanting enough that you’ll murder for it—and use your imagination, you can kill someone in a whole lot of ways, starting with destroying their character. And the translation talks about coveting, but the greek is back to that good old fierce, zealous, defensive, indignant, burning hot anger, jealous stew; whatever it is that we’re after, we can’t get it, and so we engage in all manner of disputes and conflicts.

Do you ever get fixated on something you desire, something you don’t have, something you want, and you hit a barrier—you can’t obtain it, you can’t get it, you can’t make it happen, and this red hot lava-ish fierce, defensive, burning, indignant anger starts to rise in you, and all the sudden you are in a fight with your partner or your child or your teacher or your boss or your sibling or your friend? Selfish ambitions, partisanship, fractiousness—these spawn disorder and wickedness of every kind. James is so amazingly contemporary.

Conflicts and disputes, they’re just a waiting for us when our desires are not in conversation with the wisdom from above that also resides deep within if we can quiet ourselves long enough to listen to what’s beneath all our desires.

And it is so, so easy to get there. James says, “You do not have, because you do not ask. You do not ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly…” Quite simply, we don’t ask for what we need or want, or we ask in sideway ways, fearing that what we have asked will be rejected, and we’ll be rebuffed if we just ask for it clearly and directly. But part of the problem with asking clearly and directly is being clear about our need or want in the first place. For James, this discernment begins first and foremost with God—“Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, the one who throws things apart, who sets things up in perpetual opposition, resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.”

Are we willing to submit to God, to place ourselves under that wisdom from above? In our culture, we struggle to submit to anything. And to hear that wisdom, to touch that wisdom, to receive that wisdom, are we willing to take the time and energy necessary to draw near to God? Are we willing to resist the forces that drive us apart from each other, that would throw us apart from God, that throw our insides apart and get us at war with ourselves? All of this conflict, it’s not of God—God’s deepest desire, huge big whopping desire, God’s deepest longing and wanting (okay, did you catch that desire is not de facto “bad”)—God’s deepest longing and wanting is for us to be at union with God and one another and our own self. But it will take some resistance on our part against the forces that seek to throw us apart, and it takes some yielding on our part to submit to God, and frankly, it takes some plain old sweat equity to spend the time necessary drawing near to God—the church-word for that is “prayer.”

The other thing that gets us off in the weeds of conflicts and disputes is striving to be first borne of anxiety. So the disciples are getting a good dose of reality from Jesus as he teaches that his path follows the way of death and resurrection. The disciples like the rising part—resurrection is way cool—the dying part, not so much. All they know is dying sounds like, well, dying, and most of us don’t want to die—whether that is a physical death or a metaphorical one. Loss is loss is loss. They don’t understand what Jesus is saying, and like a lot of us in school, they are afraid to ask the teacher.

So, when we are anxious and fearful, we compare ourselves to others; we strive for the top, thinking that death and loss won’t hurt so much from there.

But Jesus gets what’s going on, and he calls them on it. He asks what they’re arguing about, and they go silent. Are you going to fess up to the guy who has just told you that he’s going to die in service to this mission, are you going to tell that guy that you were just pulling a Muhammed Ali arguing over who’s the greatest?

Jesus sits the twelve down. Time for a little object lesson. “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Why the child? What is it about the child? What does this child do to us? (pause)

The child slows us down. The child draws us in. The child brings out our curiosity, our sense of wonder. Older children may know what that comparative-striving-borne-of-anxiety is all about, but a child that you can pick up in your arms—they’re not striving; they’re present; they’re in the flow of love—receiving it, igniting it in others’ hearts. The child stops business as usual. Republicans and Democrats can equally melt and be putty in the presence of a child. The child doesn’t have a sense of my precious agenda, my holy and not so holy desires. There’s no ambition here, no ego. All the child wants is to be held in the arms of the one who is holding him or her.

 “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” Could it be that Jesus longs to be in our arms, curious, full of wonder, giving and receiving love in that way that makes us melt? Could it be that Jesus longs for us to be in his arms in the same way? If we are bent on being the best, there is no room, no space, no time to lay back and float in the arms of the Lord.

When my daughter was a tiny baby and she would lay on my chest, I called it “Baby Valium”—it was the most exquisite, peaceful, all-is-right-with-the-world feeling I had ever known. That’s what union is like.

That’s what Jesus is getting at. This is the wisdom that is from above, gentle, peaceful, willing to yield, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy—just resting with one another totally AT ONE.

When you taste that sweetness, then it doesn’t matter—      whether you are dying or whether you are rising—you are AT ONE with God, and no status, no achievement, no position can compare with that. Amen.


The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

September 20, 2015

The tounge is a fire

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 19—Year B; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 116:1-8; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38 – Video

Well, the Letter of James takes us into the belly of the beast this morning. Strap in, this is going to get personal and uncomfortable.

James starts off well, well maybe not for a lot of us at St. Luke’s so closely tied as many of us are to education. Here’s how he begins: Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.Sorry all you teachers.

But then it gets better—For all of us make many mistakes. That’s good. Anyone who makes no mistakes in speaking is perfect, able to keep the whole body in check with a bridle. Okay, that’s not going to be most of us, but we’re not trying to achieve perfection anyway, right? But then James takes this bridle metaphor and goes a little crazy with it.

If we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we guide their whole bodies. Or look at ships: though they are so large that it takes strong winds to drive them, yet they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs. So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great exploits.

And by member, James means part of the body. But James doesn’t stop there; oh no, he’s just getting cranked up.

How great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire! And the tongue is a fire. The tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity; it stains the whole body, sets on fire the cycle of nature, and is itself set on fire by hell. For every species of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison.

It’s like James’ brain is doing this rapid-fire word association thing—you can just see all the neurons firing—and he’s making all these connections.

The tongue is a small member…small fires lead to forest fires…the tongue is a fire…the tongue is a member placed among all of our members as a world of iniquity—it stains the whole body…one member affects the whole…one spark can start a fire that grows into a big fire, affects the whole forest…back to fire, fire, oh, it sets on fire the cycle of nature…oh, and it’s set on fire by hell, hell is hot and fiery…cycle of nature, oh, every species of beast and bird, reptile and sea creature, they can all be tamed and have been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue!tame takes us back to bridle, and we’ve closed the metaphorical loop; we made it!

And then James gets downright philosophical, almost existential.

With [the tongue] we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so. Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water? Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs? No more can salt water yield fresh.

James is pondering one of the more confusing and painful aspects of human existence—with the tongue we bless and with the tongue we curse, from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing. How can this be? James laments, “My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so…If the source is good, how can both of these things come out of the mouth?”

Has James gone over the top here? I don’t think so. In fact, for about three weeks now I have been feeling that urge to give my election-cycle pastoral counsel, mostly prompted by how venomous the rhetoric is out there right now. We have to understand how this works if we are to maintain humanity in the midst of this season because James is right—the tongue is a small member, but it can start a fire, and that fire can consume everything in its path.

And it starts so small. A joke here about this political candidate, a joke there about that political candidate—just blowing off a little steam, just relieving a little frustration, a little pent-up political pressure. Right now, if I say the name Bernie Sanders, or Hillary Clinton, or Donald Trump, or the names of any of the other 16+ candidates, words or images will come to your mind, and some of those words will be about personal attributes, and some of those words won’t be kind, some may even be derogatory. And then you hear a joke in your circle of like-minded friends or co-workers, or on late-night TV, or a joke gets posted on Facebook, and you do that thumbs-up thing—you “Like” it—and then you repost it. And never mind the awful things the candidates are saying about one another, we’ve just started our own little fire in our part of the world.What starts as just one little joke, in the words of James, curses someone who is made in the likeness of God, and that energy spreads like wildfire.

And as we know from wildfires raging out of control, these fires consume everything in their path; they are devastating; and they hurt. And these fires started by the tongue, these wildfires hurt because we can’t ever talk about a member of our body, as in the tongue, without also remembering that “body” is the image for our corporate existence.

We are members of the Body of Christ—we are members of one another. What starts with one member affects the whole—what starts with me affects you, what starts with you affects me.

And when we participate in these fires, we are all diminished. We diminish the candidates, we diminish the process, we diminish whole swaths of brothers and sisters we don’t even know, and we diminish our brother or sister sharing the pew we are sitting on who may have a different perspective, AND we diminish ourselves because we have violated our solemn baptismal vow—foundational to the way we follow Jesus—“to respect the dignity of every human being.”

When we strike a spark to start one of these fires, or when we fan its flames, or when we pour gas on it, we have to look deep into our own heart and ask ourselves why? We all make many mistakes, James says as much, but I also think James is right—this stuff doesn’t spew from a good source. So, when we participate in this stuff, we have to look deep in our own heart and see what is not right. What in us wants to diminish that other person who is made in the likeness of God, beloved of God no less than I? Our culture tears people down for sport, but that is not the way of Jesus.

Oh, he’ll tackle hard issues with the leaders of his day, and he’ll use strong language, but he was also willing to set down and dine with his opponents. It’s an election season, we’ve got to participate. We’ve got to dig deep down into our values informed by our faith and let them inform how we approach every issue of policy. And we’ve got to have that order right-side up—faith is the spring that issues forth into policy; policies don’t dictate faith. Now, faith can certainly issue forth in different policy approaches—a spring can end up flowing into different streams—I’m just pushing us to consider what’s informing what.

I’ve shared this before—like every Presidential election cycle to be precise—but it bears repeating. The moment where this all changed for me was when my seminary Christian ethics professor looked me dead in the eye and said, “Cyndi, I don’t care what you say as a Democrat, what do you say as a Christian?” And I realized in that moment that I had to rethink every single policy position that I had starting from the place of my faith. And that work has occupied me ever since, and it’s made things a whole lot more complicated. It’s a bear when you have to be ethically consistent and coherent within your positions and ethically consistent and coherent withthe life and teaching of Jesus. All those people and concerns that occupied Jesus, these have to be in our hearts and in our minds as we engage the political process. We can’t separate out our faith and politics because in Jesus everything holds together. He didn’t divide out sacred and secular, political and religious, ordinary and holy. Everything for Jesus was holy and consecrated. His whole drive was toward wholeness for everything and everyone—that’s what salvation means, and anything that was a barrier to that, he took on.

Policy matters, and as people of faith, we should be in the rough and tumble of policy debates, but may we use our tongues in Isaiah-fashion, like the tongue of a teacher and, as James suggests, know that as we do, we will be judged with a greater strictness. May we use our tongues like Isaiah and sustain the weary with a word. May we use our tongues as the psalmist did and call upon the LORD. May we use our tongues tolift up our supplications, for ourselves, for our town, for our county, for our state, for our nation, for the world. May we use our tongues to bless those who are near and those who are far. May we use our tongues to sing and praise and raise up hearts that are bowed down. And, oh my gosh, UniZulu Chorale, you have taught us what a tongue set free can do.

You have taught us how a tongue trained to praise can spark a joy in another’s heart so deep that we didn’t even know that much joy was possible. You have taught us how a tongue trained to cry for freedom can bring that freedom about, not just in a pie-in-the-sky way, but at the most foundational, structural levels of society. You have taught us how the tongue can kindle a fire that can sweep across a whole community and make them one. We saw it here Friday night when 350+ people were singing and clapping and moving, sometimes not together, but moving nonetheless, as ONE.

We cannot thank you enough for showing us what the tongue can do. You have shown us the goodness of your hearts and reminded us of the goodness in ours. We are one body in Christ, and what you have done has affected us all.

Brothers and sisters, in this election season that will be with us for the next 15 months, may we drink from THISgood and pure source. May we call on the Lord GOD to bridle our tongues. May we exercise every bit of restraint that it will surely take not to participate in the restless evil and deadly poison that so many tongues are unleashing. May we be ever mindful and not strike that first spark, may we not fan flames, may we not pour gas on fires already raging. May we resist the urge to curse [any of] those made in the likeness of God, which is everyone.

Instead, may we remember this last week that we have had with our friends, now family, from South Africa, and may we use our tongues only to bless. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

September 13, 2015

Jesus skips the shame cycle

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 18—Year B; Isaiah 35:4-7a; Psalm 146; James 2:1-10, (11-13), 14-17; Mark 7:24-37 — Video

We definitely get a sense of God’s passion today. Isaiah 35the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.

The psalmist picks up this refrain: Happy are they whose hope is in the LORD their God; who gives justice to those who are oppressed, and food to those who hunger. The LORD sets the prisoners free; the LORD opens the eyes of the blind; the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down; the LORD loves the righteous; the LORD cares for the stranger; he sustains the orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the wicked.

So, God is about caring for the oppressed and opening up the eyes of the blind and unstopping the ears of the deaf and setting the tongue free to sing for joy! And certainly, that’s what Jesus is about in that passage we just heard from Mark.

They have brought a deaf man to Jesus who had an impediment in his speech. So, he takes this man aside in private, away from the crowd, and he puts his fingers into his ears, and he spit and touches his tongue. Then he looks up to heaven, he sighs, and he says to the man, “Ephphatha,” “Be opened.” And immediately the man’s ears were opened, and his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.

And Jesus orders the people to tell no one, and the more he tells them not to talk, the more zealously they proclaim it. The text tells us, “They were astounded beyond measure, saying, ‘He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.’”

Jesus is totally about God’s passion for the poor and oppressed, for the blind and the deaf and the mute; Jesus is totally about God’s passion for those who are bowed down, for the widow and the orphan and the stranger and the hungry. See Luke 4 where Jesus reads the Isaiah text that talks about these concerns and says to those gathered, “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” See Matthew 25 where Jesus proclaims unequivocally that in caring for the least of these, we care for him.

Jesus has a Godly perspective; he’s got the right vision; he gets what God is all about in this world; he embodies it in his every action, in his every encounter. He has done everything well. Right?

I love this story from Mark 7. It is one of my most favorite stories about Jesus because this is one of the times, recorded in the sacred text, when Jesus absolutely blows it. He gets it totally wrong. Let’s walk through this story again.

Jesus has just finished arguing with the Pharisees and scribes about how they make a mockery of the commandments by clinging to their human tradition. He has gone off to the region of Tyre. Tyre is a lovely little town over on the coast. You almost get the sense that Jesus wanted a little downtime, a little seaside holiday. He enters a house and doesn’t want anyone to know he’s there. He wants to be left alone.

But he’s Jesus. Word about him has spread. The chances of him going unnoticed are zero to none. A woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately hears about him, and she comes and bows down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. Read an outsider to outsiders. She was a woman and a Gentile—culturally, that’s two strikes against her.

She begs Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter. And listen to how he responds. Jesus said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Really Jesus? Honestly, did you just call a woman whose daughter is suffering, a woman who has come to you for help, did you just call her a dog? Did you really just tell her that she and her daughter are not worthy of healing because she is not an Israelite, because she doesn’t belong to the right tribe? Did you just deny her care and concern because she is a “them” and not an “us.” Uh, Jesus, can you like remember how you just chewed out the Pharisees and scribes for letting their human tradition get in the way of showing care and compassion for a fellow human being? What gives? Not your finest hour.

On this occasion, Jesus flunks pastoral sensitivity. And not only does he not extend care, but in the process, he shames the woman; he equates her to a dog. Wow.

And she, she calls him on it. She stands her sacred ground, and she calls him on it.

But the woman answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

This stops him cold; she completely turns the tables on him, and then HIS eyes were opened, and HIS ears were unstopped, and he saw, in a way he never had before, just how big God’s vision really is.

Then Jesus said to the woman, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

It is so important for us to know that the Lord we worship, the Lord we follow, absolutely had the capacity to blow it, just like you and just like me. And this woman, where did she get the strength, the moxie, to stand up to Jesus and call him on his narrow and myopic vision? How was it that she trusted her own intuitive wisdom that she and her daughter were indeed worthy of Jesus’ care and concern? How was it that, in the face of his authority, she could call Jesus to lay down his armor, and call forth the best of Jesus’ heart, and call him to move beyond the limits and boundaries he had placed on his compassion? I’d love to know more about what had shaped her and forged her strength.

There’s something else about this exchange that is important. When Jesus is confronted with the magnitude of his empathetic miss, he immediately circles back and makes it right. That’s the very definition of accountability—admit the mistake, figure out how to make it right, and make amends, and he circled back immediately and without shame. When we mess up with someone, and they call us on it, we can easily get sucked into the shame vortex. If I were Jesus, I would be like, “Oh my gosh, I’m the Son of God, how did I mess that up so badly? Worst Son of God ever,” and I would be paralyzed.

When we go into the shame pit, we either move to blame or the could-I-just-please-disappear-now place or that icky how-can-I-win-you-back place, and in that state, we are actually less likely to own our mistake and set it right.

Jesus didn’t go to the shame place. When the tradition talks about Jesus being as we are in every way, yet without sin, I think this is what it’s talking about. Sin literally means “missing the mark,” not shame; but even more, sin is about separation.

Jesus missed the mark, just like we do, but Jesus didn’t allow anything to throw him out of God’s Presence—not even his big, colossal, messy mistakes.

Jesus didn’t allow his mistake to separate him from God. Jesus had an unshakeable sense of his own worthiness; he didn’t allow his mistake to trigger his shame; he didn’t turn on the woman and blame her, nor did he disappear on the woman, nor did he try to win her back—he simply stayed connected; he circled back; he gave her the care and concern and compassion she deserved, and he healed her daughter, and in so doing, HIS vision was healed so that he could SEE and HEAR in expanded ways.

And when he left her, he went to the Decapolis—he went to Gentile territory and opened ears that were blocked and set tongues free so that they could sing for joy.

Thank God this story is preserved in our tradition. The Lord we follow—he made mistakes, and so will we, every day.

Can we step into those uncomfortable moments when it all goes off the rails? Can we be as brave as that Syrophoenician woman and call one another on those misses when they happen? Can we be as brave as Jesus and stand still while a brother or a sister brings to our awareness             the narrowness of our vision and those places where we are lacking in concern and compassion? Can we take a cue from Jesus and know in the depths of our being             that our mistakes don’t have to throw us out of God’s Presence? Can we skip the whole shame cycle,      can we skip the whole blame-disappear-grovel thing—it is such wasted energy! Can we commit to the practice of circling back and know that as we do, our eyes will be opened and our ears will get unstopped and our vision will expand to match the expansion in our hearts          and something in us will get healed and made whole? And then, can we rejoice    because in that moment, all of our tongues will be set free to sing for joy. Amen.


The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC
September 6, 2015

Lay down your armor

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 16—Year B; Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18; Psalm 34:15-22; Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6:56-69 — Video.

When I looked at the scriptures for today and saw that this passage from Ephesians was assigned, I thought, “Oh, it doesn’t get any better than this! We get to talk about armor!” But we’ve got to back into this image because armor can mean a whole lot of things—some of it good, and some of it not so good.

This whole idea of armor is pretty big in the Brené Brown work I’ve been doing the last year. I know I’ve touched on this before, but it is always good to run through it again.

She describes armor as those behaviors and ways of being in the world that we put on to protect us from vulnerability. Our armor consists of those front-end strategies that we use to avoid feeling vulnerable. We put on armor in the hopes that we can protect ourselves from the icky feelings that come when we are sinking in uncertainty, or feel at risk in some way, or are feeling exposed.

Brown talks about three types of armor that are pretty universal—foreboding joy, perfectionism, and numbing.

Foreboding joy is where we don’t really allow ourselves to feel joy because we know it can be gone in a heartbeat. We don’t want to be blindsided by hurt or caught off guard, so we project out into the future and catastrophize all that could go wrong, or we just choose not to expect too much, ergo, we avoid feeling disappointment.

Perfectionism isn’t the same as striving for excellence (which is a good thing). Perfectionism is driven by the belief that if we do things perfectly and look perfect and get it all right, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgment, and shame. Perfectionism, at its heart, is about trying to earn approval, and it actually hampers achievement because our fear of failing, or making mistakes, our fear of not meeting people’s expectations, our fear of being criticized actually keep us playing small. When we are in this place, we’re not willing to really put ourselves out there—it’s just too risky.

We numb to keep from really feeling that exposed feeling that makes our skin crawl when we are in uncertainty and risk. We do it with food and drink and drugs and spending. We do it with our electronic devices and Instagram and facebook and binge-watching series on Netflix or PBS Masterpiece Theater. We can numb with just about anything, and I am sure that you have your own unique ways to numb, as do I.

So, these are the three big shields. Then Brown talks about a few smaller ones. There’s the Viking or Victim shield where you are always exerting control for fear of being victimized or you think of yourself as the one who is always being taken advantage of. There’s Letting It All Hang Out where you share way too much too fast and try to hotwire a connection—this is the I-just-met-you-and-we-are-going-to-be-BFF’s, or you sort of smash through people’s social boundaries with intimate information in an effort to grab attention—think of the oversharing that can happen on social media. There’s Serpentining, one of my personal favorites, where you spend immense amounts of energy doing everything but the hard, vulnerable thing you are avoiding doing—this is when I straighten up my clutter and clean. And then there are the shields of cynicism, criticism, cool, and cruelty—these are plentiful in our culture.

That’s a ton of armor that we have to choose from. What are some other pieces of armor that we could add to our collection? Think about the things that you do because you want to be perceived in a certain way, or the things that you do because you don’t want to be perceived in a certain way—these are your go too armor. So, what are some others? (pause) Others—competence, overcompensating.

So, here’s the thing. We all use this stuff—DAILY. I have described this to 7th graders, 4th-6th graders, other clergy. Universally, people get this. We all resonate with all the ways we armor up to defend and protect our very, very vulnerable heart.

So, last spring, I was presenting this to our 7th graders as they were preparing for their Rite of Passage—and middle schoolers totally get this—this is their world. And one of our very wise 7th graders looked up at me and said, “Well, if the armor keeps you from feeling vulnerable, why wouldn’t you want that?” I was stumped, and this voice in my head said, “Yeah Cyndi, she’s got a really good point, why wouldn’t you want to do that???” So, I took that question back to my Daring Way small group, and we went deeper. First, it’s an illusion that this armor can actually keep you from feeling vulnerable—life is full of risk, uncertainty, and feeling exposed—we can’t avoid vulnerability—it’s built into the warp and weft of life. Second, and perhaps more importantly, while we associate feeling vulnerable with feeling bad, vulnerability is also the birthplace of all the emotions and experiences that we want more of—love, joy, faith, trust, creativity, innovation, and belonging. My small group leader then went on to say this, “It’s not that you don’t take anything with you into the arena. We can’t ask people to show up in their lives and be brave and send them in with nothing. You do get to take something in for protection—you get to take in your core values. Your core values are your Coat of Arms.” That image really grabbed me. The Coat of Arms was prominent in the Middle Ages and it was a way to mark your identity, and it did serve as a form of protection.

So, what is our Coat of Arms as Christian people? Well, first, it’s our core, unshakeable identity first proclaimed to Jesus at his baptism and given to us at ours—we are beloved sons and daughters of God, and in us, God is well-pleased. This is our Coat of Arms. And then, thank you St. Paul for helping us identify all of the other really cool pieces of armor that go with that core Coat of Arms.

According to Paul, we get to put on the whole armor of God—that’s, like, the whole complete set, so that we can stand against the wiles of the devil, so that we can stand against all that cunning, deceitful stuff out there driven by diabolos—all those forces that want to throw things apart. Paul reminds us that our struggle is not about wrestling with our flesh and blood—it’s not about labeling our humanity bad—our struggle is much more complicated than that, much larger, much more cosmic, much harder to sort out. Our struggle is against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.

That’s a potent mouthful. The rulers—in the greek, this is the first person or thing in a series, it’s the leader, but it also has this sense of being the beginning, the orgin. So, we are wrestling with that force that has been throwing things apart since the very beginning.

Authorities­—exousia—POWER. And remember, Jesus taught as one with authority, and the root of his authority is this same exousia. Power is not inherently bad, but it can be welded in devastating, crushing ways.  As Christian people, we can’t opt out of power, but we have to take our cues from Jesus as to how we use it.

Cosmic powers—one look around our world is enough to convince me that these unseen, but oh so real, powers exist at levels beyond my understanding.

And spiritual forces—again, greek is pneumatikos—which is also the root for Spirit, as in Holy Spirit. Spiritual forces can be immeasurably good, but spiritual forces can be incredibly destructive. In a nutshell, we, as people of the Jesus way, are playing with fire—the power given to us can be incredibly good, and that power can be turned to incredibly evil ends.

We are wrestling with POWER—our own and the powers that are battering our world.

Therefore, Paul says, take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. A big part of what we are called to do is stand there, stand in the midst of these battles, stand in the midst of pain and suffering, stand. I love that phrase, “Don’t just do something, stand there!” It’s more powerful than you might imagine. But we don’t stand there naked. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist—not our little truth of personal preference, but the great big truth of God’s love and desire that all may thrive, the kind of truth that Jesus proclaims again and again—and put on the breastplate of righteousness—the breastplate of right relationship, this is what goes across your heart. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace—we walk in whatever practices we can find that will enable us to be peacemakers, reconcilers, proclaimers of the good news of this peace that passes all understanding.

With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. What a wonderful image! Take this shield of complete trust in God’s love made flesh in Jesus—hold that love out before you and whatever arrows are coming your way, let them get absorbed by that shield of love, and let that love absolutely melt those arrows away so that, ultimately, they can’t hurt you. Take the helmet of salvationtake the helmet of wholeness—let that infuse your mind, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of Godthe word of God that can pierce our hearts and the hearts of those with whom we are contending—but not a sword to obliterate, the sword of the Spirit is always a sword that is cutting a new path, slicing through barriers to set loose creativity and newness and life.

Paul then counsels us to pray in the Spirit always, at all times, in every prayer, in every supplication.  The Spirit is already praying within us, always, in sighs too deep for words the prayers and longings and desires of our hearts, prayers that we don’t even have words for. We never pray alone—the Spirit is always praying with us. And then Paul tells us to keep alert and persevere. And he asks our prayers, that he can proclaim the mystery of the gospel with boldness, and Paul understands that he is compelled to proclaim this mysterious, beautiful gospel—he is an ambassador of it, he is bound to it. And the root for ambassador is presbeuo—it’s the word for elder. We are called to be wise elders of this good news, and to proclaim and mentor people in the way of Jesus.

We can put on a whole lot of armor that will weigh us down and guard our heart and absolutely rob us of joy and creativity and love and belonging, OR we can put on our Coat of Arms and the whole armor of God and stand firm while our hearts soar.

But I will tell you this, which armor we don is a daily choice. There are a lot of forces pulling us to toward the armor that defends our heart like a fortress, and precious little support for standing in this world as people of love and hope and peace. That’s why we come here, that’s why we have each other, that’s why we eat the bread and drink the wine, that’s why we pray.

Lay down your old armor.

Take up on the whole armor of God.

Your heart and soul are longing to put on armor that isn’t near so heavy to wear.


The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

August 23, 2015

Jesus has broken down the dividing wall

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; Eighth Sunday after Pentecost—Year B (Proper 11); Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 Video

There is so much packed into today’s lessons, I can hardly stand it. Ephesians is where we are going to eventually land, but to get there, we have to start with Jeremiah. We have to start with the state of the world as it is, and the window that Jeremiah gives us onto his world can help us look out upon our own with clear sight.

In a nutshell, things are not good. The shepherds are not shepherding. The sheep are scattered. The shepherds are not attending to the sheep, and it’s not just that they are not attending to the sheep, the shepherds, those charged with leading, those charged with making sure that no one gets lost, those charged with helping the flock find the green pastures and the still waters, those charged with helping the sheep revive their soul and find the right pathway, the shepherds aren’t just not attending to the sheep, but Jeremiah tells us that the shepherds are destroying them. Ouch.

The God of Jeremiah proclaims this: “Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, oh you shepherds who have not shepherded, I will attend to your evil doings. Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the LORD.”

And who are the shepherds? As a priest, as a shepherd, as a leader, this is where I start to sweat. Certainly the religious leaders were included in this scathing critique, but Jeremiah and the prophets are never content to limit their critique to just the religious realm. No, the shepherds were all the leaders at every level throughout the nation, and we know this because Jeremiah speaks of that righteous Branch who will be raised up and who will reign as king and deal wisely and execute justice and righteousness in the land. Jeremiah talks of how Judah will be saved and Israel will dwell in safety. God is not just addressing individuals, but God is addressing the whole nation, most especially those who hold power of any kind at any level. God is not happy with the state of affairs in Israel or Judah.

Fast forward to today. We don’t have to look too far to see that sheep are scattered and many are lost. Many can’t find their way to green pastures of plenty, and still waters are a dream in many communities where violence is a daily occurrence. Plenty of souls are weary and in desperate need of reviving. And people can’t find the right pathway for all the barriers that stand in the way. It’s a mess out there. You know it. I know it. God knows it, and God is not happy as
God looks out over our land. And for those in leadership, God is especially not pleased. And here’s the rub, by virtue of our skin color, or education, or position, or financial resources, that is most of us in this room. God is not talking to some far off shepherds; God is talking to us. God needs to level us, bring us to our knees until we can own our complicity in the kind of shepherding that destroys the sheep, so that, so that, God can raise us up as the kind of shepherds who will remember that it’s all about the sheep. It’s interesting what God says, I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the LORD.” I’ve always heard that “not fearing any longer, or being dismayed, nor shall any be missing” as applying solely to the sheep, but what if God is actually appealing to the heart of the shepherd, as well as appealing to the sheep? What if God is saying that God Godself will raise up shepherds who won’t be afraid to do right by the sheep, and that these shepherds won’t be dismayed—to be dismayed is to lose your courage because you are afraid—what if God is saying that the shepherds God will raise up won’t lose their courage, won’t lose their nerve, and that none of the shepherds will go missing, that all of us will show up as the empowered leaders and guides that God has made us, and called us, to be? Wouldn’t that be something for our land?

Okay, fast forward to Ephesians where all this gets worked out between groups that are engulfed in hostility. So, here, theGentiles (and remember, that’s like, us) are getting a little too puffed up, and the writer, either Paul or someone taught by Paul, reminds them that they were once on the outside looking in. They were once strangers to the covenants of promise, xenos, as in xenophobia, as in fear of the stranger, they were once those feared; they were once aliens, those literally alienated, estranged, from the commonwealth of Israel. And this sense of commonwealth is politeia in the greek, which is about the administration of civic affairs, which is about how we structure our society together, and is the same root that gives us the word “politics.” Oh, it’s all connected!

But back to Ephesians. These Gentiles, who held a lot of power in that society, were once “without hope, without God in the world,” Ephesians says. And there was hostility, animosity, enmity between those who are called “the circumcision” and those who were called “the uncircumcision.” How about that for a little biblical name calling—“the uncircumcision”—the ultimate “not us?” Who are “the us” and “the not us” today? Who are the binaries today? The two in opposition? Who are the groups engulfed in hostility? Well, circling back to Jeremiah, there’s the sheep and the shepherds. There are those at the economic top of the ladder and those who can’t get on the first rung. There’s management and worker. Citizen and undocumented. Black and white. Men and women. Gay and straight. Politician and constituent. Republican and Democrat. Liberal and Conservative. Urban and rural. Advocates of gun control and advocates of gun rights. There are the socially elite and those who don’t know what silverware to use when you get past a fork, knife, and spoon (and I’m in that camp). There are Christian, Jew, and Muslim. There are people of faith and professed atheists. And we could go on and on. Makes you kind of long for just two—“the circumcision” and“the uncircumcision.” When it’s all said and done, we can find a lot of ways to slice and dice the world into “the us” and “the not us.”

We could easily fall into a pit of despair; we could easily resign ourselves to this-is-just-the-way-it-is. But God needs us to be shepherds who can connect to sheep, and God needs us to be sheep who can connect to shepherds. And in Jesus, God has done an unbelievable new thing. Listen to Ephesians again: But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostilitybetween us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizenswith the saints and also members of thehouseholdof God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

Oh my gosh. Could we just meditate on all of this for the rest of the service today, or better yet, could we contemplate this for the rest of lives? Could we just try to live out this vision? Jesus, in his flesh, has broken down all the walls that divide us and has made both groups one. Jesus has opted for new vision of humanity—not one ruled by commandments and ordinances and societal norms and the way-things-have-always-been, but one in which “the us” and “the not us” both hear peace and know that they both belong. Jesus, on the cross, has put to death all hostility, reconciled all those things that can’t be reconciled, literally taken all of this hostility into his being, held it in love, and drained it of its power. Through this access point of total and complete NONVIOLENCE, Jesus has opened up the pathway for us to be one body, one family, one household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, built on the foundation of those prophets who have held us to a vision of righteousness, right relationship, at all levels of society and built on the foundation of those apostles who are sent to proclaim this unfathomable love who has put to death “the us” and “not us” so that a newstructure, a whole structure can be built from a solid foundation with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone—and that’s a sentence that St. Paul himself could be proud of. And this new humanity embodying new relationships as one body truly is the very dwelling place of God.

What a vision for each one of us! What a vision for our society! What a vision for the whole cosmos! And all we have to do to get there is hold all of our hostilities up to the cross and let them die there with arms outstretched. Are you willing to let your hostilities die? Are you willing to let all your “us’s” and “not us’s” go?

All we have to do to get there is to join Jesus in his complete and utter nonviolence.

All we have to do is let our vision be shaped by his and let him resurrect our lives, our systems, and our structures from this foundation where those who are far off and those who are nearall belong.

All we have to do is let ourselves join him in this new humanity where “us” and “not us” no longer mean anything, where strangers and aliens become citizens with the saints, where all have a stake in one another, and we function as a household where everyone belongs. Take this to heart and everything changes. Every circle we’re a part of, every system in which we participate, they change if this becomes our foundation.

But the change begins by realizing that the definitive breaking down of the walls between us has already been accomplished. Our task is to live into the reality that has already been established through Jesus. When will we start living as those who have already been reconciled to one another? It’s a lot easier to build up a new creation when you realize that the cornerstone has been set and the foundation is rock solid. Let your life be joined to this structure, and together, let us build the world anew. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

July 19, 2015

Welcome to the body of Christ!

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; Sixth Sunday after Pentecost—Year B (Proper 9); Ezekiel 2:1-5; Psalm 123; II Corinthians 12:2-10; Mark 6:1-13 Video

What a week in the life of our faith community! Monday morning saw Ann Smith cross over from this life to greater life as she joined the communion of saints. Monday afternoon, Jim Parnell underwent surgery to remove a melanoma from his intestine. Wednesday, Karl Doege had open-heart bypass surgery. And, this morning, we baptize Rex Charles and welcome him into the Body of Christ. From the cradle to the grave, we walk this journey together. We die together, we rise together, we sustain one another in times of sickness, we celebrate with one in times of joy—that’s what it means to be the church; that’s what it means to be the Body of Christ. And, we strengthen one another, we encourage one another, we challenge one another, we help each other hear the call from our Lord to be his Body in the world. Because Jesus is never content just to be his Body for his own sake; his Body was, is, and always will be, a Body offered to the world.

Today’s scriptures focus our attention on that piece of our work and call. Ezekiel reminds us that God’s got something to say to the world, and more often than not, God’s going to use us to say it. The prophet’s call—it may not be comfortable, but there is a piece of our work that is most definitely prophetic. And this isn’t so much about proclaiming this position or that position; it’s more about the capacity to hold before people’s eyes that tragic gap between the kingdom of God as God envisions it and longs for it to be and the reality of the world as we have constructed it through our choices and actions, individually and collectively. It’s the gap between the values we aspire to and the values we are actually practicing. God longs to close that gap, and it’s the prophets who voice that holy longing in the nitty gritty stuff of life.

In a world that focuses so much on getting to the top and status and position, St. Paul reminds us that power is made perfect in weakness and that God’s grace is sufficient. There is something about vulnerability that allows God’s power to shine all the more radiantly. There is a certain strength to be found when all you have left to do is surrender yourself to the mercy and grace of God. None of us goes to this place willingly, but when you are taken to this place, you discover the incredible depth and power of a love and grace that will not let you go, ever.

And then, Mark’s gospel picks up this prophetic theme and our call out into the world. Jesus is teaching the hometown crowd. On the one hand, they are astounded by his wisdom and the deeds of power being done by his hands. On the other hand, he’s just the hometown boy; they know him, and they can’t square what they are seeing with what they know. Sometimes, the perceptions we’ve formed of people place this box around them, and they can only stretch so far. Have you ever experienced being boxed in? What’s that feel like? (pause) It’s pretty confining and limiting. Even Jesus felt the constraint of their definitions of who he was and what he could do. He could do no deeds of power there. The only thing he could do was lay his hands on a few sick people and cure them. And why could the sick receive his power? (pause) Quite simply, because they were open to it—they were willing to let their preconceived notions go and simply trust in the power. But the rest of that hometown crowd, Jesus was amazed at that their unbelief, amazed at their lack of trust.

So, if you can’t get a hearing in your hometown, or wherever the boxes are boxing you in, go where you can. So, Jesus went about the villages teaching, and he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and he told them to travel light, really light. In fact, they didn’t have much of anything—just a staff to lean on; no bread, no bag, no money, not an extra tunic, totally dependent on the hospitality of strangers.

Is that how you like to travel? Not me. That doesn’t sound like much to go on. But there were some things that Jesus did give them in addition to that staff to lean on, and they are no small things. First, Jesus gave them authority, exousia, POWER. Even Jesus knew that it wasn’t about him, but it was about God in him; Jesus knew that it wasn’t his power, but that it was God’s power working in him and through him. Whatever power and authority had been given to Jesus, he now gave to the twelve.

And this same power and authority is given fully and completely in baptism—yep, it’s all given, right now, today, to Rex—not even a year old! All that power and authority is given fully and completely in baptism; it’s just that we spend our lifetime figuring out what to do with it.

And this power and authority is tethered to a core identityyou are God’s beloved and in you, God is well-pleased. And around that core identity is woven a set of rock-solid practices that will sustain you, encourage you, shape you, challenge you, call you, guide you. Rex, this is what we are doing today—we are calling forth the identity that God has already given you as a beloved Son, and we are lifting up the values and practices that will help you mind the gap that just seems to be part of the warp and weft of being human. These baptismal vows:

  • Continuing in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and the prayers;

  • Persevering in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repenting and returning to the Lord;

  • Proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ;

  • Seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself;

  • Striving for justice and peace among all people and respecting the dignity of every human being;

these baptismal vows will guide you as you endeavor to live as a beloved Son of God; they will help flesh out your prophetic call; they will show you the paradox of power that is made perfect in weakness; they well help you see the wells of grace that are all around you; they will help you travel lightly in this world and allow you to focus on what truly matters; they will help you steward the awesome power and authority that God is granting you this very day.

And you thought you were just getting wet.

No, it is an awesome thing we gather to witness today, and it is most definitely the power of God through the Holy Spirit who is doing the acting. The ritual actions may be performed by human beings, but it’s God who is doing the acting.

In addition to power and authority, Jesus gave the twelve something else. Any guesses? (pause) Jesus gave them each otherthey went out two by two… they were to stay in the house where they would be welcomed—we don’t do any of this work outside of relationships with others. We are not meant to be Lone Rangers as we go about this enterprise of dealing with the unclean spirits that are active in our world—and their name truly is legion—many. And correct me if I’m wrong, but even the Lone Ranger had a sidekick anyway. We are meant to do this together.

So, Rex, as you grow, and as you go to do the hard and joyous work of proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ, as you make it your mission to help everyone know that they are God’s beloved, and as you help them understand what it means to live as a beloved, you need to know, we’ve got your back. And in those moments when you doubt that, ask your parents and godparents to tell you about this community and what this community did for each another the week you were baptized—we prayed someone over as they died, we prayed two people through hard surgeries, we prayed over you as the Spirit knit you into the Body of Christ. Cradle to grave—we’ve got your back.

And from that infinitely secure place, we teach each other how to steward the power you, too, are given this day. We teach each other how to move into the world with authority. We help each other have the courage to dare to speak for God, and we dare to believe that God’s power really can flow through us. We dare to believe, that in the power of God, we can close the gaps in this world that are swallowing people whole.

So Rex, you are in for a wild, wild ride. You will die more times than you can imagine, but you will rise that many more. There will be rough patches along the way, but there will also be times of unadulterated bliss. And through it all, we will remind you, always, that you are God’s beloved Son, and you always have us.

Welcome to the Body of Christ and to a life that can teach you how to travel lightly, and yet, at the same time, be so incredibly, abundantly full. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

July 5, 2015

People who matter to Jesus

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; Fifth Sunday after Pentecost—Year B (Proper 8); Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15, 2:23-24; Lamentations 3:21-33; II Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43 Video

So, last week, Jesus was crossing the Sea of Galilee, and this week, he has crossed it again. When he gets out of the boat, a crowd is immediately around him. Jesus is a magnet for people; there’s just no escaping it. Then, one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came, and when he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet and he begged him for help. Jesus’ relationship with traditional religious leadership is sometimes good and sometimes not so good, so it seems really significant that a leader of the synagogue would seek out this itinerant teacher. What would make a religious leader of Jairus’ position, with all the status that entailed, do such a thing? I’ll tell you what—his little 12-year old girl was sick, really sick, at the point of death, and when your child is sick, you’ll do anything—forget position, forget status, forget looking crazy or like a fool—a sick child will bring you to your knees; you’ll do anything for your child. Jairus had heard about this healer; it was a longshot, but longshots are what you do at that moment—“Jesus, please, just come lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, sozo, whole, and live.” And Jesus went with him.

But the crowd was large, and that crowd followed Jesus, and they pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering hemorrhages for twelve years. She kept losing blood, and she had been to doctor after doctor. She had endured much, and she had spent all that she had. She couldn’t get better, and in fact, she got worse. Twelve years of hemorrhages—that’s exhausting; that sucks the life out of you; that takes every ounce of your energy. No doubt she suffered despair and depression every time she tried an avenue of treatment that then failed dashing her hopes. It was amazing that she had any energy left to pursue wellness at all. The fact that she had been to so many doctors indicates that this was a women with means, but all the money in the world couldn’t keep her from losing blood. She had tried everything that medicine could offer her; she was at the end of her rope. Chronic illness will bring you to your knees; it was a longshot, but she had heard about Jesus, and she just had a sense—“If I just touch his clothes, I will be made well, sozo, whole. “Sozo”—that’s the root that gives us the word “salvation”—it’s about being healed and made whole.

Well, the woman came up behind him and touched his cloak, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Jesus understand energy and power, and he knew that power had just gone forth from him. He started scanning the crowd, “Who touched me?”

The disciples, all they could see was a sea of bodies, and they were like, “Really Jesus? Look around; there are people everywhere, how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

But Jesus knew some exchange had happened—power had gone out of him which meant power had been received somewhere else. He looked all around to see who had done it; he looked all around to see in whom had that power landed.

The woman knew. She knew what had happened to her, and she wanted to disappear, stay silent, run away; she was afraid. And why? Because in that time, in that religious culture, a woman with a flow of blood was ritually impure, and if she touched a man in that state, she made him impure. Big no-no. She had reason to be afraid to step forward, but when that wholeness takes over in you, you can face your deepest fears. She was shaking, but she came forward and fell down before him and told him the whole truth—every last bit of it—which meant she also shared with him all the pain of twelve years of suffering and disappointment and exhaustion.

She probably expected to be chastised, called down, shamed—but that’s not what she got. “Daughter”—oh my goodness, she had been isolated in every way imaginable for twelve years—as the Common English Bible notes, “She had suffered physically, emotionally, socially, financially, and spiritually,” but the hardest had been the sheer isolation that came with her particular chronic illness—so, to be called “Daughter?” Oh my, how healing is that? “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” “Your faith, your trust, has made you well, sozo, whole; go in peace.” And this word for “peace” isn’t the typical “shalom” that we normally see, but it’s a different word for “peace”—it has “a sense of tranquility and quiet and rest and harmony that open the way to feeling safe and secure”—that’s the best news ever when you are completely exhausted and drained. “Daughter, go forth in this peace and be healed of your disease; be restored from this affliction” and with those words, Jesus knit that woman back into the fabric of community.

Meanwhile, Jairus is waiting. Wow, what must have been going through his head as he watched all of this? “What about my daughter, what about my daughter?!?” right alongside, “Wow, this guy is the real deal” which could only fuel his hope. But while Jesus was still talking, some people came from the Jairus’ house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?”

But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, don’t be afraid, trust, trust.”

Jesus, always skittish of the sensational, allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, it was a crazy scene—people weeping and wailing, a huge commotion.

When he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you making such a commotion? The child is not dead but sleeping.”

And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was.

He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. That word for “amazement” is rich—“eksestame”—it has this sense of “being thrown out of position, displaced, thrown into wonderment, being amazed and astounded; it puts you out of your mind.” In other words, it completely reorients you. Jesus strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat. Jesus wasn’t about the flash-in-the-pan; he was about waking up those who seem dead, he was about healing and restoring to wholeness, and reorienting lives; he was about feeding deep, deep hungers.

These healings are wild, and they shake us up. When your child is sick, you long for them to be well. When you suffer from chronic illness, you long to be made well. These accounts always raise the question, if Jesus did this for them, why doesn’t he always do it for us, and how do we make sense of it when people trust Jesus with everything they’ve got, and they do everything to touch his cloak, or surrender to him, and the child dies, or the illness doesn’t get better. I don’t know the answer to that.

But I also am not willing to explain these healings away—that might be the easier way because then we don’t have to deal with all the feelings that come when the cure doesn’t occur, but that feels like a diminishment of the divine power that flowed through Jesus, and that’s an awfully high price to pay to get all of this healing stuff sorted out in a way that my little brain can handle, and control. No, I’d rather allow for the mystery of that power to be there, and then wrestle with the ache that comes when things don’t work out the way I wish they would.

So, let’s let Jesus’ power stand, just as it is. Let’s let these healings displace us, throw us out of position. Let’s let these healings fill us with wonderment; let’s be astounded; let’s let them short out our minds.

And, let’s grapple with some pieces in these stories that we might have overlooked. That woman is hemorrhaging, losing blood, her life-force is draining away, and it’s been draining away for twelve years. There are lots of ways to have your life-force drain away. Where are you losing life? Where is your life draining away, slipping through your fingers? Where are you feeling exhausted and isolated and cut-off? Where are you feeling not well, un-whole? How many avenues have you been down trying to find that wholeness? What wholeness are you yearning to know? Maybe you can’t even form words around your need, but you don’t have to. Can you just risk touching his cloak? Can you trust that there is some power in him that really can flow to you, and that that power can make you whole in ways that will bring you peace and restore you and knit you back into a web of relationships where you can thrive?

Can you lay aside all your positions and status and identities and bring before Jesus your most vulnerable need, that place where you know you have no control and only longing? Can you trust that Jesus’ power is abundant, and that your need is worthy of his attention? Can you see that some things are not really dead, but only asleep, just waiting to be awakened? Can you risk the displacement that comes when that which you thought was dead really does wake up?

As we marvel at the woman who is healed from the flow of blood, as we stand in wonderment at Jairus’ little girl who wakes up, can we imagine Jesus healing us in all those places where we just aren’t well, all those places that so need to be made whole?

It never was just about that woman, or Jairus, or his little girl. It’s about our need to touch his cloak; it’s about our need to surrender our position and status and lay our needs naked before our Lord; it’s about our need to be awakened from our sleep and brought back into the fullness of life.

The crowd pressing in on Jesus might be large, and it might feel impossible, but that woman mattered to Jesus, Jairus mattered to Jesus, his little girl mattered to Jesus, and so do you. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

June 28, 2015

Storms now and then

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks; Fourth Sunday after Pentecost—Year B (Proper 7); Job 38:1-11; Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32; II Corinthians 6:1-13; Mark 4:35-41 Video

I grew up on the Ohio River, and I’m a river rat at heart. I love the water, but I have a good, healthy respect for its power—my father taught me that. And I have been caught in some fierce storms. I’ve been on a 40-foot houseboat when it got caught in a whirlpool. I have seen sunny days turn to raging storms in the blink of an eye. The only time my dad ever got angry with me for making a really stupid choice was when I didn’t read the clouds right and got caught out on the river in a severe thunderstorm. The force of the wind bent the trees all the way down to the water as I brought our ski boat back up the creek. He was angry with me, but beneath all that anger was full-on fear. He knew what wind and water could do. He understood the sheer force and power they held; they were not to be messed with.

And I have been on a boat on the Sea of Galilee. We crossed it at sunset one night, and it was gorgeous, beautiful, peaceful. But that body of water sits down in a bowl and is surrounded by mountains. We were told that fierce storms can blow up, just like that, with huge waves. Those first followers of Jesus were fishermen, so they knew daggone well what could happen to their boat.

Jesus had been teaching the crowds all day from a boat just a little bit out from the shore, and when evening came, he said to the disciples, “Let’s go across to the other side.” So, they left the crowd behind on the shore and set off across the water. The wind started to blow, hard, and the waves grew larger, and those waves were pummeling the boat. Pretty soon, the boat was getting swamped, and they were fighting for their life.

And where is Jesus in all this? He’s in the stern, on a cushion, asleep.

The disciples woke him up, “Don’t you care that we’re perishing?” He woke up, and he rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. A dead calm. The greek describes it as “a great calm,” “a spacious calm,” and when that greek word is speaking of natural events, “a violent calm, a mighty calm, a strong calm.”

Then Jesus said to the disciples, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with, oh, the NRSV translates it as “great awe,” which is that kind of total awe and deep reverence that come together when you witness power and majesty. It’s that feeling of awe and respect I feel when I witness the power of a storm. And it’s especially that awe and reverence you feel when you have witnessed the power and majesty of God. But the grammatical construction can also be translated this way: “and they were filled with fear, like really fear; great, big, crazy fear” and they said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him; who then is this, that even the wind and the sea listen to him?”


Powerful storms. Crazy wind. Powerful waves. Cross-currents that can destroy your little boat. And they were just trying to get to the other side. Could there be a better story to capture what we are feeling in the wake of the shootings Wednesday night at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina?

African-Americans just trying to get to the other side to a life where they and their families can live in safety and thrive and worship and pray. And their boats are getting swamped by waves of hate and violence, and pummeled by a perfect storm of winds that blow from places of deep-seated, systemic racism, enhanced by a culture of violence, supported by privilege that is blind to how bad the storm really is.

And those of us whose skin is white, many of us mean well, and we’re just trying to get to the other side, trying to understand these currents that seem so much bigger than us, and our boats, we’re caught in this storm, too. Our boat is sinking, too. Every time hate unleashes itself, we’re all wounded.

And somehow, the people who perpetrate this violence, who spew this hate, who are so consumed with fear of the other, they are in a boat, too. I don’t buy the mental-illness argument or the this-man-was-working-alone, this-is-an-isolated-incident argument. As one commentator said, “This young man was wearing patches representing South Africa in the apartheid era and Rhodesia”—according to the Anti-Defamation League, both symbols of white supremacy. Tell me, what typical white 21 year old in America just happens to know the flag of Rhodesia. You are taught such things. Dylann Roof says he did not grow up in a racist family or environment, but there are other powerful forces that shape us. He learned this somewhere. This hate is taught, and it has been taught for generations—sometimes overtly, sometimes covertly, but taught all the same.

And the hard truth is—we are in the boat being pummeled, AND we are a part of the storm itself. When we lack the courage to do the hard work, and to be in the hard conversations, and to examine, fearlessly, how this whole system has benefitted those of us whose skin is white, then we are a part of the storm. And the storm is swamping us, and we’re all drowning.

 “Teacher, wake-up, don’t you care that we are perishing?”

 “Peace! Be still!”

 “Waves of hate and violence, winds of racism, culture of violence, privilege—I am AWAKE” says the LORD—“Peace! Be still!” Remember our lesson from earlier; remember that passage from Job? Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwindGod is calling to us through this storm, and the LORD commands this insanity to STOP!

And in the moment of dead calm that follows, in this great, spacious, violent, mighty, strong calm that follows—we might feel awe, but we might also feel a lot of fear, because in this calm, we are going to have to put our oars in the water and start working our tails off to get to the other side. You see, I think this calm is really scary because as long as the storm is raging, and you’re just trying to keep from sinking, you don’t have time or energy to see anything else; you don’t have time or energy to understand the root causes of the racism that is a cancer in our country’s soul; all you might have energy for is casting blame in somebody else’s direction. As long as the storm is raging, we can only see the one incident in front of us; we can only see as far as the discrete bucket of water that we’re trying to bail out of our boat to keep from sinking altogether.

No, Jesus demands more of us. He is calling US to PEACE. He is calling US to BE STILL. He is going to give us enough calm to look at all these forces in the clear light of day and to understand our part in them. He is calling us to work hard to get to the other side because the kingdom awaits us on that shore. Jesus is longing for us to get out of our little boats and join together on that shore— ONE people, ONE family, ONE bread, ONE body.

Maybe this power that we see Jesus display scares us to death because somewhere, deep inside, we know, as those who have been baptized into Christ’s body—we know that he has given US this same power. The world may well be looking at us, “You Jesus people, don’t you care that we are perishing???” It’s time for us to WAKE-UP. It’s time for us to stare straight into these storms raging in our country; it’s time for us to dare to proclaim with all the majesty and power of God, “PEACE! BE STILL!”

And then, we’ve got to commit to the disciplined, long, gritty, hard, painstaking work to get to the other side because in a dead calm, sitting back and letting your sail do the work won’t take you anywhere. No, this is going to involve US, our whole being, and it’s going to be work. And our salvation, our wholeness, depends on it.

As long as African-Americans can’t live their lives in peace and joy and without fear of violence, then neither can we; we are ONE body. If they are wounded, so are we; we are ONE body. And as ONE body—we die together, we rise together, we cry together, we rejoice together. We won’t be whole until we understand how to live as ONE body.

So, how do we get there? Well, I don’t know the whole way, but I do know some next steps.

Yesterday, Pastor Reggie Hunt, the African-American pastor of Cornerstone Church, called me to get together at 8:45 this morning with other pastors to pray and share communion before heading to our services. Between our two services, I hustled over to his church at Hardin Park to be a part of that. We, as pastors, are meeting for coffee this week to talk about how to lead our people in this time, and to talk about our own feelings. Trust me, a church shooting strikes fear in all of our hearts. We will be calling all of our people to come together for a time of prayer in the very near future.

So, step onePRAY. Pray in your own prayers for our country and that the racism that infects our hearts and the heart of our country may be transformed into a force for love. And, wherever and whenever you can, pray together, across races, across traditions.

Step two—we have to WAKE-UP. Attend the Unlearning Racism Dialogue Series—the next meeting is Tuesday night at the ASU Student Union. If you can’t make that, find something to read that will help you deepen your own consciousness on this; better yet, find an African-American to mentor you and hold you accountable in this work.

Step threethink of one African-American person that you can call this week just to tell them that you are thinking about them and praying for them. Is that a vulnerable thing to do, you bet, but will it make a profound difference in that person’s life, absolutely. Our African-American friends and neighbors need to know that we are thinking about them, praying for them, and that we are committed to this work.

Step fourbe fearless in entering conversations about race and racism. I know this is vulnerable; I feel intensely vulnerable every time I enter this arena. But I also know, as a white person with a whole lot of privilege, I can opt in and out of this work, I can move in and out of this arena—African-Americans don’t have that luxury; they are never not in the arena. We need to stay in the arena.

Step five—if you want to understand the depth and power of forgiveness that is necessary for the work ahead of us; if you want to see what a Christian witness of such forgiveness looks like, go out on the internet and watch what the families of those who died said to Dylann Roof at his first hearing on Friday.

Beyond these first steps, I don’t know the rest of the way, but I do know that if we step out on this path, Jesus will guide is in the Way we are to go. The qualities that St. Paul names today are good ones to cultivate: purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God. This is kingdom work, and it will take every ounce of courage that we, with God’s help, can muster.

I want to leave us with St. Paul’s words to the Corinthians, but hear them now addressed to us: “We have spoken frankly to you Corinthians, we have spoken frankly to you St. Lukans; our heart is wide open to you. There is no restriction in our affections, but only in yours. In return…open wide your hearts also.”


            BE STILL!”

                        “Why are you still afraid?”

                                    The only way to the other side is to“open your heart wide.”


The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

June 21, 2015