January 26, 2025
Third Sunday after Epiphany, Year C
Epiphany, Winnipeg
I’m just curious: A week ago, as we gathered here, how many of you had heard of Bishop Mariann Budde, the bishop of the Episcopal Church in D.C?
By Tuesday suppertime, how many of you had heard of Bishop Mariann Budde, the Episcopal Bishop of Washington, D.C.?
Just to bring you up to speed, Bishop Mariann was the preacher at an interfaith prayer service on Tuesday at the Washington National Cathedral. Towards the end of her homily she spoke directly to the president who was seated in the front row and asked him to show mercy to people in the nation who are afraid, especially those who were being targeted in executive orders: Members of the 2SLGBTQ community, immigrants, refugees, their children. She wrapped it all up by saying simply that we are called to show kindness to strangers in the land, for we were all once strangers in the land.
Some received it well, and some have not been so impressed.
A week after we last gathered and nobody knew her name, Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde has become a household name.
She turned our attention to real people, with real lives, and real fears, and although her words were specifically addressed to Mr. President, they were also spoken to us, reminding us all of our call to show mercy to strangers, to give solace to those who are afraid, to honour one another’s dignity, and to walk humbly with one another and with God.
I’d like us to think for a few minutes about mercy.
Let’s start here: A few minutes ago we heard a story about the people of Israel, who are gathered outside the walls of Jerusalem to hear their holy story being read. These are our ancestors, if not by blood then by faith. They’re learning how to be at home again, because for so long they have been away from home and living in exile. A few generations ago a nation called Babylon stormed in and ruined the city and tore down the temple. Some of the people were taken away to live in far away places to the east, and others fled in other directions; they were refugees getting away from a home that was not safe. Some stayed close to home to carry on somehow even as “home” slowly fell to pieces. For so many years “home” was broken and nearly empty.
In this story today the exile is over and the people of Israel have been trickling back home for a long long time. The temple has been rebuilt, and the city is slowly being rebuilt; you know how construction goes. The people have been called together to hear the book of the teaching of Moses being read by a scholar named Ezra. It’s a long reading, it takes hours, and as the people listen they remember their ancient stories and their fresh stories of being chosen and called then feeling abandoned and being slaves, then being set free. They recall stories of being strangers and suspects, and they give thanks that they are home once more. They also hear again about how God has called them God’s own people and shown them how to live together in just and healthy and life-giving ways. They listen, they understand, and did you hear what they all do as they listen?
As they listen to the Word, they weep. They weep because they remember those stories of all the struggles their people have faced. They wail because even though it’s been so many generations since their land was taken over, the trauma of all that gets passed on through generation after generation. They mourn because they remember being strangers and they still don’t quite know how to be at home. They cry for joy because the pieces are starting to come together, and it’s good to be working on what home is. And they weep because they are remembering what they had forgotten: They are chosen and beloved people of God. When they had thought they were nothing, God knew that they were something. And they were not forgotten. They were strangers, but now they are at home.
And then, when all the reading is done and the tears are drying, they’re told to go on their way, eat the fat and drink the sweet wine and send portions to those who don’t have any, because this is a holy day. So that’s what they did:They went on their way and rejoiced on that holy day. They ate and drank and shared it with the ones who didn’t have any, and that sounds a lot like mercy, doesn’t it?
Just think about mercy for a minute…
Step ahead five hundred years or so. Jesus is in the synagogue as the people gather, and it’s a lot like that scene way back as the people, our ancestors by faith if not by blood, gathered to hear the word together. It’s Jesus’ turn to read, so he stands up and receives the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He unrolls the scroll, finds the right place, and reads: “The Spirit of God is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and to set free those who are oppressed; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” The year of the Lord’s favour: that’s the year every fifty years when all the debts are cancelled and all the slaves are set free. That’s in that book that was being read for all the people in that other story we just heard, and it sounds a lot like mercy too.
Jesus and Isaiah are talking about real people who need real mercy: The ones who don’t have enough to scrape by; prisoners of war, prisoners of conscience, prisoners who have done something really bad, prisoners who have done nothing wrong; those who cannot see and those who refuse to see; those worn down by the ones who abuse their power; those worn down by debt.
For now, it’s all mercy…
And now think about mercy again. Two thousand years ago there’s a church in the Greek city of Corinth. It’s a new church filled with, you guessed it, our ancestors in faith if not by blood.
Shockingly, there are divisions in the church. Some Christians are thinking that they’re better than all those other ones who practice their new faith differently. Rumours are that the rich are coming away from communion and worship filled full and a little tipsy from too much wine, while the poorest come away from the feast of life empty. I’m better than you because I follow this teacher or was baptized by that preacher. We speak in tongues; the rest of you don’t.
Just imagine how many people in that place are getting the message that they are not wanted and they would not be missed if they were gone.
So Paul writes a letter to the church, and when the letter arrives the people gather together, like their ancestors in the square outside Jerusalem; like the people they’ve heard of who gathered in the synagogue in Nazareth that day when Jesus took his turn to read. And Paul says this: “Look: You’re a body. And all the parts of the body matter. The body needs each one of you, and each one of you is a part of it. One is not better, another is not worse. If one suffers, you all suffer. If one celebrates, you all celebrate. That’s how the Spirit has brought you together.”
And anyone who has felt that they don’t belong, or that they don’t matter, or that their own gifts and contributions are lame, or that nobody would miss them if they were gone, has now heard it said loudly and clearly, “You belong to this body, as much as any other. This is your place; this is your home.”
Doesn’t that kind of sound like mercy?
And then just a little later in the letter, Paul will say, “There are all these things we bring to the church and to the world, but the greatest one is love.” Doesn’t that kind of sound like mercy too?
Think about mercy for a minute. Who’s out there who needs mercy? Love instead of hate, welcome instead of suspicion, compassion when they’ve known so little compassion?
Who’s in here who needs mercy?
How do you need mercy?
Where have you seen mercy, goodness, grace, welcome?
When have you received mercy, goodness, grace, welcome?
“They” say, and I think they’re right, that we are living in unstable and maybe scary and
maybe even dangerous times. We don’t need all the details, do we? We know what’s going on, we know it’s not just “them,” and in so many ways we’re caught up in this world where we stand back and judge, only judge, and where we seem to be finding it harder to listen and speak and understand and work together like a body.
These stories of our ancestors, along with a fifteen minute sermon from a Bishop named Mariann, along with signs that are all around us – keep you eyes open, you’ll see – they remind us that mercy is a gift that can hold us together.
We’ll face all kinds of decisions in our lives and we’ll all have to find our way through troubles, like the ones we’ve known or maybe ones we can’t even imagine. We, as individuals, as a church, as a world…. And along the way, we can’t really go far wrong if we always err on the side of mercy. We can’t go far wrong, maybe we’ll even go far right but not THAT kind of far right, if we let the mercy of the Spirit come with us and shape us and lead us.
It's not a new thing, or a far left rant, or a conservative or liberal idea. It’s just an ancient way that has shaped our ancestors and our neighbours for as long as we’ve been around. It’s how our God has dealt with us, with all of creation, right from the start. From the first word – “Let there be light” – to another first word - “Jesus, get up from the tomb” – to yet another first word – “I am making all things new – God has dealt with us with that word of mercy, and grace, and life. And God will always keep speaking that word.
Mercy.