Common Earth

Among the vineyards of Kenwood, California, there are mustard flowers growing in the spring, even ahead of the bud-break on the vines. Ancient watchtowers, made of wood, clamber over head. And in the fall the wine presses are at work. The whole valley richly smells of the crush of grapes. Wine is being made. Hoppers full of blue heavy juiced grapes fill and empty into vats. Trucks bring more. And that is how it is, at this time in a normal year. Not so anymore. Three years ago the valley was threatened by fire, that came quickly over the ridges from the valley to the east, blown along by dry hot winds through brush, trees, grass, and houses. Vineyards smoked. And the grapes were tainted. That was then, that is now. For the same areas are once again threatened, or consumed, by wildfire. Spreading quickly. Homes are lost. And the people suffer. And the grapes are tainted, and once again fall to the ground, unharvested.

This brings home to me the Biblical images of the vineyard, the press, the tower, and the owner and the tenants. We are the tenants. In those stories, we have an image of our common earth, our common task, and hence our common prayer. 

We believers, in more than face value, in knowing there is more to the story than what we read in the news or hear through the air, know that God is good, creation is valuable, and we have to do something about this. It is our heritage and our stewardship. 

You may have notice the prayer for the original stewards of this land that we say at the beginning of our gatherings. We remember those who came before us and their continuing traditions of care for the earth, and we join them in its care. We are planted in the garden, alongside other creatures, but we have a call to care for the earth. Knowingly, not just instinctively, we can act together for the common good of earth.

Today is the 18th Sunday after Pentecost; it is also the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi. The birdbath saint. The one who seems to know and care for all creatures, and to talk to them more unselfconsciously than Doctor Doolittle. Among the creatures he cared about and looked after the most were his fellow human beings. His vocation as steward and teacher took early expression in his embrace of a beggar on the road with skin disease. Then young and impetuous and rich, he leapt down from his steed and gave the man a kiss. Breaking the taboos, breaking the rules, making his home then on with the poor. With us. 

For we are the poor and we are the wealthy. We live under glorious skies, and transcendent gloom. We have and we have not. We share and we do not. We care and we do not. It is our choice; and it is not.

We can do what is within our power, collectively, as the people of God, and individually as people of prayer, of power through our intentional stewardship of what has been given us.

Or we can be like those guys in Jesus' story.

Pretty much the whole thing had been handed to them. The vineyard they rented had already been developed, fenced and provided with watchtower and winepress. All they had to do was take care of it. And the harvest would come. And when it did, the landlord would be back. Were they ready? No. 

Are we?

That is the challenge before us, to be good stewards of what has been provided for us. And to 'bear fruit' as Jesus puts it, the fruit of the kingdom, the fruit that is more than produce but is the fruit of the spirit. And that means justice. For climate change is racial injustice. And to bend the arc of natural and human history back toward justice is going to take the work of all of us, each of us, in our individual and common work.

Most high, omnipotent good Lord, grant your people grace to renounce gladly the vanities of this world; that, following the way of blessed Francis, we may for love of you delight in your whole creation with perfectness of joy. O God, you have made us and all living things. You are even more wonderful than what you have made. We thank you for giving us joy in your creation and the creatures with whom we share it. As you take care of us, so also we ask your help that we might take care of what you have entrusted to us. By doing this, we share in your own love for all creation. We ask this in Jesus' name. Amen.

lamentations

I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord;
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live;
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

I know that my Redeemer liveth,
and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth;
and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God;
whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold,
and not as a stranger.

A reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah (25:6-9):

And in this mountain shall the Lord of hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined.
And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations.
He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it.
And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered: Accept our prayers on behalf of thy servants, who have died in war, civil strife, natural disaster, gang violence, and massacre, and grant them an entrance into the land of light and joy, in the fellowship of thy saints; through Jesus Christ thy Son our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP 470)

Have you ever been shot at?
Has anyone ever pointed a loaded gun at you?
Has anyone ever pointed a gun at you and pulled the trigger?
Have you ever heard automatic weapons fire as you laid in your bed at night?
Has a place where you worked, or played, been destroyed by a terrorist act?

 Do any of these questions make you impatient?

They are the sort of past experiences that may have come to mind this past week. By Sunday evening, we knew that people had lost their lives in war, civil strife, gang violence, natural disaster, and a massacre at a Las Vegas concert.

It kind of hits you in the gut. Or not. But if it does, if it is the sort of thing that lingers and eats at you, you are not alone. Here on the border - we are well within 100 miles of Mexico - many of our friends and neighbors have been touched by tragedy, personally or in community.

Veterans, refugees, law enforcement, everyday ordinary people - we all have something to mourn when a mass tragedy occurs. And some of us carry with us the seeds of reaction from a past tragedy. Seed of trauma relived - and also perhaps seeds of compassion.

Newspapers tell us to pray - or forget about it. They tell us to take action - of some sort - for the good of our own souls, if nothing else. That may be wise.

But we as Christians, as a church, have something more to offer - to ourselves, to each other, to God. Yes, we offer prayer - and live and act, knowing our faith is true - knowing that our own Lord was bent by trauma, by the horrific experience of betrayal, interrogation, torture, and death.

And he endured the shock of resurrection. We celebrate all this as we come together this Sunday, as every Sunday, in the Eucharist. And from here, as we take it all in, death, sorrow, comfort, and joy, from here we go forward remembering that God is with us, all of us, in these moments of compassion, remembered grief, cheap advice, and even anger. We go forward -

We go forward in the name of Christ, to bring comfort, honesty, compassion, and fortitude, with resolution, to build, and continue to build, a world in which tragedy does not go unnoticed, where one does not go alone, but where we continue painfully to seek answers, and solutions, even as we know they may be hidden from us.

What we do know is that we are with each other, beyond mourning, because God is with us.

What we do now - and maybe from now on - may look the same as what others do - but we do it in the name of Christ, as servants of the prince of peace. We may look at causes, debate actions, give of ourselves, look out for others, listen patiently - all of it that we do, or don't do, we do knowing we are not alone, we are people of faith, for we know the end of the story: that love is strong, strong as death, and love will last - as God is with us.

Where was God last Sunday? At a country music festival. At a hurricane relief station, lining up for water and food. Carrying a stranger's child across the border from Burma to Bangladesh. In the waiting area of an emergency room. And at a child's bedside as she fell softly to sleep.

God was with us.

God is with us.

God be with you. And me.

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is
hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where
there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where
there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where
there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to
be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is
in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we
are born to eternal life. Amen. (BCP 833)