This sermon was preached for the 8am service for Sunday, October 1 on the occasion of the Feast Day of St. Francis. The texts for this sermon were: Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16, Philippians 2:1-13, and Matthew 21:23-32.
At our 10am service today, an intergenerational band of St. Mark’s actors and singers will perform a retelling of St. Francis’s sermon to the birds, complete with chirping babies and toddlers and all the beautiful handmade props you see around me. I do so love that our music director, Susan Matsui, chose the legend of St. Francis preaching the good news of God’s love in creation to the birds as the central story to retell on our celebration of his feast day because it points us to the extreme irony of the saint’s most famous misattributed quotes. You may have heard that St. Francis once said, “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” But as St. Mark’s will experience later today, St. Francis was an exuberant, fiery preacher. Words sprung from him. He preached with words whenever and wherever and to whomever, even the birds.
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| St. Francis preaches to the birds of St. Mark's! |
Still I think Episcopalians’ attraction to the quote, “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” is because it is sometimes more comfortable for us to live out the Gospel with our actions than to talk enthusiastically about Jesus being the reason we make the choices we do. Moreover, Jesus’ parable here lends weight to the importance of having our actions match our words - and displays a clear preference for right action with wrong words over right words with wrong actions. The one who says he won’t do the right thing but does the right thing anyway is much more preferable to the one who says he will do the right thing but doesn’t follow through.
I have heard many people reflect on the love they knew from a parent, usually a father or stepfather, as a wordless love, but a love full of action. Folks have told me, “I knew he loved me because he was always there for me” or “always provided for us.” They describe daily reliability and steady presence but can count on one hand the number of times their father put his love into words. Now if I had to choose a way to be loved - with all words but no action or with all action but no words - I know my choice would be for the unspoken but lived out love. And yet. And yet, why should we have to choose? Why not use every avenue available to us to express and live out the love of God in the world? I want to ask those sons and daughters - and sometimes I have - what would it have felt like to hear your father say those words to you: I love you, I’m proud of you. Why should it have been on you to translate?
Why is it so hard sometimes to put words to our lives and choices?
Our baptismal covenant includes this vow: Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Word and example. Thought, word, and deed.
This past week I had the opportunity to appear on a local television station to promote our upcoming neighborhood celebration St. Francis. It was literally my job, sitting there in my collar, to promote the good news of God’s love in creation. And yet, years of training that it’s impolite to speak about religion, coupled with intense self-awareness that my image and words would appear in people’s homes uninvited - not to mention the storied legacy of Christian televangelist bullies - all began to crowd out my words.
So I thought of something my mentor told me once. I had come to him with an idea about teaching a children’s class on refugees, inspired by the Ruth and Naomi story. He pointed out that the children who come to church can learn about refugees lots of other places, including school, but here at church could be the only place they’ll learn about stories from the Bible, Jesus, and God’s love for them. Make sure to teach them what they won’t be taught anywhere else. Make sure to say the words only you can say.
Sitting there in the television studio, I reminded myself that I could be the first woman priest someone has ever heard speak. I could be the first Christian to name, as I did in the interview, that we experience God’s unconditional love for us through our beloved pets and in creation.
In our Gospel passage, Jesus refuses to re-say words that the listeners won’t hear anyway - they didn’t hear John when he said it the first time. What he does do is tell a story, a memorable parable that the religious leaders hear themselves in, a parable that will echo through the centuries. What words has God given you that only you can say?
You might be the only person in a friend group who attends a church that welcomes every kind of person just as they are. You may find yourself speaking to someone who has never heard, or known, that Jesus came into this world not to condemn it, but to love us. You are the only person who can tell your story of what God and faith has meant to you. And you might be the one person someone is able to hear.
It is a kindness to name the intention, the purpose, and the inspiration behind our life’s work. To say along with the gift we give: this is what made me think of you. To give credit to Jesus for urging us to do the hard thing: we are here because Jesus told us to feed our neighbors. It is a kindness to be as clear as we can about what being Christian really means, using all the gifts and skills and languages available to us.
How might you align your words and actions this week? How might the Gospel you preach with your words be brought to life in action? How might the Gospel you preach with your hands and feet be illuminated by what you say as well?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? We have stood up many Sundays to reaffirm that yes, we will, with God’s help. Go into the vineyard, says the father to the sons. “I will,” says the son.
The opportunity to follow through on our promise might come to us in an unexpected way, and it certainly may feel uncomfortable and risky. And your words may make all the difference in the life of another.
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