Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church of Baltimore, MD
February 23, 2025

Grace
Luke 6:27-38

One of the only times I can remember my dad getting upset with me about schoolwork was an essay I was supposed to write for Martin Luther King Day.  I don’t remember what I’d written, but I’m guessing I’d waited until the last minute.  Dad was always my editor, offering comments, encouragement, and suggestions for clarity.  Reading the essay, he heaved a big sigh through his nose.  His face got red and flushed.  I think he even raised his voice, which was rare. He didn’t think I’d taken the prompt seriously enough and told me so – sharing how disappointed he was in me, and insisting I re-write it.  He cared about me enough to challenge me to do better; he cared about the legacy of Dr. King enough to challenge me to spend more time seeking to understand it.

We do this for the people we care about, right?  We don’t accept mediocrity because we know they’re capable of more.  It is love for a subject that inspires teachers to teach; love for their students that enables teachers to continue despite long days, low pay, difficult parents, political culture wars playing out at school boards, and more.

Now, if we don’t care about someone, it’s easy to let them continue ambling along in mediocrity.  In fact, complacency – doing nothing – is the path of least resistance. Challenging a person to do better is hard.  You risk making them angry, and alienating them – no one wants to be the bad guy.  But think about the times someone has helped you see room for improvement, and encouraged you along the path to reach your goals.  Maybe it was a coach, a strong manager, a teacher, or a therapist.  Maybe a parent, partner, or a sibling?  It can be embarrassing to be corrected or challenged, but that is how we grow!  And people who care enough to correct or challenge are a gift.

Our passage this morning is one of the most well-known lessons Jesus ever taught – and perhaps his most difficult teaching, too.  In fact, many people find it impossible.  Jesus looks out at the crowd of peasants who have gathered to hear him teach, to seek his healing power, and he tells them: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you… turn the other cheek…Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

This passage follows on the heels of the beatitudes, and it tells us how to be a disciple: how to share God’s love and grace in a world where love and forgiveness are not lauded, but instead are often seen as liabilities.

We are one month into a new administration that has not been shy about their desire for retribution.  Rooting out the perceived “deep state” has led to tens of thousands of federal workers being fired or furloughed.  Rhetoric around these firings would lead one to believe that public servants in the park service, CDC, Department of Education, Department of Justice, and our international development experts are not passionate, highly skilled employees but rather enemies of the state.  Wasteful and fraudulent.  The FBI agents who pursued charges against those who sought to disrupt the peaceful transfer of power, who stormed DC seeking to execute the house majority leader and brought a gallows to capitol hill for the vice president, who trashed the us capitol and attacked police officers – the agents who investigated those cases were fired for doing their job.  These leaders have made it clear that they are seeking retribution, not repair, not restoration. Certainly not grace.

In this political climate, it is as if anyone who disagrees with me is my enemy.  Not capable of neutrality, not capable of fulfilling their duty to uphold the law or carry out their job.  Indeed, not even human.  We see this dehumanization in the othering and silencing of trans people, in the claim that women and people of color in positions of power could not possibly have earned those positions.  In the targeting and terrorizing of immigrant communities.  It goes on and on.

And yet, Christ calls us to love our enemies, to bless those who hate us, and to turn the other cheek.  Dr. King said, “far from being the pious injunction of a utopian dreamer, this command is an absolute necessity for the survival of our civilization. Yes, love is the key to the solution of the problems of our world, love even for enemies.”

How on earth do we do this?  How can we love our enemies with hearts that are broken?  How do we expand our capacity to love?

When I was a second-year seminarian, I signed up for what was billed as a meditation study through the Danielson Institute at my school, Boston University.  I admit that as a broke graduate student, I was motivated as much by the promise of compensation as I was by my curiosity about meditation.  And I didn’t know it at the time, but I was committing to six weeks of lovingkindness practice.

It’s a practice where you take a few minutes each day to bask in the love and goodwill of someone who cares for you, and then to extend that feeling of love, first to someone toward whom you feel neutrally, and then, toward someone who irks you.  Bring to mind someone in your life who cares for you.  Imagine them smiling at you, vividly picture their presence.  Soak in the love and the joy that they bring to you.  Breathe in, and out.  Notice how your body feels, any emotion that is coming up for you.

Then, imagine someone toward whom you don’t feel much of anything, and extend to them thoughts of goodwill, of well-being, of happiness. And, again, bring them to mind vividly as though they were right in front of you. Breathe in, and out.  Notice how your body feels.

Finally, bring to mind someone who causes you distress.  Notice how thinking of that person makes you feel and then, as you inhale, draw in the intention for this person to be truly happy, fulfilled, and joyful. And as you exhale, wish this person happiness, fulfillment, flourishing.  Notice how that makes you feel, what comes up in you when you try to do that.  Over time this practice will strengthen your ability to re-route your anger, and you will find that your capacity for love will grow.  And that is the path to healing.  The path to forgiveness, the path to wholeness.  The path, ultimately, that will save us all.

When Jesus calls us to love our enemies, turn the other cheek- he is not calling on us to be doormats or to be passive in love.  But instead, he is calling us to love as my dad loved me.  Love which speaks the truth, and cares enough to hold another accountable to a higher standard.  Love which says, we are better than this.  Love which moves us to nonviolent resistance, love which refuses to stoop to dehumanization but radically humanizes the other side – and sees their fear, their love of power, their chaos and says – we are better than this.  Love does not allow our own bodies and minds to be hijacked by hate, because it eats away at us!  It’s not healthy!  It steals our focus and productivity.  Instead, our challenge for the coming week is to try this practice, to expand our capacity to love others, even our enemies.

Let us love with courage and conviction and intention.  Because that is the path to liberation.

 

 

 

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 9, 2025

Wild Geese
Luke 5:1-11

Many mornings, I take my dog Cocoa for a walk through our neighborhood – and a couple of times over the past few weeks, I have been utterly astonished to hear the honking of geese, passing far overhead.  Each time it’s been enough to make me stop in my tracks, and crane my neck up to the sky, searching until I see them.  I don’t know where they’re going, if I’m honest – back North, in classic V-formation?  I’m less familiar with the migratory patterns of birds than I’d like to be.  I can only watch, open-mouthed, with awe – as their powerful wings carry them across the sky, and I can hear them calling out to each other- harsh and exciting, as Mary Oliver says.  Free.

I would think nothing of it, usually.  Just another ordinary astonishment, like the sheet of ice that covered my car this morning.  The frosty, frozen tips of the cedar branches towering over my backyard.  The fresh eggs my hens have begun to lay again – the best harbinger of spring, and part of the everyday beauty of life on this incredible planet.  Ordinarily I would take a breath, and move on, but these past two weeks…

These past two weeks I have been gripped by what I have come to realize is grief.  And, fury. Righteous indignation.  And sadly, a sense of inadequacy, bewilderment.  What can we do to respond to what is playing out around us?

The echo of those geese in the grey February sky reminds me that in Celtic Christianity, the holy spirit is depicted not as a dove, but as a goose.  A wild goose.  Who flies where she will.  Who cannot be tamed.  Who cannot or will not be controlled.  Whose loud cries cut across the wide expanse of the sky, making you raise your head and look in wonder.

The flocks of geese are a sign of the changing seasons, sure.  But I can’t help but wonder if they’re also a sign of something more.  Is the Spirit at work?  Because I sure could use a miracle. Couldn’t you?  A miracle that allows lifesaving research to continue.  A miracle, to save the lives of people suffering from AIDS in Kenya.  A miracle to rebuild Gaza in a way that gives life and autonomy and dignity to the Palestinian people, while also respecting the rights and sovereignty of Israel.  It is past time for a miracle.

Do you think Simon Peter, James and John were waiting for a miracle?  They didn’t ask for it.  They didn’t seem to expect it.  They were exhausted, worn out from a long night on the water, with nothing to show for their labor.  Hungry.  Mending their shabby nets, so they could head home.  They were finishing up the night shift, they weren’t there to see Jesus at all –but there he was, the crowd of people pressing in like always, gathered in the morning light, eager to see him, longing for the stories he told and the power he offered.

Can’t you see him, calling to them, and nodding to the boat to ask if he might teach from there?  Many sanctuaries are built in the style of an upside down boat, and a sign of the early church was a boat on storm tossed seas.  A little community of the faithful, staying afloat.

Simon Peter can see that the crowd won’t leave until Jesus teaches and so SImon pushes his boat back into the water, and rows out a bit – listening as Jesus talks about the reign of God – where the lowly are uplifted, the hungry fed, and the sick healed, and those in need of mercy find it.  When he finishes, Jesus turns not towards the shore but out, to the middle of the lake.  Maybe it was a nice day, and he wanted to be out on the water.  Maybe he just needed to give the crowd a chance to disperse.  Whatever the reason, Peter puts up the sail, and out they go – out into the deep water.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been out on the open ocean, but out over the deep, it’s unsettling.  No matter the experience of the captain – a boat is at the mercy of the elements, the wind, the waves, the water.

Peter wasn’t scared, he was a fisherman, used to the water.  But he was skeptical, surely – after all, the fish weren’t biting.  They’d been out all night and caught nothing.  Willing to humor his friend, he casts the nets again, out into the water – dark and deep.

Suddenly, it seems, the sea is roiling with fish.  Splashing and flashing silver as the nets pull up their catch.  More than the boat can haul, so many the nets are breaking!  So many it threatens to flood the boat, pulling them under.  They signal to shore, they call out, their voices echoing across the water – help!  Come and help us!  Fish!  So James and John come, they bring the other boat, and help haul the fish back to shore.

These men, they weren’t expecting a miracle.  But the miracle finds them anyway – and it’s disruptive! God’s abundance swamps their boats, it breaks their nets, it threatens their livelihood – it’s impossible to ignore.  They can’t control it, cannot tame it, the Spirit shows up in the person of Jesus and calls them, harsh and exciting, to something new.  They can’t continue life as usual, their nets are broken!

Simon is awe-struck by the catch, surely, but he’s also terrified.  Fearful for Jesus, because what would the authorities do to him when they knew what he could do?  Afraid for himself, too, because surely Jesus is touched by God, and Simon was unclean – not fit for his presence.

But Jesus doesn’t see that.  Jesus looks at him, and sees not an unclean fisherman, but someone worthy of the work.  A partner.  He sees Peter’s willing hands, his open heart.  And he calls him to discipleship.  Peter’s nets are broken, his boat threatening to sink, so Jesus gives him a new job: to fish for people.  A new purpose.

We watched the Wild Robot a few weeks ago, a book or movie I commend to you if you’re not familiar with it.  At the beginning of the book, a helper robot crashes onto a remote island.  Programmed to assist humans with every aspect of daily life, the helper robot is at a loss stranded on an island.  She is determined to return to the factory because she does not have a task on the island, until an accident leads her to possess and care for an egg.  When the egg hatches, and a gosling emerges, it imprints on the robot: the robot becomes its mother.  The little goose gives the robot its task, a purpose in the wilderness.  Care for the goose.  Help it find food.  Teach it to fly.  Nevermind that the robot is not programmed for these tasks.  It must learn the ways of the wild geese.   It’s a wonderful story.

Friends, we are out on the deep water right now.  I won’t lie: these are scary times.  The daily news highlights an onslaught of cruelty: the defunding of lifesaving research.  The imposition of a false binary and denial of trans rights.  The dismantling of peace and international development programs worldwide.  The list goes on and on.  One question we need to be asking amidst the onslaught is – what is our work to do?  What gifts and skills can we offer to mitigate harm to our friends and neighbors?  Where are people experiencing pain of loss- job loss, of loss of legal status, of loss of funding, lost faith, and how can we lift up their stories for the wider work of healing, and liberation?  How can we care for one another, feed the hungry, and learn the skills we need to survive in a new landscape?  Yes, it’s overwhelming.  Yes, like peter, we feel inadequate to the task at hand.  But.  if we raise our heads to the grey February sky, we just might hear the cries of the wild geese, harsh and exciting.  When we least expect it, when we are weary and exhausted and have given up hope – that is when the miracle might find us.  Listen – the Spirit is calling us still.  May we have the courage to answer.

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church of Baltimore
February 2, 2025

Homecoming
Luke 4

Charles Barkley is a basketball commentator now, but when I was a kid, I remember him as one of the greats – I remember watching him rule the court on Saturday afternoons with my dad, sneakers squeaking, as he played for the Phoenix Suns and the Houston Rockets.  Barkley was drafted the same year as Michael Jordan to play for the Philadelphia76er’s, and they played together on Olympic dream teams in the 90’s, winning gold – that’s the extent of my basketball knowledge.  What I didn’t know until I moved to Birmingham, is that Barkley is from there, from a little town called Leeds where my friend’s brother owned a BBQ restaurant – about 20 minutes from downtown. Barkley had played ball for Auburn, and for a few years toyed with the idea of running for governor of Alabama.

He didn’t.

I learned in Birmingham that Barkley is a major philanthropist.  He’s given millions to HBCU’s Spelman, Jackson State, Miles College, Morehouse, and Tuskegee University.  He’s funded parks and playgrounds, ALS research, paid for computers and internet access during the pandemic, and given to the teachers and alumni of his high school.  He’s invested in ways he believes will foster economic opportunity and prosperity for poor people in his hometown. Barkley is known as a generous and caring person – far more than one might expect a famous ball player to be.  He still insists – he’s not a role model.  The likelihood of other kids from tiny towns in Alabama ending up with a career on the court is so small.  He says he feels blessed, and he wants to share the blessing with others – especially with his hometown.

This morning we find Jesus in his hometown, too.

He’s just stood up in the temple, read the words of the prophet Isaiah – unrolling the scroll, standing in the assembly – and proclaimed them fulfilled.  Taking on the mantle of messiah.  And people are amazed by his teaching!  Excited, and energized by his words, his presence, what he promises might be possible for them and their community.  Healing, salvation, liberation!  Debts forgiven, God’s favor for them!

But even in their excitement, can’t you see a few of them shaking their heads?  Saying to one another, “Can you believe it?  This is Joseph’s boy!”  See, they remember what he was like as a kid, getting into trouble.  Making his teachers crazy.

“remember that time Jesus and his cousins broke all the water jars outside the building, because they were playing ball too close to the entrance?  Those boys were too much.  Made Jesus do all the talking to fess up, too.”

“remember that time Jesus won the prize for memorizing the most passages from the Torah?  When he was so nervous to read in front of the congregation, he got sick?”

Joseph’s boy, all grown up.  They can’t quite square their memories of him with the person he’s become.  Still, they can’t help but wonder… if he really is the messiah, the promised one, what will that mean for them?  Will the hometown boy bring hometown benefits?  Will he do for them what they’ve heard he’s done elsewhere?  Will he heal their sick?  Do miracles?  Cast out evil?  I mean, they put up with his antics as a kid, that’s gotta count for something!

All of this must be going through their heads as Jesus continues to teach. And Jesus, even though it’s early in his ministry, he knows it.  Can see the gleam in their eyes and the expectations begin to form.  So he decides to head them off.  He reminds them of prophets who have gone before, who didn’t show preferential treatment to their hometowns, or to the people of Israel either. he makes it clear that he won’t perform on demand.  He’s here for everyone, not just for them.  And in fact, there are people who need him more than they do. So they get angry, and run him out of town.

Some commentators suggest they’re angry not just because they won’t get special treatment, but because he’s reaching out to Gentiles before offering help to his own Jewish community.  And the stories he tells – a story about Elisha miraculously feeding a woman and her son in a time of famine – not just any woman, but a foreigner; and Elijah miraculously healing Naaman, a Syrian – Naaman, who wasn’t just the enemy, but the general of the enemy’s army – prove this point.  It’s resentment that fuels the crowd’s fury, jealousy, and maybe even xenophobia.  It’s hard to say.  But, they get so angry, they take him to the top of a mountain and try to push him off.

Have you ever heard the saying, “Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable?”  I use the phrase in prayers, sometimes, and always thought it could be attributed to a leader of the reformation, to Martin Luther or John Calvin.  Apparently, though, the phrase can be traced back to a newspaperman, back to the early 1900’s in the age of muckrakers.  Finley Peter Dunne, a journalist who wrote for the Chicago Tribune, coined the phrase in describing the purpose of a newspaper… to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.  And I think this may be what Jesus is doing here… challenging the people who raised him to see that God’s love, justice, and healing power reach across boundaries of race and cultural identity, even religion – to those who some faithful folks have discounted, and pushed out, as unworthy of God’s blessing.  Christ came to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.

This has been a difficult week in our country.  The new Administration has thrown a wrench into the wheels of government, stopping essential foreign aid, seeking to fire or furlough millions of civil servants, ending refugee resettlement programs, the list goes on and on and on.  It is breathtaking in its cruelty and scope.  It is difficult, if not impossible, to fully comprehend the implications and the long-term damage of this dismantling.  And yet it brings to mind those folks in Jesus’ home congregation.  The ones with the gleam in their eye and the wheels in their heads turning, thinking – what’s in this for me?  With the firing of inspector generals, the installation of cronies and loyalists into top positions, and elon musk with his hand in the federal treasury – it’s clear that some people are hoping to benefit at the expense of all the rest.

There’s not a perfect parallel, there never is, but …

I can’t help but think about Jesus’ refusal to prioritize his hometown wants over the needs of the wider world.  And his fearlessness, to tell the truth to his hometown folks about God’s concern for the poor and forgotten, for foreigners and strangers – even though it provoked their fury.  I’m amazed by his courage in this story, his ability to find a way through their chaos, and their anger, to continue his ministry of love and justice, his work of compassion and healing.

We know Jesus would decry a kleptocracy – he said enough about the Roman empire for us to know that. But when I think about it – and I never thought I would say this – maybe I want him to be a little like Charles Barkley: investing in positive programs to help hometown folks.  We want Jesus to be on our side, for us – not for them.  Reflecting on this passage in the Christian Century a couple of years ago, Lutheran pastor Katie Hines-Shah says Jesus escapes the murderous mob because “he goes through the middle – he refuses to be caught in the binary trap…  He won’t be contained…”as a supporter of one group over another, us verses them.”[1]  Maybe our way through the chaos is to follow his lead… paying attention to the ways that we have grown comfortable in modern life, and having the courage to follow him to the places where people are suffering – to offer our hands and hearts for the work of healing.  This is the life of Faith to which we are called.  The world needs us now more than ever.  We must not be afraid!

[1] Hines-Shah, Katie, “Reflections on the lectionary; January 30, Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany” The Christian Century, 1/12/22