Manure & Other Good News - 3d Lent (RCL) sermon

(Pretty much a repost of my notes, cleaned up a little so as to flow better as a sermon. For those of you who've already seen that part, here's the only new bit:

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Alright, w/out further ado, the sermon:




MANURE, AND OTHER GOOD NEWS

[Luke 13:1-9]

Jesus, talking to his disciples about repentence, relates a story about a fig tree in a vineyard to illustrate his point. Jesus often told these earthy, pithy, little stories that grounded his teachings in the details of everyday life - - bringing his teachings “down to earth.” Like all of Jesus’ parables, this one is (excuse the pun,) “fertile ground” for contemplation, so let’s (excuse another pun,) really “dig in” to this one and see what we can unearth…

The story opens with the owner of a vineyard inspecting his trees to see if they’re yielding good fruit. As a landowner, this man is probably better educated, richer, cleaner, and a whole different social class than those who he employs to work in his vineyard. What's impressive to me is that a humble gardener, probably sweat-stained, dusty-robed, with dirt beneath his nails, is able to stand up to the owner of the vineyard. And even more amazing, the rich owner actually takes the advice of one of his laborers. The gardener, who tends the vineyard and knows its workings, overrules the owner of the vineyard who wants to uproot the fig tree right away. "Let's dig around and fertilize it first," he says, "and see what happens next year, before we think about tearing it up." After all, the gardener is the one who tends the vineyard, the one who really knows its plants.

The gardener wants to dig up around the fig tree's roots and spread manure to fertilize it. I love the earthiness of this image. "Manure" is dank, rank, gross stuff. It's strong and smelly. And, importantly, it is considered a waste -- it's unclean, dirty, not worth anything. We don't want it-- we get rid of it, get it as far away from us as we can -- thrown into midden-heaps, cast into gutters or sewers, buried in holes, or today, flushed down toilets.

But in gardening, it's the stuff of new life, fertilizer.

In a passage about repentence and bearing fruit, this parable illustrates the "dirtiness" of really being about God's work-- it's "Roll up your sleeves and get planting" kind of work. True repentence probably isn't about "purity" -- about staying clean, but instead about not being afraid to get dirty in the service of God. The kind of repentence that leads to bearing fruit will get your hands dirty, get dirt -- or even manure -- beneath your nails.

In church, we like to dress up in our "Sunday best," to put on our crispest, fanciest clothes to show our respect for each other and God. Our clergy and acolytes wear bleached-white albs -- as white as we can get 'em. And while there are positive symbolic aspects to dressing this way, I wonder if it doesn't make us dissassociate Church with Dirt.

What would it be like if we dressed up for Church in paint-stained t-shirts, steel-toed boots, and work gloves? Gardener's overalls instead of three-piece suits? If our deacons had smudged kitchen-towels slung over their shoulders instead of stoles, ready for service? If our priests wore toolbelts instead of cinctures, our bishops donned hardhats instead of mitres? What would it say about the Church? What would it say about the world?

As it is now, we don't want people to "track mud" into the Sanctuary. Those whose clothes aren't as clean as ours, or those who haven't bathed as recently as us, may feel unwelcome or out of place.

What if the Church needs a little mud tracked into it? What if our Church is the fig tree that needs its roots dug around, get a little manure down there, nevermind that it's messy and smells bad and, yes, you will get dirty?

Or hey, what if the Church is the manure? What if instead of worrying about who's tracking mud on our carpets, we should be tracking mud out into the streets?

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Really meeting the hopes, fears, and needs of the world can be messy. Honestly meeting people where they are, can be uncomfortable. Addressing the Gospel imperative to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring justice to the oppressed means (quite obviously) having contact with the hungry, the naked and the oppressed.

If the Church is so antiseptic and clean, so starched and pressed, that it is afraid of a speck of dirt, it has no good news for the hungry, the naked, and the oppressed. Rather, it is a rather well-meaning but embarrassed humbug: "I wish you well, but I don't really know what I can do, good luck." You know, like one of those English butlers you see in movies wiping an immaculate white glove over a mantle to see if there's any dust there? I’d feel dirty just shaking that guy’s hand! This isn't Good News, it's further oppression: the real message is: "I wish you well, but you are Untoucheable, Unclean."

But if the Church is itself also manure, a fertile, fecund, source of life,
unafraid of the discomfort of new situations,
unafraid of new encounters,
unafraid of the uncertainy
that comes from really meeting injustice out in the world:
Then it has good news to offer, real Good News. Rather than "You are untoucheable," the message becomes "You are valuable, worthwhile, productive. Together, we can bear much fruit."

Manure. Something unclean, something we don't want to touch, something worthless.

But in God's hands, in the hands of God's gardeners, something infinitely valuable.

Let's put on our work gloves.

We've got digging to do.