I am changed

Summer as a child was glorious for me.

My father worked as an elementary school principal and so during the summer when he would be working, I would get to play on the computer in the office next to his.

The school had this one computer program where I could pretend to be an astronaut and put together space stations and keep track of oxygen levels.

When I finished putting together SkyLab, I would head to the gym and play basketball.

Sometimes my father would join me and he would take half-court shots wearing dress shoes and a tie.

Having spent time in outer space and shooting baseline jumpers over Kareem, I would walk over to the air-conditioned library where I read pretty much every Judy Blume published up until then.

And on other days, I would go to work with my mother and brother.

While Mother did not work in a school, she did work at a place somewhere just as good: a church.

And next to that church was the rectory.

And in that rectory were friends.

Friends that would assist my brother and I in performing various shenanigans, hide and seek in the sanctuary; dungeons and dragons in the library (now some might say D&D is cultish and it wasn’t to play such a game in a church, but I say we were fighting the demons and not joining them so everything was copasetic); running around the parish hall; avoiding the Wednesday noon eucharist, etc.

Those kinds of shenanigans.

And sometimes the sacristy was left open.

And sometimes the stole and chasuble would be laid out for the next Sunday’s service.

I remember the stole hanging there beside or lying on top of the chasuble and I would run my fingers and hands upon it, feeling the fabric, rough like wool or felt, and the lining smooth as silk; I would comb my fingers through the tassels.

These were holy garments and they felt holier in the silence of a room in which I most likely wasn’t meant to be.

Behind me was the rope pull and if I so desired, I could clang the bells and announce to the Derby green and all of downtown that I was where I was not supposed to be.

Even as a child, I was wise in some instances and the bell remained unclanged.

Summer days were glorious and wonderful, days of sun and splendor and summer sometimes passes; the summer to the fall.

And as I grew up, I fell away from the church and journeyed in other places, sometimes places I should not be, and yet, the seasons cycle and eventually summer returned.

And I returned to church.

On a Sunday morning sometime in Easter, I walked back into a church and that church reminded me so much of the Episcopal Church of my youth and that nostalgia made the transition back to faith so much easier.

And along with that, was the welcoming I received from the congregation.

Summer’s return was made warm by the congregation sharing Christ’s love with me and my family in a community new to us within the continuum of a faith that has lasted centuries.

We felt welcomed into the ways and family of Christ.

Jesus said to his apostles, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”

And isn’t that fantastic!

All we must do to welcome Jesus is to welcome others.

Welcome them, welcome him.

Easy.

“Hey there, take a seat. In fact, take my pew. You are welcome here.”

And then we go about our day

Yet, it is not so easy, not if we do it right.

Before this morning’s reading, in the weeks previous, we heard about the difficulties of the work the disciples are given to do.

They might face persecution for they are followers of Christ.

They might be turned away from towns where they are not welcomed.

The work is hard and they will face many obstacles, yet beyond that and in this morning’s gospel lesson, we learn that welcoming is not just a friendly smile and wave, welcoming is work.

Jesus welcomes as a prophet and we, his newest disciples must welcome too in the name of a prophet.

Yet a prophet is a prophet because they name hard truths.

We welcome in the name of a prophet through honesty and not deceit.

We welcome in the name of a prophet by sharing the words Jesus spoke and following through on his commandments to love God and love each other.

And that is sometimes hard for we are to love each other without buts and without maybes and without exception.

Love each other as Christ loves us.

Love each other as Christ loves us and gave his very life for us.

Love each other and that is sometimes hard.

We are to welcome as the righteous welcome.

We are to be virtuous and steadfast and moral in our lives, we are to be righteous and we will receive the reward of the righteous.

And it is not always easy to be virtuous and steadfast and moral in our day to day, sometimes it is easier to be less than virtuous; less than steadfast; less than moral.

Yes, even me standing before you in an Alb and stole, supposedly so learned and wise, can be less than righteous.

Yet we must strive to be righteous and welcome the righteous for the reward is great.

And still, all of that seems almost easy.

Ish.

Though we might not always tell the hard truths as loudly as the easier truths, we don’t always equate the accumulation and hoarding of wealth as sinful, and though we may not always be righteous, we do share the Word and we are in essence, good people.

And doesn’t it really seem easy to fulfill the next statement?

The one where Jesus says, “whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward?”

I mean, the tap is just over there.

We can give a cup of water to a little one and there you have it, we are fulfilling the Word and we will not lose our reward.

And yet, is it just water?

Perhaps it is not just water.

Perhaps Jesus spells it out later in Matthew 25 when he talks about giving a drink to the thirsty, food to the hungry, welcome to the stranger, clothing to the naked and visiting the prisoner.

Perhaps Jesus is talking about an active faith, of getting out into the community and actively welcoming those who would need water to sate their thirst.

Or perhaps this is the living water, the water of baptism, the waters that wash us clean from sin and allow us entry into the kingdom of God.

Or maybe, it IS just water.

Maybe the child is thirsty and needs a drink and if we give that child a bit of water in the name of the disciples, in the very name of Christ, our reward is great.

But notice that one thing.

We must give that water.

We must take on the responsibility of sating that thirst.

If we are to welcome, if we are to welcome as the prophets do or as the righteous do, we must give of ourselves.

We welcome not only by shifting our seats to give the visitor space and greeting them with a friendly hello, we welcome by actively taking on that which ails us, that which troubles us, that which causes our brows to crease and those crows feet to become more pronounce.

When we welcome, we are changed because we now have less water that we have shared with the little one.

We are changed by taking on the burdens so that the burdened might carry less weight.

We are changed for we lift up or we bend towards those searching for the light of God.

If we truly welcome, we will not be a community formed behind red doors on Sunday but a family in the world, loving each other, loving fiercely and with kindness.

We will be able to change the anger outside those doors, the discord and division that exists in a world sometimes more defined by animus than love, because we are changed.

Let us lift up the burdens for those burdens are great.

Let us take on those burdens for when they are shared, they are easier still to carry.

Let us give that little one a cup of water in the name of a disciple for our reward shall be great.

Yes, those summers were wonderful as a child, but now the summer is more wonderful for I am changed, by the light of Christ, I am changed.

So too are we changed for we welcome, actively love and welcome those who would change us.

And our reward will be the return of God’s kingdom here on earth.

A truly great reward, indeed.

Amen.