Prepare to feast.

Posted on April 14, 2024 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Easter at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in Jacksonville, FL. For more information on St. Mary’s click here.

Acts 3:12-19
1 John 3:1-7
Luke 24: 36b-48
Psalm 4

In the name of God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.

The idea of a sacred meal is longstanding.
We see it in the Jewish Shabbat –
a series of prayers at sunset to mark the beginning of the sabbath,
which is then followed by a shared meal.

For a time, in grad school I spent Friday nights
with some Jewish friends.
I loved the embrace of being together.
Setting time aside to enjoy a sense of community.

This practice of shared meals isn’t unique to Judaism.
In the Moravian Christian tradition a shared meal
is considered sacred – an act of worship.

It matters not when we gather, just that the coming together
is treasured as a gift from God.
It is a symbol of God’s fellowship with us.

My mom’s family was Moravian.
As a child I loved attending Love Feast services.
In that tradition, just before the homily,
baskets of warm rolls and trays of sweet creamy coffee
are distributed among the pews to recognize this.

The Love Feast is not to be confused with the
sacrament of Holy Communion.
But it is sacramental.
It is holy.

This recognition – whether conscious or unconscious –
of the gift of a shared meal has saturated
cultures all over the world.

It becomes obvious when you think about
the loneliness and isolation we experienced
during the pandemic.

And then finally, the relief and joy expressed
by the churched and unchurched alike,
when we were able once again to gather,
to enjoy one another’s company, in person,
in the flesh.

One of my favorite shared meals is breakfast
with my 94-year-old father.
This is a longstanding tradition for us.
It is a time of catching up and sharing.

It is at breakfast when I’ve shared the most significant
experiences of my life:
A call to Holy Orders.
The decision to step away from a traditional
church assignment to begin street ministry.
The call to adopt a child.

Food is a basic need, but it is meant to be more
than just nourishing our bodies.
Especially when shared, it is a part of
nourishing our souls.

Our Gospel today brings us once again to
that third day after the crucifixion,
when Jesus appears to the disciples.
This time we get Luke’s perspective.

“Peace be with you,” Jesus says.
His disciples fear they are seeing a ghost.
They believe and yet they don’t believe,
all at the same time.

Oddly, they are able to accept it more easily
when Jesus consumes a piece of broiled fish.
This is not a ghost, an apparition.
Miraculously it is Jesus in the flesh!

This passage is preceded by the telling of
another shared meal –
a story unique to the Gospel of Luke.

In it two disciples are walking along.
One is named Cleopas – this is the only place
he appears in scripture.
And the other is unnamed.

They are walking along, trying to make sense of
the events that have occurred.
They had been certain that Jesus was
the One who was to come.
The Messiah and Savior of the world.
Their hopes have been crushed with the crucifixion.
They are frightened, bewildered and confused.

As they walk along, trying to make sense of
the events of the past few days,
Jesus joins them on the road.

As he speaks of the fulfillment of scripture,
they are fed by his words,
though they don’t recognize him yet.
He is just a stranger along the way.

Sundown is approaching so they ask Jesus to stay with them.
It was only then, at table, when Jesus took the bread,
broke it and gave it to them,
that they recognized him.

Why this story? Why is it necessary?

Because, even before he appeared to the disciples
 in the upper room,
Jesus made himself known to a couple of nobodies.

The resurrection experience is not just
for Jesus’ closest disciples.
It is available to us all.

We have an invitation to insert ourselves
into this story.
To become the one who is unnamed.
Imagine yourself walking along with road
with your friend Cleopas,
revisiting the confusing and shocking events
of the past few days.
A “stranger” joins and wonders what we are talking about.
We are astonished! Where has this guy been?
“Haven’t you heard?” we ask him as we talk about Jesus –
the one we thought for sure was the Messiah.
But then he was arrested and crucified.
We are feeling a bit duped.

The stranger listens, then tells us about
what has been foretold in scripture.
Clearly he is a learned teacher.
He tells us the crucifixion was not only foretold
but necessary.

Night is falling, so we invite him to join us
for the sabbath meal.
It isn’t until he blesses and breaks the bread,
and offers it to us that he reveals himself.
We are dining with the risen Christ!

Again and again, we see the sacred nature of a shared meal.
In today’s Gospel it can seem like Jesus is performing a stunt –
eating a piece of fish to prove his physical body has been raised.

But it is so much more than that.
It is an invitation to fellowship together with Jesus.
He longs to walk with us along the way.
To share in our common human journey.

Jesus is calling us to this`:
To let go of those things that block us from
loving him and one another.
What appeared at first to be the greatest
disappointment and betrayal,
has been transformed into something indescribably exquisite.

Jesus is calling us, my friends.
His invitation is for all
and it never expires.
Let us come to table.
Let us feast.
Amen.

Posted in Christianity, community, Episcopal church, faith, holy, hunger, sabbath, street ministry, Uncategorized, urban ministry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Light for all people.

Posted on January 1, 2024 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

This sermon was offered on the First Sunday after Christmas (Dec. 31, 2023) at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville, FL, by the Rev. Cn. Beth Tjoflat.

(Photo taken near Columbus, OH)

Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18
Psalm 147

It was not uncommon for teachers of John’s day
to make a point by putting one thing in
juxtaposition to another for emphasis:

Spirit/body
Heaven/earth
Divine/human

The Apostle John begins the story,
not with a birth narrative,
or with Jesus public ministry.
He reaches back to the beginning of Creation.

His vantage point is purely Cosmic.
Seemingly separate from our island home –
this planet earth.

The Gospel of John starts with what is arguably
one of the most poetic and brilliant passages
in all of Holy Scripture.

In the beginning was the Word, and
the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.

All things came into being through him, and
without him not one thing came into being.
John is not describing an exceptionally holy man
or an extraordinary prophet.

He speaks of God who loves us so much he
takes the form of a man, to live among us,
to love us,
to save us.

John’s poetry stretches the language to describe
the ineffable — that which is so vast and mysterious,
words cannot do it justice.
Though we should try.
And we must try.

Notice how without any transition,
he moves straight from the prologue to
John the Baptist:
There was a man sent by God.

Why does he do this?
He is demonstrating a form of teaching that uses dichotomy.
Placing opposites against one another for emphasis.

Consider these three words used to describe Jesus in the first passage:

Word
Life
Light

Word (logos) – the very substance of God
Life – the product of God’s generative, creative nature,
And Light (the light of all people)

Then in the next section, telling about John the Baptist,
a prophet sent by God, three more words:
Glory
Grace
Truth

Glory – being the reflection of divine Light in our world –
a gift for us – a sign, for our hurting world.
Grace – the experience of God’s action in our lives.
Truth – when we come to believe and acknowledge
the ultimate truth that John wants us to grasp
above all others –
exactly who this Jesus is:
The Christ, the Messiah.
The Son of God.

And perhaps most profound:
The Word – the Logos.

A force so powerful and inherently creative that
it has brought all things into being through Love,
which is its very essence..
One more word for today: Witness

John starts with the Cosmic then links it with the earthly.
He links it with our human experience,
first through his own profound experience as Jesus’ Apostle.
He was most likely there on the banks of the Jordan
for Jesus baptism.
And he walked with him through his earthly ministry.
He walked with him all the way to the foot of the cross.

John cares above all else that we come to know
one thing and one thing only:
that Jesus is the Christ.

It is as if Apostle John is shouting at us:
Know his name.
Say his name.

So how do we get to this place?
We each have our own unique life experience.
No matter how holy some may say we are.
No matter how holy we may think we are,
we are all works in progress.

No matter how sinful or immoral or hopeless
we may seem to ourselves –
and perhaps even to our families and friends.
No matter if we threw in the towel long ago,
saying, “to hell with it all!”
We too are a work in progress.

Just like John, we hold things in tension.
The promise of Christ and his kingdom
and our day-to-day lived realty.
We walk together as followers of the way of love.

Developing and learning to experience a conscious
reality that is not divorced from
a Cosmic perspective.
Nor does it deny the gritty, messiness that we call living.
Maybe in some seasons it feels more like existing.

What we need is each other.
We need each other to bear witness to the Light.
the Light that is for all people.

We see the power of witness at work when a hopeless,
end-of-the-road alcoholic manages to drag herself
into an AA meeting, thinking,
with a touch of sarcasm
As if this could solve anything.

But then, the witness of a roomful of
life-filled individuals – who at one time
were themselves completely hopeless–
as they share their colorful, oftentimes tragic stories,
of their journey to recovery —
they serve as life-and-blood witnesses to the reality of a God
who loves us so much, that he sent his beloved Son
to take human form.
To walk among us.
To touch us.
To know us through and through.
To bear witness to our struggles and our potential.

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul tells us God sends the Spirit
of his Son into our very hearts.
It is that very Spirit, which calls to us persistently
(hence the expression hound of heaven comes from…).

That Spirit raises us up from a meaningless life,
like dry bones taking on flesh,
being restored to live life abundantly.

Through his witness, John the gospeller,
shows that we are meant to live an integrated life,
a life in which the Cosmic Light shepherds our human experience,
drawing us bit by bit into deep communion
with the One who was born on a quiet night in Bethlehem.
His name is Jesus.
Amen.

Posted in 12-step spirituality, Christianity, community, faith, Grace, holy, love, Ministry, Recovery, Uncategorized, witness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Shepherd to shepherd.

Posted on December 27, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

This sermon was offered on Christmas Eve night (2023) by the Rev. Canon Beth Tjoflat at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville, FL. Readings: Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20; Psalm 96)

Interpretation of the Nativity by the author’s son (at age 7).

May I speak in the name of God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

We are here at last,
ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
The incarnation of God,
who loves us so much, he chose to
become like us and live among us.
The desire of his heart is to connect with us,
right where we are.

Just look at who God chooses first to announce
the birth of the Christ child:
Shepherds.

Stinky, ragamuffin shepherds.
Outcasts relegated to spending their days and nights
tending someone else’s livestock.
Not Temple leaders or government muckety mucks.
Certainly not the 1%.

This week I could not stop thinking
about the shepherds.

When the angel appeared to shepherds,
terrifying in its appearance,
larger than life,
probably emitting rays of divine energy,
Throwing off sparks of the source of all creation,
it delivered the most amazing news of all time:
the Messiah has come –
the Savior of the world is here!
“This will be a sign for you: you will find a child
wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

The shepherds have been given an assignment,
likely to end in loss of employment,
maybe even resulting in their imprisonment
for failing to keep watch over the livestock
entrusted to them:

Leave your posts.
Go and find the child.
See that what the angel says is true!
These shepherds – these outcasts –
on them, the light shone.

They set out rejoicing as they made
their way to Bethlehem.
They had been invited into the greatest
story of all time.
The good news came to them first.
And off they went.

God reveals himself in our time,
if we will watch and look for the signs.

When we began our Church Without Walls ministry,
it was grounded in a Wednesday morning fellowship,
out back behind Clara White mission.

We would arrive in the dark to brew 500 cups of coffee
(Clara White doesn’t serve coffee with breakfast).
Once the gates opened, we offered deep listening
and prayer for those who desired it.

 One day, as we were setting up, a man whom I did not
recognize called to me from the fence:
“Mother Beth, Mother Beth, can I talk to you?”

I walked over somewhat reluctantly, sure that
he would ask me for something I couldn’t give.
“You know Jimmy?”
(Indeed I did as he was a regular).
Well last night he hurt his hand really badly, and
we can’t get him to go to the hospital.
He trusts you. Could you maybe get him to go?”

There are so many ways the love of Jesus
inhabited that conversation.
This gentle, compassionate man carried
the light of Christ to his friends and to me.

As we look around our community,
we aren’t likely to encounter any shepherds.
But we do encounter those who are relegated to the margins.

Those who are ignored.
Those society renders invisible.

This past week our food pantry and
Christmas Room were hopping.
Many came looking for food and good cheer, and
our volunteers made certain that all were welcome.

We had one visitor who stuck out in particular –
a woman experiencing severe mental illness.
She was very suspicious of us – no doubt a result of
experiencing hostility and rejection
in her day-to-day life on the edge.
Our volunteers and staff were patient and kind,
and helped her navigate our system.

The next day, this same visitor made her way
back to St. Mary’s.
She hung out for quite a while along the fence,
just in front of the church.
She was relaxed, relatively quiet,
and seemingly at peace.

Somehow, she came to know that this is a safe place.
A place of welcome for all people.
She was drawn to the Light of Christ.
To the Love of Christ that she experienced here.

That same light is fueled when we come together,
when we meet at a place of acceptance,
when we allow ourselves to recognize
the holy humanity in each other.

As I drove here this morning, I passed several people,
camped together on a single block of Ocean street.
I come this way daily and may see one or two folks
on the street but never a gathering like this.
I wondered, Could it be a desire for light and love
that brought them together rather than
to go it alone at Christmas?
Possibly.

If the Angel of the Lord were to appear
in this time and this place, I can imagine
it would choose this ramshackle group to receive
its message of hope.

If we can let go of our ideas about who we are –
the carefully constructed scaffolding we build over  
the course of our lives.
If we can let go of our assumptions about the other.
then we are left with the possibility of a simple encounter –
shepherd to shepherd.

In our encounters with one another – and with the other –
the light brightens and takes on a heavenly glow.
Love takes shape.

We make our way forward with the assurance that
God will give us signs when we most need them.
Simple, unexpected, in the everydayness of our lives.

While we celebrate the birth of Jesus,
let us take note that this holy incarnation
is embodied again and again,
in you and me and the stranger we meet along the way.
It can be most apparent in our children.
There is nothing like welcoming a newborn into the family.
The miracle of new life touches a place in our hearts
like nothing else.

The light and love of Christ is revealed
again and again, in the course of
our extraordinary, ordinary lives.
The One who was — and is — and is to come
is in our very midst.
Amen.

Posted in Christianity, community, compassion, faith, Grace, holy, love, urban ministry | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Mary.

Posted on December 26, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat
This icon was written by the Rev. Cn. Beth Tjoflat at an Advent retreat led by iconographer Teresa Harrison, Dec. 2023.

The following is a sermon preached by seminarian Catherine Montgomery, postulant for holy orders, at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church,Jacksonville, FL, on Sunday morning, Dec. 24, 2023.

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, we have one more opportunity to soak in holy anticipation and prepare our hearts for the mystery of the Christmas – that God’s love became flesh and walked among us. If you’ll pardon the pun, we find ourselves in a pregnant pause as we meditate on Mary, the mother of Jesus, before he was born to her and through her, for the whole world. This morning we think about what it meant that Mary was the dwelling place of God, and what that means for us, here and now.   

 To know Mary better, we must know about the world she inhabited, and her place in the long history of God’s people that stretches much farther back than the annunciation of the Angel Gabriel. And to know Mary better is, of course, to know Jesus better. We have to go back — not just to the manger, and not just to the annunciation, but way back into the Hebrew scriptures.

Let’s go all the way back to the book of Exodus. Long before Mary’s baby was born, the ark of the covenant was the dwelling place of God on earth. The Israelites built a beautiful wooden chest overlaid with gold to hold the stone tablets bearing the commandments. On top of this golden chest there were carved angelic creatures spreading their wings toward one another to create a lid that was called the mercy seat. God told the people that the ark was where God would meet with them and speak to them.

The people built a movable sanctuary around the ark, a tent that moved with them as they wandered in the wilderness for forty years. That’s the background for today’s Old Testament reading from 2 Samuel. A thousand years before the angel appeared to Mary, David was king of Israel. David decided that it wasn’t right that he lived in grand house, but the ark of God was in a tent. He wanted to create a permanent structure for the ark, so that God could dwell in a house at least as grand as his.

But speaking through the prophet Nathan, God said this is not what God wanted. In essence, God said, “Did I ever ask you for a house? I took you from the pasture where you were a simple shepherd, and I have been with you ever since. I don’t need you to make a house for me, instead, I will make you a house…” Notice, God didn’t say that a house will be made for David, but instead that David (and all his descendants) will be made a house with a sure foundation that will last forever. In other words, God said that the people are not in the dwelling place, they are the dwelling place.

  Nevertheless, David’s son Solomon did eventually build a grand temple for the ark. According to scripture, the cloud of God’s glory descended from heaven on the temple. The ark sat in the temple in an innermost place called the “Holy of Holies.” So holy and powerful was the ark that no person could touch it. It’s hard to overstate the significance of the ark to the Israelites and the power it held for them as the place where God dwelled.

But the temple was destroyed in a time of war, and the ark was lost, never to be recovered. The temple was rebuilt, but the Holy of Holies was empty – no ark. The ancient belief was that the ark would reappear someday, and that God would once again dwell with the people. At the time of Mary, the people were still waiting faithfully for God’s presence to return in glory.

So when we read that the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that the Holy Spirit would come upon her and the power of the most high would overshadow her, we remember the cloud and the ark. The angel’s announcement to Mary was an announcement to all of us – God is near. This is the great mystery of the incarnation – Emmanuel, God with us.

With the birth of Jesus, God was with the people not for the first time, but in a new way. When the ark was where God dwelled, God was seen as dangerous, set apart, and too powerful to come near. But after that announcement to Mary, God dwelled in human flesh. When Jesus walked among us, God was close and tender, God touched the untouchable and came inside for dinner. God bent low and washed tired and dusty feet. So you see, Mary is honored not just because she was Jesus’ mother but also because in bearing him she fulfilled the hopes of a people that God would again be near them – and not just in some metaphorical, conceptual way — but embodied, incarnate, in the flesh, something they didn’t even know they could hope for.

This is the mystery of Christmas – that God is both powerful and merciful, both everywhere, all the time and in a particular time and place. And amazingly, though we seem to forget it (perhaps because it’s just too wild to believe), the material that God works with is human bodies – not just Mary’s body and Jesus’s body, but yours and mine, and also — every body we love, and every body we can’t stand, every body who ever lived (whether they lived for a day or a hundred years) and every body who ever will live in the future. The incarnation of Jesus leaves no doubt – God works with and through bodies. And friends, the bodies that God uses now to extend love, mercy, and compassion to the world are yours and mine. We are part of the house of David, we are the dwelling places of God.

I wonder… how would we see our bodies, how would we treat our bodies, if we thought of them this way? Whether we are old or young, healthy or sick, big or small… if we’ve had children or hope to someday or not… if our bodies are strong and energetic or just plain exhausted… if our bodies have different abilities, or if they don’t do what we want them to do… if we hold pain in our muscles and joints… if the brains in our heads are peaceful and focused, or anxious and depressed…. How do we see our bodies? How do we talk to our bodies? How do treat our bodies? How committed are we to protecting the bodies of others – hungry bodies here in our city, or bodies trapped in a war on the other side of the world? If we really believed in the mystery of the incarnation — that God dwells in human bodies — aren’t we called to honor all bodies as the dwelling place as God?

Because the truth is that there are not two separate worlds – a spiritual world where God is present and an embodied world where God is not. When God chose Mary — a frightened, confused, unwed young woman from a backwater town in the middle of nowhere — to bear God’s own self into the world in flesh and blood, God revealed to us once and for all that God dwells here on earth, with us, even now.

If this feels improbable or even impossible because we are too anything – too weak, too finite, too mortal, too scared, too anxious, too confused, or too anything – in other words, because we are lowly – may we remember Mary’s song. God has lifted up the lowly.

Together with Mary, may we proclaim the greatness of the Lord with all that we are – with our minds, with our souls, and yes, with our actual bodies, they are the stuff with which God works. Together with Mary, may we linger just a little bit longer in anticipation, wondering what this all means, and building a space within each one of us for God to dwell.

And all God’s children said, Amen.

Posted in Advent, Christianity, community, compassion, Diocese of Florida, Episcopal church, faith, Grace, holy, love | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Waiting open-endedly.

Posted on December 18, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Advent, Dec 17, 2023, at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville, FL, by the Rev. Canon Beth Tjoflat.

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8,19-28
Psalm 126

May I speak in the name of God,
Father Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

For the second week in a row,
The Gospel brings us the story of
John the baptizer.
There he is on the banks of the River Jordan,
practicing an ancient Jewish tradition
of ritual washing – of baptism.
Only he has taken it out of the carefully
contained and controlled context of
the synagogue, with its large jars of pristine waters.
He has brought this practice to the edge of a
river full of murky, silt-laden waters and
slippery mud that makes it hard to walk
or stand with confidence.

Hundreds, even thousands are coming to John,
not just from the surrounding countryside but
from as far away as Jerusalem.
Today he is visited by the Pharisees and those they send.
Experts. Leaders and the strictest observers of Jewish law
and tradition.

They have to be wondering: what is going on out here?
Look at everyone coming to this, this wild man.
Who is he?
And by what authority?
“Are you a prophet?” they ask.
“Elijah?”
“The Messiah?”

John puts that one to rest quickly, confessing
not once but twice:
“No, I am not the Messiah.
I am just a voice crying out in the wilderness,
Make straight the way of the Lord.”

He tells them: “Among you stands one
whom you do not know.”
“Among you” implies stature.
A spiritual leader and protector of the faith.
“I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.”
Repent.
Get ready.

These Pharisees are just as human as you and I.
They push for answers so they can know
what to do with John.
How to think about him.

Listen to these words from a recent award-winning
advertising campaign:
The unknown is not empty.
It is a storm that crashes and consumes,
replacing thought with worry.
Only one thing can calm uncertainty:
An answer.
An answer that leads to more answers.

This ad campaign for Mayo Clinic works,
because it speaks to the most visceral fear
we can imagine:
To find ourselves suddenly vulnerable,
Our whole world turned upside down,
As we face the unknown without
a clear path forward.
We’ve all been there in some form or another.
Or we know someone who has.

I’ll confess to you now:
I can be a bit of a control freak.
I remind my staff often:
“I don’t like surprises.”


One reason we hunger for answers is that
they can give us a sense of being in control.
But, even then, we aren’t in control.
As our 12-step friends like to say:
“There is a God and you aren’t it.”

Answers aren’t the only way to calm our fears.
Imagine being a young girl,
learning you are to become with child
by the movement of the Holy Spirit.

How will you explain that to your parents,
who are preparing for a wedding?
Or to the good man to whom you are betrothed?

Mary chose to believe the Angel.
She must have sensed in the midst of this hair-raising
experience that something Holy was at work.
Something vast and incomprehensible.
Something that makes no sense in our
natural understanding,
but nonetheless is true.
Truer than true.

This same assurance is offered to us.
The Holy Spirit who is Emmanuel –
God with us always and especially in the
most trying seasons of our lives.

The season of Advent invites us to let go of our
expectations for certainty, and to instead
open ourselves to the expansive mystery of
the divine in our midst.

“Stir up your power, O lord,
And come with great might among us.
Let your bountiful grace and mercy
speedily help and deliver us.”

Henri Nouwen, a Catholic priest and theologian,
writes about the spiritual journey of Advent
in his book “Eternal Seasons.”

He describes Advent as a time not just of waiting
but of waiting open-endedly:

To wait open-endedly is an enormously
radical attitude toward life.
It is trusting that something will happen to us
that is far beyond our own imaginings.

It is giving up control over our future and
letting God define our life.
It is living with the conviction that God moulds us
according to God’s love and
not according to our fear.

The spiritual life is a life in which we wait,
actively present to the moment,
Expecting that new things will happen to us,
new things that are far beyond our imagination
or prediction.
That indeed is a radical stance in a world
preoccupied with control.

As we journey toward Bethlehem,
Let us lay down our burdens –
Our anxieties and worries — whatever they may be.
Let us open ourselves to wait open-endedly.
To be surprised by the vast love of the One
who is faithful, who is always with us.
Amen.

Posted in 12-step spirituality, Advent, Christianity, community, faith, Grace, holy, hunger, Recovery, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Getting on board.

Posted on December 10, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

Isaiah 40:1-11
2 Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Advent, Dec. 10, 2023, by the Rev. Canon Beth Tjoflat at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville, FL.

May I speak in the name of God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

This time of year can be challenging
for many people.
There can be so much pressure
to keep up.
To go the right parties.
To give the very best — and most expensive or
carefully curated– gifts.
But the simple pleasures of the season
can give us so much.

My son Daron and I have been a family
for seven years now.
We have enjoyed creating our own traditions.
I’m grateful that even as he turns 13 this week,
he still enjoys these simple pastimes.

One of our favorite things to do is to have a
picnic dinner in front of the TV, as we watch
the movie The Polar Express.
We’ve already watched it twice this year and
I doubt that we are done.
We know most of the dialogue by heart.
It is a story about the Spirit of Christmas,
and while Christian themes are not overt,
they are there to be found.

A young boy, who has begun to doubt
the existence of Santa Claus,
is visited by the Polar Express late on Christmas Eve.

After some hesitation, he gets on the train
headed to the North Pole, along with a carful
of other kids, and a persnickety conductor
who looks suspiciously like the actor Tom Hanks.

They have an incredible adventure as they make
their way to visit Santa Claus, and learn that
one child among them will be chosen to
receive the “first gift of Christmas.”
This story — and in fact many stories of faith
often resonate most strongly with young children.

The very young are able to suspend their disbelief with
an ease that can be lost on us as we age,
as we live through disappointment and maybe become
a little cynical about things of the world,
a little cynical about life itself.
It is only human to want to protect ourselves
from potential disappointment.

But this innocent acceptance must be one reason 
Jesus treasures children and draws them to himself.
He doesn’t have to explain or hope they get it.
His presence is enough.

When I was a baby – even while I was
in my mother’s womb,
my family became close friends with another family.
Their youngest daughter Missy and I would become
life-long friends: “Sisters from another mother.”
When we were tiny, we swore that we spoke to each other –
knew each other well — before I was even born.
We didn’t need to convince ourselves (or anyone else for that matter)
of the veracity of this idea.
For us, it was simply a fact of our young lives.

Today we have the familiar Gospel story from Mark,
the story of One who cries out in the wilderness:
Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist.
His appearance is foretold by the prophet Isaiah.

I want to step back now to an even earlier time,
when Mary has been visited by the angel Gabriel,
After agreeing to God’s call on her young life,
she finds herself, still a virgin and yet with child,
by the power of the Holy Spirit.
She rushed to visit the home of her kinfolk
Zechariah and Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,
her baby leaped in her womb, and 
Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. 
These two women had been blessed with children,
who would do extraordinary things –
all foretold by the prophets.

Fast forward: today we meet John – a crazed-looking
fellow on the banks of the Jordan river –
preaching repentance and forgiveness of sins
through a simple baptism.

I wonder what Elizabeth thought about her
sweet son, decked out in animal skins,
subsisting on a diet of honey and locusts,
preaching to thousands who kept coming to see
what the fuss was about.

The idea of being a supportive parent is
not a difficult prospect to sign on to.
But the choices our children make can give us pause.

Still, Elizabeth was full of the Holy Spirit.
I suspect she knew her son was exactly where
he was supposed to be,
doing exactly what God called him to do.
In spite of the tremendous risk,
And in spite of the ultimate cost.

All of these individuals –
Mary who was just 13, Elizabeth who was
way past child-bearing age, and then John —
each said yes to seemingly unreasonable and grossly
illogical requests from God.

You and I are not Mary.
Neither are we Elizabeth, Zechariah or John.
How are we able to bring ourselves to say “yes”
when God calls?

When we feel that nudge to change course,
to do something that perhaps does not fit into
our plans or vision for the course of our lives?
Or, for that matter, even for the week ahead?

In these moments of disruption,
the Spirit invites us – if we will –
to suspend our disbelief.
To come as a child.

This can be incredibly challenging,
especially when the brain chatter starts,
with all the reasons telling us why not,
with our lived experience posing convincingly
as evidence to the contrary.

If we turn back to that wonderful movie
The Polar Express, we can find some practical wisdom.

The young man, who is at the center of the journey,
has a transformative experience.
He is visibly in awe of what has occurred.
As the train drops him off, in front of his house,
he has a parting conversation with the conductor.

These are wise words for us too,
especially in moments when we struggle
to suspend our disbelief.

As he struggles to make sense of what has happened in him,
the conductor tells him:
It’s not the journey that matters so much as
deciding to get on board.”

We don’t have to makes sense of the whole story,
We don’t have to fully understand.
As the persnickety conductor says,
we simply have to decide to get on board.
Amen.

Posted in Advent, Baptism, compassion, faith, Grace, holy, love | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

A new age.

Posted on December 4, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat
(Photo taken by my good friend Bill Shay in Fernandina Beach, FL)

This sermon was offered by The Rev. Canon Beth Tjoflat at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville, FL, on Dec. 3, 2023, the First Sunday of Advent (Year B).

Isaiah 64:1-9
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
Mark 13:24-37
Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

May I speak in the name of God.
Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today marks the first Sunday in Advent.

The first day of the new year
in our church Calendar.
We begin reading scripture from “Year B.”
In our 3-year cycle of Sunday readings.

As I prepared, I couldn’t help but think
of a story my friend Jimmy shared.
He was living in Atlanta and attending a
12-step meeting that happened to take place
on the psych ward of a major hospital.

Anyone who has attended more than a couple of
12-step meetings understands that the same series
of foundational readings are repeated at
the start of every meeting.

This repetition ensures that the newcomer gets
an overview of the program of recovery while also
reinforcing the essential basics for those
longtime attendees.

My friend Jimmy was tickled to report that at
one such meeting one of the inpatient attendees stood up
in the middle of the customary reading and blurted:
“Gosh Darn it! They read this last week!
and promptly shuffled out.
It was clear the Jimmy was amused,
because he identified so much with this
brutally honest reaction.

I share this with you because my hope for each of us is
that we intentionally enter into and experience this Advent season
as if it were for our very first time.
The first time we walk through the liturgy.
The first time ever for hearing the readings.
The first time for us, taking in the biblical story.
Our Gospel lesson from Mark might seem
out of order to us.

We don’t begin with the Annunciation —
with the nearly incomprehensible narrative
of Mary and Joseph – with the hardship
Mary’s “yes” placed on them as a family.
All that won’t come until the fourth week of Advent.
In the weeks before, we begin with the story of
John the Baptist.

Even so, where we are this week makes perfect sense.
It sets the context for the entirety of the story –
from Jesus birth and earthly ministry
to His death and resurrection

This Gospel lesson is apocalyptic.
It is about the end times—
not the scary end of world.
But the end of an age!
Jesus makes all things new.
And All means All, y’all!
He gives us new armor – not in the form of weighted
leather and high-tech metals –
but armor in the form of Light.
That’s pure energy!
Pure Love.

This is what we watch for.
This is what is being revealed through the person of Jesus –
the Word that transcends all,
the Word that was in the beginning,
is now and will be forever.
Today’s gospel tells us to keep awake!
This wakefulness isn’t so much about
          fighting off sleepiness,
as it is a call to look anew at our world.
To allow the Spirit to speak to us through
our day-to-day lives.
It is there that we will encounter the One True light.
It is a light that not only comforts us.
It is a light that challenges us.

At first glance, it may seem exactly like
what we experienced last week or last year.
But if we train our minds and hearts to look
with fresh eyes, with an open heart —
we will discover something new.
We will hear and perceive what was lost on us before.

In the coming weeks, we will have the opportunity
to reflect on readings from the book
“What were you arguing about along the way?” –
the very question Jesus asked the disciples
on the road to Emmaus.
Remember, that conversation, before they broke bread
and their eyes were opened?

This book is a series of seasonal readings
Based on the spirituality of conflict.
It will invite us to look anew at different forms of conflict –
at the dynamic of various issues held in tension.

This might seem a far cry from the seasonal preparation
of celebrating the birth of a tiny infant in a manger.
Of the one who brings tidings of great joy,
who promises Peace on Earth.

But remember: this infant – this baby Jesus –
was born in a time and place marked by conflict, war,
and the institutional and political dehumanizing of
entire groups of people.

This may sound like too much.
You may not feel ready.
Fear not, for we will travel this road together.

As we ponder the significance of Jesus’ incarnation,
I want to share with you a poem by Madeleine L’Engle
entitled First Coming.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace
He came when the Heavens were unsteady
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
He came, and his Light would not go out. 

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

In this season of Advent, we do not sit back
passively and wait.
We look intently.
Mindfully.
Possibly for a bright star,
but always for a glimmer.
For the evidence of the Light of Christ.
The light that shines in the darkness.
The light the darkness cannot extinguish.
Amen.

Posted in 12-step spirituality, Advent, Christianity, community, Grace, love, peace, reconciliation, unity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“It is finished.”

Posted on April 8, 2023 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

“It is finished.”
Jesus speaks these words.
Bows his head.
Gives up his spirit.

It is finished.

Those words must have been confusing to hear.
Terrifying for his few followers,
close enough to hear, or for those
who soon would learn of this tragic outcome.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

His followers did not understand.
They did not yet have the fuller context of the story
that we have as we walk this journey.
As we do our own re-membering.

If we are honest, we do not fully understand it, ourselves.
That is why we must this repeat this ritual.
As we go about our lives, we may be graced with moments
when we experience flickers of clarity.

But we keep coming back.
To hear the story again and again.
We walk the stations of the cross.
We re-member what Jesus has done.
What Jesus is doing in our midst.
In us and through us and for us.

We’ve all lived long enough to know that
we can’t allow ourselves to be limited to
a softly glowing Hallmark Jesus who
looks at us from a distance.

We need a Jesus who is real and touchable.
Who will get in the deep mess of our lives with us –
with every single one of us.
Jesus who is everything, everywhere, all at once for us!
We need this Jesus who is more vast than
anything we could possibly grasp or imagine.

This week, in meditation, I recalled one of those
special moments of grace – an unexpected and
deeply personal encounter.

It had to have been 30 years ago when
I attended an Episcopal Church Women retreat
as a lay person.
One evening at worship, in a beautiful candlelit room,
those who were so moved had the opportunity to
come forward for prayer.

After a few minutes, I found myself in line without
any idea of what I wanted prayer for.
But deep in my chest I could sense
the groaning of the spirit.

As the priest placed his hands on my shoulders,
And the words came to me.
I leaned in close: “I want to be healed of the core of
shame deep inside me.”
He placed his hands on the sides of my head.
and said “Cast it on him. Cast it all on him.”

Suddenly everything around me fell away.
I was on that hill at Calvary.
The sky was angry and dark.
The wind was blowing.
I was at the foot of the cross, sensing Jesus’
all encompassing love even in the midst of his suffering.
He hung there not so much to pay a price but
to take my burden from me.

As I returned to my seat I wept quietly,
the deep sense of release that comes with healing.

Jesus knows us in all our complexity and contradiction.
In this week’s journey somehow we sense this.
We repeat this ritual, because we yearn to
recall the story in a way that is relevant to
our lives — right now, for this moment.

We long to access that ancient DNA that resides
deep in our bones,
that inhabits the most distant star in the farthest galaxy.
It ties us to everything that is.
It is the imprint of God.

This is the perfect Body into which Jesus calls us.
We need not be troubled too much by
the imperfect institutional Church and its inevitable
ups and downs.
We will weather these storms, provided we continue to
center our hearts, minds and efforts on the
One who was sent for us all.
No thing. No one. Is to be left out
of this perfect equation.

A dear friend of mine has been an Episcopalian
for nearly 20 years now.
When she felt drawn to find a church home,
another friend encouraged her:
“Try the Episcopal church!”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because the fence is real low. They let everyone in.”

When Jesus walked among us, he knocked down barriers.
Or more accurately they seemed to fall away in his presence.
He continues that work and counts
on our collaboration.

One of my seminary professors Gordon Lathrop –
a gentle soft-spoken Lutheran — preached one day
on Ninevah.

He said “Whenever you draw a line in the sand to
separate yourself from others,
you’ll always find Jesus on the other side.”

I found that statement to be unsettling and disturbing.
Not to mention incredibly inconvenient.
I also find it to be true.

Jesus was lifted high upon the cross to
draw all things unto himself.
All of creation.
All people.

He offered himself up to make all things whole.
Together as One.
“It is finished,” he declared.

Let us give flesh to the work he has completed.
Let us live into the way of Love deeply.
Relentlessly.
Let us love our way forward with care — not rushing,
but trusting Jesus to transform our fear and our shame
into something beautiful.
Something life-giving and true.
Amen.

This homily was offered as one of a series of meditations on the last seven words of Christ at St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral, Jacksonville, FL, on Good Friday, April 7, 2023

Posted in Christianity, compassion, Diocese of Florida, Episcopal church, faith, Good Friday, Grace, holy, love, reconciliation, Recovery, Uncategorized, unity | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

We must do better.

Posted on October 27, 2022 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

Recently I spent several hours in a pediatric Emergency Department waiting room, seeking care for my son.  Many things struck me as I reflected on that evening, but one thing stayed with me: the crowded waiting room included many young families who were poor. Their children were sick. But the phenomenon was like what I witnessed 25 years ago, while working for the University of California. Our medical center was the safety net for Orange County, CA. Many folks without access to care or benefits would come to the ED for all their care (urgent and non-urgent). We held many a conference with brilliant health care leaders, struggling to figure out how to offer good, accessible care in neighborhoods rather than in the Emergency Department. This would mean better health outcomes for patients and families and be less expensive.

And yet here we are 25 years later with the same phenomenon. Clearly the “machine” is paying off for enough in power to prevent meaningful change from happening.

St. Clare of Assisi, and those in her order (now called The Poor Clares), dedicated their lives to serving the poor and caring for the sick and marginalized. They did it not because it was profitable or easy, but because it was the loving and compassionate thing to do.

O God, whose blessed Son became poor that we through his poverty may be rich: Deliver us from an inordinate love of this world, that we, inspired by the devotion of your servant Clare, may serve you with singleness of heart and may love and care for all our neighbors as ourselves, regardless of their station in life, through Christ our Lord and the Holy Spirit, One God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Posted in Christianity, compassion, holy, Interfaith, love, Ministry, reconciliation, St. Clare of Assisi, Uncategorized, unity | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

A gentle giant.

Posted on August 12, 2022 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

Rest in Peace and Rise in Glory, Dear One. 

This dear saint –The Rt. Rev. Charles Lovett Keyser — served as the fourth Bishop Suffragan for the Armed Forces and, upon retirement, served generously in the Episcopal Diocese of Florida. Many are in a position to say much more about his work and life. However, as one who has been shaped and formed through my experience of Bishop Keyser, I feel compelled to share briefly.

Just a few of the ways he has blessed me:

Presence. Bishop Keyser shared the love of Christ wherever he went and with whomever he met. He was so full of the Holy Spirit, it was as if it oozed from his pores. I first encountered him when he came to meet with and advise the vestry on which I served. The dean and rector announced his departure and we formed a search committee. You could feel the anxiety and prickliness in the air as many had clear ideas about what type of leader was desirable. When Bishop Keyser joined us, when he sat with us, the presence of the Holy was palpable. All the tension and petty energy in the air dissipated. As if we understood God was present and patiently waiting our surrender.  I felt that same sense of the Holy, as I sat in a church office asking him for any advise he might give a prospective seminarian. “Don’t do it, unless you really have to,” he told me.  “If you go, keep in mind one of the most important things you’ll do is to teach folks to use this (he held up the Book of Common Prayer).”

Unflinching compassion. Bishop Keyser was taken with the power of sharing Christ with those on the edge or treated unjustly. Seven years ago, at General Convention, he asked me to find a Black Lives Matter pin for him; true to our baptismal covenant, he was excited by this new and renewed focus on racism and equity. He was Franciscan in his approach of preaching often but using words only when necessary. He understood that the most transformative evangelism comes not when we hit folks over the head with Jesus or the Bible but when we help create and hold a sacred space in which the Spirit can move. His leadership in bringing Wounded Warriors to Camp Weed and his deep affection for Church Without Walls speaks to this. Clearly, he was deeply formed by his service in the Armed Forces – a place where a nice tame Christianity is worthless, where permission to abandon ourselves to a God in whom we may not believe or who we imagine has abandoned us to utter darkness is most meaningful, most raw, and most hopeful.

Servant leadership. Bishop Keyser’s commitment to pastor and love all people made him a quiet yet powerful leader. It was never about him or what he needed. Rather it was about the person or people in his midst.  When I was in seminary, it was often a lonely time, and the work was very demanding.  I had dutifully written another Ember Day letter to the bishop, checking off another box.  Much to my surprise Bishop Keyser, who has covering during an episcopal sabbatical, wrote to me. He said nothing about my coursework, ministry internship or academic plans. He simply shared a deep love and caring for me as a child of God. His words buoyed me, reminding me I was there for a reason and that Christ was at the center, holding me, recreating me.  To the end, his concern was always for the other. This gentle giant was a true pastor not just for the Church but for all people.

Posted in Baptism, Christianity, community, compassion, Diocese of Florida, Episcopal church, faith, Grace, holy, Interfaith, love, reconciliation | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment