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Should we keep politics out of church? Should we keep all politics out of church? What are we defining as political? What is political? Are national holidays too political for church? Should we acknowledge Independence Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day and Veterans Day? Should we pray for political leaders? Should we have the American flag in the church?

Is it acceptable to talk about historical political events and times, such as the Roman Empire? How close can we come to the present without angering people?

If we preach the gospel, and never say a word about political parties or platforms, will people pay attention to what is being said? Is loving our neighbor too abstract a notion to apply to everyday life? What about respecting the dignity of every human being? Can we make these bold claims in church—that we will seek and serve Christ in all people with God’s help, and work to follow through during the week?

Do we come to church to be challenged in our faith—to strengthen our resolve—or do we come to be reassured that no matter how much we ignore God’s word we are still loved? How do we strengthen our faith? Can faith be strengthened?

Why do you come to church? What is church to you? Who is Christ to you? What would Jesus say about the state of the modern church? What would he say about our church? How are we supporting one another in our faith? Are we holding each other accountable? Are we genuinely working to way only what is useful for building people up? Are we living as the people we were made to be?

“Do not fret yourself over evildoers; do not be jealous of those who do wrong. For they shall soon wither like the grass, and like the green grass fade away.

Put your trust in the Lord and do good.

Dwell in the land and feed on its riches. Take delight in the Lord, and he shall give you your heart’s desire. Commit your way to the Lord and put your trust in him, and he will bring it to pass. He will make your righteousness as clear as the light and your just dealing as the noon day.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

Do not fret yourself over the one who prospers, the one who succeeds in evil schemes. Refrain from anger, leave rage alone; do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil,” (Psalm 37:1-9, BCP 1979).

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector

Today is Mandate Thursday, though some of you may know it better by its archaic moniker, Maundy. This is the mandate we hear from Jesus: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another,” (John 13:34-35).

We wash feet on Mandate Thursday to remind ourselves of the love that Jesus has for us, and of the love we are meant to have for each other. It is easy for me to wash another person’s feet. It is not a real scrubbing that we do, but a ceremonial act, in many ways similar to our Eucharistic Feast. The small, thin wafer dipped in wine is no feast – it’s not even a snack. But we don’t go to Eucharist to fill our bellies; we go to fill our souls. In the same way, we wash feet on Mandate Thursday. It’s a symbolic gesture of humility and service. But for me, the humility doesn’t come from washing feet; it comes from having them washed.

There are people I know who don’t like anyone to touch their feet. They don’t want to go to a foot washing, nor do they want to get a pedicure or foot massage. I didn’t get a pedicure until I met Jennifer; she was going to get a pedicure, and she invited me to get one with her. I think she may even have dared me to do it. It doesn’t take long for a dare to turn into a double-dog dare, and I was cornered. I got the pedicure, and I liked it. The worst part about a pedicure for me is not letting my ticklishness get the better of me.

But getting a pedicure is different from a service of foot washing at church. In the case of the former, the person doing the washing is getting paid, and I get to sit in an incredibly comfy chair and look at my phone or look at all the shiny things in the beauty parlor. In church, the chair is not comfy, the washer is not paid, and I don’t know where to look. For me, the humbling part of foot washing is not washing feet; it’s having them washed.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of my feet or worried about how they look or smell. When Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, he, their teacher, leader, and Messiah, put himself in a position of weakness, and in so doing, elevated his disciples. The author of John never misses an opportunity to make Simon Peter appear foolish, and when Jesus tells Peter that he will wash his feet, Peter says, “No, never, you will never wash my feet!” Peter didn’t want to be put in a position of power over Jesus; he didn’t want to be served by Jesus.

When Jesus says to Peter, “If I do not wash you, then you have no share in the kingdom with me,” Peter says, “Well then, if that’s the case, wash my feet, hands, and head!” Peter’s desire to be with Christ in the kingdom outweighs his distaste for being in a place of power while Jesus washes his feet.

Jesus had already had his feet washed by Mary in her home in Bethany by the time he washed the feet of his disciples. He’d been washed and anointed for burial. What she did for him, he did for his disciples, though he didn’t use tears or perfume for their feet, and he dried them with a towel, not his hair. Even so, it was a great act of service and devotion.

On the one hand, I don’t want to be served or doted on, nor do I want devotees; on the other hand, it’s because this is so appealing that I push it away as far as I can and say to myself that I am not equal to that kind of love. But I am, and we all are; we are more than equal to it.

And lest I forget, we have our feet washed, and we wash the feet of others; we take turns being doted on and served. When we love one another as Christ loves us, no one is left out of the circle, all are invited to the banquet, and all are meant to feel treasured, wanted, and loved. Jesus never tells us we are not worthy, nor does he tell us that we are the only ones worthy; he affirms our worth and the worth of all people.

Our mandate is clear: we are to love one another, as we are loved. Which means loving others and allowing ourselves to be loved.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector

It started with a triumphal march into Jerusalem, the people singing Hosannas and laying down their coats or palm fronds in front of Jesus as he rode into town…on a donkey. The King of kings wasn’t in a chariot or on a horse, but on the ancient world equivalent of a Yugo or Chevette.

Jesus went from one humiliation to another: betrayed, tried by a crooked court, denied, mocked, whipped, and now, before the final humiliation, he was stripped of his clothes. It wasn’t enough for the Romans to brutally murder Jesus; they felt the need to put him on public display as a warning to all those who would defy Roman authority. And they stripped him to his underwear, a final insult meant to remove any shred of dignity he might have left.

Jesus could have called down legions of angels and quickly conquered all of Rome, made himself emperor, and forced his will upon the world. Instead, he allowed himself to be humiliated, derided, and betrayed; he allowed it and forgave it.

True power doesn’t come from making others submit to our will; it comes from God, and from forgiving and loving the way Jesus taught and lived.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org

I am continually annoyed by people who don’t know how the carpool line at school operates; there are people who don’t pull forward when the line moves, enter from the wrong side of the street, don’t look before they pull away, or get impatient when I give the right-of-way to pedestrians. Every day, my heart is full of disgust and disdain for those people who can’t handle the most basic of tasks or show a modicum of courtesy or civility.

But I’m tired of grinding my teeth, clenching my stomach, and furrowing my brow. I’m tired of being disgusted. I have options. I could take it upon myself to kindly instruct people on how to properly drop off their children at school. This would be a very concrete way of loving my neighbor, and also a very intrusive and meddling way to bother a lot of people that I will still see every school day, at the same school where my wife works as a teacher.

This is not what Jesus would do – I think Jesus would focus less on telling people that they are bad at the most basic type of driving and focus more on relationship building. This would involve me getting to know all of the bad drivers, which is only slightly more appealing than lecturing them all at once…

Or I could show them grace, give them the benefit of the doubt, and stop getting angry at events that are inconsequential. No one is doing anything dangerous; they are just being rude. Maybe they don’t know they are doing it, or they have a lot on their mind, or maybe they don’t know that they are terrible drivers. I should still give them grace, not so much for their sake, as they don’t need grace from me when Jesus is giving it freely to all takers. I need to give grace to others for me – for my soul.

I need to soften my heart, let go of anger and derision, and recognize the other drivers as children of God: they are loved, wanted, and saved by God. I forget to do this, as the mundanity of day-to-day tasks clouds my vision. But we all need grace, and we are all better people when we give grace; more relaxed, in tune with the world, and more loving. And it may just be that I’ve made some mistakes in the carpool lane, causing someone to later complain to their spouse that a handsome priest in a sweet minivan was oblivious to his surroundings and was consequently quite rude. Maybe…

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org

Every Sunday, in our Prayers of the People, we pray for the victims of violence everywhere, and for the perpetrators of violence, so that they may cease their evil ways and return to Christ. We’ve been praying for the Middle East for some time now, and we will continue to pray for the people there, especially since Iran was attacked (and retaliated) at the end of February. I’ve been asked to pray for the people of Ukraine, Sudan, Venezuela, Haiti, and many more. Honestly, we could pray for every country or region of the world by name. Choosing to pray for the Middle East isn’t to minimize the needs of others—it is our spiritual birthplace, and the current felt need is urgent.

There are some who view prayer as a last resort, something to do when all else has failed. But prayer should be our first resort. We make our intercessions to God and ask for peace, understanding, and courage. But in so doing, we also make time to listen to God. We are inundated with bad news from all over the world, and as Martin Luther King Jr. said, injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We don’t need to look far to find injustice, and if we choose, we can make a difference in our world and not simply be sponges for despair. Remember that God is with us. Instead of sitting in defeat, we make our plea to God, with the help of the Holy Spirit, who intercedes on our behalf with “groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26)

There are multiple ways to reveal the kingdom of God, ways that each of us is uniquely equipped to do. If we ask God to help us reveal the kingdom, God will respond. We can balance the stories of grief we read with stories of joy, or quiet moments of peace. We are not meant to carry the grief of the world. We are meant to love our neighbor – our literal next-door neighbors – something that is not easy to do in our isolated day and age. But it’s a place we can start – a place where our prayers can grow legs, a place where we can make a real difference in our world.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org

“We give up things during Lent to remind ourselves of the suffering and pain Jesus will experience at the end of the season. We also give up things to be reminded of our dependence on God. Caffeine shouldn’t be the thing that compels us to live. God’s love and grace are what should compel us to live and love. Giving up coffee is not trivial at all. When that dull headache starts rolling in, we reflect on our mortality, our weakness, and our dependence on coffee (it’s only 9 am — how am I getting a caffeine headache already?), which should remind us of God’s mercy and grace and presence.“
—Rev. Joseph Yoo, United Methodist Church

Every denomination that observes Lent recognizes it as a time to get close(r) to God, and so far as I can tell, every denomination follows the formula spelled out above by Rev. Yoo. What reminds us of God during Lent? Pain. Inconvenience. Disappointment. We are creatures of conditioning and habit, and when we associate God with suffering, then that’s all God becomes to us. How do we get close to God? Suffer! How many people in the midst of a caffeine headache stop and say, “Well, hey, this headache reminds me of God’s mercy, grace, and presence in my life?” I might thank God for the person who invented Ibuprofen, but that’s not my preferred method of getting closer to God.

I understand that there are no atheists in foxholes, and some of the most fervent prayers I’ve made have been in the dentist’s chair – suffering can indeed draw us closer to God. But there are better ways to God. Someone could jump through the stained glass at church to get inside, but it’s much easier to come through the door.

Jesus spent an agonizing three hours on the cross, and before that, he was whipped, mocked, and beaten. His last hours were brutal. They were a fraction of his time on earth – yet that’s what we focus on during Lent – his suffering. What is so wrong with us that we look past the rest of his life and only look at the worst part? Are we so selfish that we only care about the part of his life that paid for our salvation? Are we so devious that we mask our selfishness in acts of self-abasement? Jesus is so much more than a dying man on the cross; he is the man who turned water into wine and kept the party going. He is the man who brought joy to others through healing, driving out demons, and feeding the multitudes. He brought joy to countless people during his ministry on earth, and countless more since his death and resurrection.

We have made God a God not of life and love, but of death and suffering. Think about the most common questions people ask of God: Why is there suffering in the world? Why is there cancer? Why are children harmed? Why are there hurricanes, earthquakes, and tornadoes? I’ve never heard anyone ask why there is love, why do birds sing, and why do toddling children bring us so much joy? We take all of those things for granted. God has been portrayed for millennia as scary, domineering, and vengeful. Jesus was none of those things, and yet those of us who claim him as savior behave as if he’s out to get us if we don’t look uncomfortable.

We are made to love and to be loved. We are made for joy. It’s not too late to switch up your Lenten discipline. Instead of depriving yourself and suffering, what if, instead, you bring joy to someone else? You could engage in random acts of kindness for the remainder of Lent, or anonymously give money to local charities, or even better, you could give time to local charities. We could send care packages to teachers in underserved schools, go to the laundromat and put money in all the machines, or buy socks and underpants for the patrons of St. Luke’s feeding ministry. There are multiple ways to bring joy into the world, a world rife with suffering. The world doesn’t need more people with caffeine headaches or bad moods; it needs more hope, joy, and love.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org