Of webs and walls--a sermon preached at Saint Columba's Church on the Isle of Skye on Saint Columba's day--June 9, 2007
(for Natalie, the patient and persistent!)

During World War II, the story is told of a fighter pilot who was forced to eject from his plane while flying behind enemy lines. While he landed safely, he knew that he would be most certainly be spotted and sought by the Nazi forces. He eagerly looked for a place to hide and could only find a very shallow cave. Being a faithful man, he prayed for God to keep him safe. As he opened his eyes after his prayer, he noticed that a spider had begun to weave a web over the opening to the cave. He was disheartened that he would soon be found and imprisoned. Sure enough, in short order he perceived the advance of the enemy soldiers who were seeking him. When they came to cave, the pilot heard one soldier say to the other that they did not need to search the cave, because the spider web covering entrance clearly indicated that no one could have recently entered. The pilot breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that God had indeed answered his prayer and kept him safe.

I share this story with you this morning as we contemplate the Gospel reading from Luke because it reminds us of the human tendency to sometimes miss what is right before our eyes. We can see, without really seeing what is important. Just as the soldier saw only one way for his prayer to be answered, so the seventy in the Gospel could only focus on their own expectations and in so doing missed what Jesus was trying to teach them.

In the Gospel, the seventy have returned after Jesus has sent them out. They are amazed at what they have been able to accomplish and the power that Jesus’ name has over demons. They are overly impressed with this tangible display of might—but have missed the real power before them.

You see, from Jesus’ perspective, they are missing the point. He tries to set for them a larger context and open them to a fuller spiritual reality. He reminds them he has seen even greater things accomplished in the Glory of God’s Creation. What is more important; what is worth rejoicing about is to have your name written in heaven—that is to be in relationship with God.

Today we also remember the great Celtic Saint, Columba. In the sixth century, it seems that Columba was involved in a scheme to posses a rare copy of a book. Somehow, one of his closest friends in the monastery lost his life in the process and Columba willingly went into exile. Yet his exile was also a pilgrimage—a journey undertaken for the stated purpose of drawing closer to God. This was the foundation of his ministry and it would be the goal that would occupy the rest of his life.

He chose to come with his twelve companions to the coast of Scotland and while he was not the first Irish missionary to arrive on these shores, he was the most successful of all of his predecessors. Columba used a different approach that had eluded his predecessors. He established his ministry by building relationships with the indigenous Picts. He traded with them, ate with them, lived with them day in and day out. In time, he came to carry not only the Good News of Jesus Christ, but also their trust. They came into his community because of the web of relationships and connections he had built with them and they received the Gospel.

Columba understood the power of relationship. He grasped the message that Jesus was trying to convey to the seventy—it is not so much about what you are able to do, it is more about how you can connect—to God in Jesus Christ; and to each other as the body of Christ. In our pilgrimage through life, we also are on a journey of drawing nearer to God. We may go many places and see many wonderful things: we may go out into the unknown or fall behind enemy lines; we may set off and find only the routines of daily life—yet it is not about the things we do—it is about how we find and see Christ in each other and build relationships and connections. God will always provide what we need—and we may still miss it sometimes—but that is never the end of the story. We must strive always to rest in the love of God as we pray and seek the webs of connection to God in heaven above, and to each other as the Body of Christ.

The Eve of Saint Francis

This evening, we included a liturgy for the blessing of the animals during our regular Wednesday Evening Eucharist. During the sermon, I shared an essay written as part of the This I Believe series on NPR. Here it is:

Teaching a Bad Dog New Tricks
by David Buetow

Weekend Edition Sunday, September 16, 2007 ·
I believe in my dog. I believe in the way he lives his life, and I try to emulate him. I strive to gain his level of happiness in the simplest of things. Like the way he approaches each meal with endless appreciation and even joy. While I struggle to decide what to eat from full cupboards and lament what I don't have, he circles the floor, excitedly anticipating the very same meal, in the very same portion, at the very same time every day.

I believe in how he lives in the present. As my day fills with stress, crowded commutes and endless deadlines, I think of Duncan home alone. His day was probably boring, but he's ready to move right past it once we're together.

I believe in his egalitarian treatment of everyone despite race, creed or appearance. He never pre-judges. Before I had him, I considered myself "street smart," avoiding eye contact with people I didn't know or didn't think I wanted to know. Running through Chicago neighborhoods with Duncan has changed all that. Now when people smile at us, I smile back, and if Duncan stops to say hello I stop and greet them, too.

I never had a dog before; I got Duncan at the urging of a friend who had probably grown as tired of my bachelor behavior as I had. My long work nights and weekends always ended with a lonely run, a bourbon or two, or a phone call to someone I didn't really listen to. All I talked about was me and what was wrong with my life. My friends stopped asking me out because I was always either at work or talking about work.

I had dates with women who would mistakenly think I was loyal to them but I never returned their calls or thanked them for the cookies they left on my doorstep. I was what some people would call "a dog" — a bad dog. Not one person depended on me, nor I upon them. One Sunday I woke up at noon, and I suddenly noticed how silent my house and my life was. I realized I couldn't expect any valued relationship until I created one first. So I got Duncan.

All of a sudden, where no one depended on me, he did. It was extreme detox from selfishness: Let me out. Feed me. Clean up after me. Watch me sleep. I found that I actually liked being relied upon. When I realized that I could meet his needs, I also realized he met mine.

I believe in the nobility of Duncan's loyalty, and his enthusiasm. Every time I come in the door, he's waiting to greet me with glee. Now, when my girlfriend comes over, I get up and run to the door to greet her like I learned to do from my dog.

This essay seemed parituclarly appropriate this evening because the lessons that Duncan taught David where the same lessons that Saint Francis tried to teach his community. Francis was born to a priveledged life, yet he gave it all up to live more fully into God's Kingdom. He moved beyond living a life focused only on himself and strived to focus on God. Animals and all of Creation bore witness to Francis of the joy and beauty of all that God had made.

An alternate reading for Saint Francis day comes from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew's Gospel in the sixth chapter (NRSV).

Jesus Said “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Thank God for our pets! They bear witness against a life of anxiety: worrying about what to wear, eat or drink; or the trouble that lie around the corner. Rather they live in the moment and they freely share their love with us--even when we may fall short. In the same way, Francis rejected the life of anxiety and strived to live into the Kingdom of God: basking in the unconditional love of God, prasing God for Grace and Glory and endeavoring to reflect the love of God into the lives of others.

As we give thanks to God for all our blessings and especially for the gift of all our pets, may we follow Francis' example. May we also rededicate ourselves to living more into God's Kingdom and rejecting selfish anxiety. We can begin by striving to live within the prayer attributed to this great Saint:


Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

peace!