I spoke last week about what’s been happening over in Myanmar, and about our call to do mission in this world.  And I continue that sermon today.

A parishioner last week gave me a book called God’s Mission in the World.  This book’s purpose is to inform various churches about the Millennium Development Goals, which are a series of 8 goals for eradicating poverty throughout the world.  In reading through the book I was once again moved by some of the statistics given: a person dies every 3 seconds simply because he or she is too poor to live; over 10,000 children die each day due to AIDS, tuberculosis, or malaria: 10,000 children, each day.   I tell you these things not because I want you to just feel sad.  I tell you these things because they are real, and they should leave us wounded.  These numbers are as real as the person sitting next to you.  And these statistics, they should leave us wounded—wounded because we are intimately connected to these people who are suffering and dying, because they are our brothers and our sisters. 

And I ask again: What are we doing?

This past Thursday marked the celebration of the life and ministry of St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most famous saints in Christendom.  His statue is frequently found in gardens because he is most commonly known for his love of animals.  He is also known, however, for his vow of absolute poverty, founding of a religious order, and tireless work to overcome the evil in this world.  In one of his most famous prayers, he prays:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

There are few people throughout history who have fully, completely committed themselves to Christ’s work in the world.  St. Francis was one of these few people.  And this prayer truly sums that up.  He worked to sow love, faith, hope, light, joy.  He worked to overcome hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness, sadness. 

St. Francis worked tirelessly for these things.  And we are called to do likewise.

The author of the second reading today, from 2 Timothy, is urging this community to continue diligently in God’s work.  He writes: “…rekindle the gift of God that is within you…God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline…join with me…relying on the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works but according to [God’s] own purpose.”

“Rekindle the gift of God that is within you.”  This reminds me of a Garth Brooks song, where he sings, “Life is not tried, it is merely survived, if you’re standing outside the fire.”  God does not call us to stand outside of the fire, to let it warm us, or roast marshmallows, as we watch it powerfully burn.  We are called (not literally, of course, to jump into a fire) to live within that fire and let it re-ignite in us the fire of Christ that is already there, that was there when God created each and every one of us.  We have to find that fire, because it is that fire that inspires us to change the world, to eradicate poverty, AIDS, and malaria.

“God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”  God did not give us a spirit of cowardice.  Cowardice: weakness, fearfulness, spinelessness.  God gave us a spirit of power and of love to do all this work he has called us to do.

The Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, our presiding bishop, quoted poet Robert Frost, saying that “home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.”  She continues by writing, “We all ache for a community that will take us in, with all our warts and quirks and petty meannesses—and yet they still celebrate when they see us coming!  That vision of…homecoming that underlies our deepest spiritual yearnings is also the job assignment each one of us gets in baptism – go home, and while you’re at it, help to build a home for everyone else on earth.”

By the power of God, by the spirit of love God has given us, we are called to make a community, to make a home, for all people.  We don’t do this necessarily because we feel sorry for those who are less fortunate.  We don’t do it necessarily because we feel a responsibility to humankind.  We do it first and foremost because we are filled with the power, with the fire, of Christ, and that very fire calls us to reach out to those in need.  We can ignore the feeling sorry for the less fortunate among us.  We can ignore our feeling of responsibility to humankind.  But we can not ignore the power of Christ.  We cannot ignore God’s call to us.  If we do try to ignore this call, it will follow us, nag us, and leave us deeply unsettled.  The power of Christ compels, forces us, to find a home for everyone: a spiritual home and a physical home.

Returning to St. Francis: this man worked tirelessly.  He was absolutely committed to his vow of poverty.  So committed, in fact, that he lost control of the very religious order he started.  The other men in the order believed St. Francis to be too extreme in his vow of absolute poverty and in his tireless work to overcome evil.   And I can certainly understand why they would think that.  It’s hard to continue to do Christ’s work.  It’s exhausting.  It’s hard to continue to do God’s work in this world because it never ends.  There’s always more to do.  It’s physically, emotionally, and, most importantly, spiritually draining.  As Christians, however, we have no other choice but to do that work.  Standing idly by and doing nothing is not a choice.  But knowing that we have no choice but to act doesn’t make our work any less exhausting.

But, luckily, thankfully, we also have a place to rest—to rest our weary hearts and souls.  Right here at this altar.  Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest…you will find rest for your souls.”  This is where we are fed: in this church, at this altar.  We find ourselves embraced in the arms of God as we come to this altar.  We come here empty, with outstretched hands, and leave filled, filled with the love and the spirit and the power of Christ.  This is where we come, finding the rest and solace we need.  This is where we come, receiving the spark that ignites the fire of Christ in us.  This is where we come in order to continue doing Christ’s work in this world.