Meditation on Bridge Building

My name is Urku. My work is sacred.

Step by careful step I take.

Am I the bridge? Am I the rope? Am I the space between earth and heaven? The water beneath?

We are known, called, named by the work we do. I am Q’eswachaka Weaver – the bridge weaver. I am over 1500 years of cumulative wisdom. For centuries I have carried the paja brava, the ichu grass. For centuries I have woven it. Year after year, a thousand years, it has been our way. It has been my way.

It is part of my mit’a, my public obligation. Every year at renewal time, I weave the Q’eswachaka, the bridge. Over and over again…for the bridge must be woven. We are the people of the bridge – the Quacha. We are the tribes and communities linked together by the bridge and linked together by the weaving of the bridge.

I am the bridge weaver. 

The ichu grass grows. The ichu is harvested. It is a cycle. It is strongest when kept wet for weaving – a baptism of the ichu. The large ropes are the duros. The woven handrails are the makis. The sirphas join them together. It takes all parts to make the bridge. 

A bridge is the grass, is the water, is the rope, is the weaver. 

I am the weaver of the bridge I cross.

There is no autonomous space. There is no bridge alone, no water alone, no heaven alone. All are linked together by the bridge I weave. Unified. Water comes from heaven. Earth supports the bridge. May its presence be accepted by Apurímac the River.

In time before time, the rope woven by hand connected all thigs and all people. The Q’eswachaka reveals the embrace of one side with another. The path, the bridge, has a spirit to it – a reality.

We are connected one to another and to all those who came before and to all those who will come after. 

It is a way to be walked, not driven, walked barefoot. That is the best way. Is not about arriving it is about crossing. 

I am the bridge weaver. 

This is true with all bridges and all bridge weavers. Sinews – they are – that old word sin. To knot together. To bind. Heaven to earth. God to humanity. This was Jesus’ work and nature. Both a weaver and a Q’eswachaka himself – a bridge. 

A living word from which all things came to be to which all things return. 

The cross, the knot, Jesus the sinew, the sin (2 Corinthians 5:21),the bridge weaver. 

"I am the way," the bridge weaver says. Follow the way. Not something to be driven but something to be walked, lived, and woven. 

No bridge. No water. No heaven alone.

No me, no you, no us, no them. 

All are woven together. 

Each step taken mindfully, each woven piece of ichu grass…we are. Carefully knotted together by the cross. Stronger together than apart. 

We are more than our parts.

I am the bridge weaver.

He is the bridge weaver.

We are the bridge weaver.

More than loving the one you are with

St. Peter's, Brenham

May 6 ,2018 

Easter 6B

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Imagining the Characteristics of Discipleship

San Romero, Houston 

April 29, 2018

Easter 5B

(Spanish) 

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The True Vine Sermon- San Romero, Houston

Jesus is the true vine

God is the vine grower

He prunes me

Burns me

And invites my growth

God, I am yours

You are mine

Help me bear fruit that is good

I want, I desire

A life well lived in Christ.

Last week the church explored in scripture and sermons Jesus as the Good Shepherd. This week we are offered a reflection on God as vine grower and Jesus as the vine. God in Christ Jesus is the source of living water, He is the bread of heaven that gives life, and He is also the vine and we are His branches.

Our passage today comes in John’s Gospel after Jesus has prophesied his suffering, death and resurrection. He has promised to return and to not leave his followers alone.  

Our passage, like the good shepherd passage, is a teaching about what it means to live life abiding in God.

God the vine grower and the gardener. Jesus is the vine and we are branches bearing fruit.  

The vine is trimmed from time to time. But this is not the true focus of the passage; this passage is about abiding and remaining. One scholar, Raymond Brown says that this passage is about the disciples and their community remaining connected to Christ. We as families, we as Church communities, we must remain connected to Christ.

 We abide in God in Christ Jesus. Unless that is, we are abiding in something else. What is our ultimate concern in life? What is the most important part of our life?

Is it Christ?

Is it Christ’s community?

Is it our connection to one another?

We love to put other things in the place of the vine. We like to think that sex, alcohol, or money, or power, or some other something will work just as well as the True Vine. 

The truth is, they don't. We know it too.

It doesn’t mean we don’t keep trying to make these false gods work for us

But false gods are not interested in us. False gods are not interested in our well being, or the wellbeing of our families. The false gods want you to serve them- you give them your money, your time, your energy, your focus...your life. And the false gods take all of this and they consume it with no return on your investment.

Or…are there other things at the center of our life?

Abiding or remaining in Christ is love and it is life in tune with the commandments of God. What do we see as a life well lived? A life abiding in Christ?

The abiding life is one where:

We trust our lives in God, and others come to know Jesus Christ by our life. When they see us, they see the life of Jesus. Nothing is put in the place of God, God is respected in our words, and God is respected in our actions. Life is lived out in an ever flowing experience of worship, prayer and study.  

As we abide in God , we abide in our true selves and in the thin space between heaven and our bodies.

Abiding in Christ, means we abide in others-we love others, we love our families, and Jesus says we love our enemies. We treat neighbors with love, just as we experience God's love for us.

When we abide in Christ, we love, honor, and help our parents and family; those in authority are honored, and we meet their just demands.  

We as Episcopalians believe that life that abides in Christ is a life that shows forth respect for the life God gives us; we work and pray for peace. Malice, prejudice, and hatred are not born in our hearts; and kindness is shared with all the creatures of God.

Life abiding in Christ is a life where we build up of the family of God. We live lives that are honest, we live lives that are fair in our dealings; we seek justice, freedom, and that all people have what it takes to live life. We speak truth, and do not mislead others by our silence, just as we do not mislead people with our words.

Life abiding in Christ resists temptations like envy, greed, and jealousy; we rejoice in other people's gifts and graces.  

Abiding in Christ is accepting our true nature as sinful creatures and then 

living in, remaining in, abiding in Christ; being Christ's own forever - as our baptismal liturgy tells us.  

Accepting our chosen nature-God has chosen us, Christ has chosen us (despite our devotion to false gods) and abiding in God’s love for us, creates a life where we are able to truly abide with others.

In giving up our desires, we discover the life of abiding in God’s vine; a life that is well lived in Christ. 

Reflecting on Barbara Bush and The Episcopal Church

Photo: Marie D. de Jesus, Houston Chronicle

The passage today, from John's gospel, has that one sentence that has been with me all week long, "I know my sheep, and my own know me." Yesterday I had the privilege of serving and giving the blessing at the funeral for Barbara Bush. The procession of Presidents, First Ladies, dignitaries, and national leaders was grand to be sure. The music was transcendent. The eulogies from people that I know, some of them well, were all touching in their own way. As the Rector said, it was indeed a good day for the Episcopal Church. There were many moments, as I thought about this last night, to be remembered. There was a lot of laughter and there were tears. There were moments that were funny and odd and there were some mistakes. There were some moments that were sad and there were some moments that were joyous. 

And then there were tender moments. The body was received into the church, as it always is, when a body is present, and I sat there with my pastoral shepherd's crook, and watched as the ladies gathered around the coffin - some of whom were Barbara's friends; some were members of her church needlepoint group; some were Altar Guild - and they draped the funeral pall over the casket. And then I watched, as I have watched at many funerals before, as those Altar Guild ladies fussed over that funeral pall to get it just right, just as they always do. Like Altar Guilds all over the Episcopal Church, they did what we do for both First Ladies and for the least of our members, those who will go unknown. We do what we do for Barbara Bush, just as we have done for Carol Watson, Paulie Israel, or Don Morris, here in this congregation (All Saints’, Crockett).  It is what we do because we know our sheep and our sheep know us. 

I thought about the stories in the newspapers that followed Barbara Bush's death, and reflected on the moment where Russ, the rector, said he knelt at her bedside in the last moments of her life and prayed the prayers with the family, and then again privately with the president. Just as countless priests and deacons in our Episcopal Church have done for all those who have invited us into their lives at one of the most sacred times. Why? Because the clergy of this church know their sheep, they say prayers for them and they call them by name.

The service itself, I think, certainly was spectacular. It was for one of our nation's most beloved First Ladies, so there were cameras and dignitaries there, and Secret Service. My wife, Joanne, commented that, "The truth is it was unique only by those who sat in the pews in that moment.”  As I watched and bore witness, I saw the cross carried by acolytes, the torches and banners before a simple member of our church who had died. Before me, when I looked and saw with my clergy eyes, I saw friends who lost one of their own. And at the end of the day, regardless of the offices that each one has held, I saw a husband, children, and grandchildren mourn the loss of their grandmother, their mother, and their wife. I saw a church gather around one of our own, to love on them, and to care for them, and to support them. And to speak a word of hope to everyone who gathered there no matter who they were, or what their background was. Why? Because Jesus said, "I know my sheep, and my sheep know me." Regardless of who she had been, regardless of who they were, death is the great equalizer for us all. For while Barbara Bush was a good Episcopalian who helped by taking advantage of her situation to help children read, and to help homeless find places to live, she was a faithful church attendee. 

What I know is that she entered the Heavenly Gates just like everybody else, the least and the lost. Completely dependent not upon what she had accomplished in that moment, but instead upon the fact that the Good Shepherd, who knows us and who loves us, knew her all the same and did not flee from her at the hour of her death. But having laid down His life for each of us, called her by name. 

Scholar and Episcopalian Robert Farrar Capon wrote, "Jesus's death is the operative device by which the reconciling judgment of God works." That, "The crucifixion is God's last word on the subject of sin. The final sentence that will make the world one flock under gracious Shepherd." I know my own and my own know me. Barbara Bush had faith, and believed Jesus was her Shepherd and her gate into eternal life. And He was. John Meacham, Susan Baker, Jeb Bush, The Rev. Russell Levenson each spoke of the importance of her family, of her friends, of her work, of her ministry, and of her faith. Because she knew her Shepherd and she knew her Shepherd's name. I am grateful as a bishop, not because I was able to be present at the funeral of Barbara Bush - and give the blessing to all who were there (though that was an amazing moment of grace for me), but to be invited into their lives and bear witness to the hope that is in me. 

I am grateful on this morning because there are Altar Guild men and women, there are acolytes of every age, there are ushers and greeters and there are priests and deacons who do the Good Shepherd's work every day and every week. It is true that the nation and world witnessed yesterday the beauty that is our church. What they saw is what I see as your bishop and what I see throughout my ministry - from the smallest of churches to the largest, for the most important members and for the least known. Serving, shepherding, knowing, loving, naming and caring for the Great Shepherd's sheep who find their way into our communities. This is the Episcopal Church at its best. The body of Christ. One that acts out the Shepherd's words, "Come unto me all you that travail and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." A church that treats each the same: presidents, First Ladies, and the homeless. And how at the end of the life, are willing to do the sacred, and profound and hopeful work of guiding one another to the gate of God's sheepfold. Led by the cross, led by a quiet Episcopal procession, but yet making our Easter psalm to the very end. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. Our Shepherd knows our name. 

Adapted from the sermon “I Know My Own”, All Saints’, Crockett, April 22, 2018