September 3, 2006
(Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 17)

A Taste of Honey

by The Rev. Carol Sanford, Curate

Deuteronomy 4:1-9  •  Psalm 15  •  Ephesians 6:10-20  •  Mark 7:1-8,14-15,21-23
(From The Lectionary Page)

There is a highway that runs from Taos, New Mexico to the small hamlet of Fort Garland, Colorado. At Fort Garland, a right turn by the Texaco station will take you over a mountain pass and on into the part of southern Colorado where my Mother lives. Because we are fond both of New Mexico and of my mother, my husband Grady and I travel this highway often.

One of our favorite landmarks along Hwy 522 is a rather peculiar homestead on the north side of the road. Along that particular stretch of highway there is a spectacular view of the San Louis valley, which stretches up from Taos along the Sangre de Christo range of the Rockies. On a clear day, far-distant peaks and mesas are visible. With the exception of a few ranch buildings and the occasional tumbleweed, mile after mile passes with nothing much blocking your access to the vast countryside. There is an amazing sense of openness and freedom in this high desert valley. The only boundaries seem to be sky and muted green earth and soaring mountains.

And then there is that landmark I mentioned. Close to the road is a large, crudely painted sign posted along a dirt drive. It says something like, “No Trespassing: Go Away!” Another sign a bit farther back warns, “Nails and Tacks in Driveway!” As if this were not enough warning, various loops of barbed wire and slabs of tin form a sort of wall around the small compound of dilapidated wooden buildings at the end of the drive.

Needless to say, we have never ventured down that drive for a visit, although I will confess to a certain stubbornness that makes me want to give it a try. Those nails and tacks do their job, though, and we’ve never risked going in. I can’t help but wonder how often the residents risk going out. Even if the nails and tacks are imaginary weapons, it must get pretty lonely in there.

All of which brings me to the armour of God. The letter to the Ephesians warns us, and rightfully so, that there are dangerous powers around, and that we’d best see to it that we are properly armed. However it is that we understand the forces that are not operating out of God’s love, each of us has experienced or can imagine the sort of fear or pain or anger that might make us grab for any weapon or shield that might keep us, and those we love, in safety.

We live, in fact, in a very well-armoured society. Some might say that we are at times over-protected. We arm ourselves with stringent airport security and cameras on our street corners, Spyware on our computers, weapon screening in our schools and helmets on our tricycle-riding toddlers. We live in gated communities and keep deadbolt locks on our doors and caller ID on our telephones. Even here, in the holy space of this cathedral, we have alarm systems and guards in the parking lots. We all also have emotional armour of various types, as we seek to guard against being hurt or exploited.

Wanting to be safe is not a bad thing; just being alive involves risk. It is mature and sane and healthy to try to protect ourselves and our loved ones.

The question is, when are we taking reasonable precaution, and when are we throwing tacks in the driveway?

And then there is that other issue, raised in our not-too-subtle passage from Mark. Jesus says, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile… it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come.”

Oh great. Here we are, all armoured-up, all guarded and screened and scanned and walled and ready to fight, and it turns out that we’re the enemy? Is it true that what we really need to be guarding against is ourselves?

Rats. The most challenging aspects of Christianity simply will not go away. Whether we seek safety as a nation, or harmony within our cities, churches and families, we must recognize that we are always us. What I mean is that God’s creation and God’s children cannot be neatly categorized into us and them. Is the enemy on the outside like it says in the letter to the Ephesians, or inside, as the gospel has it? The answer, of course, is both.

The very good news is that, regardless of the source of the problem, the answer stays the same.  Armour represents protection. We need protection, from ourselves and from other human beings and from the forces, internal and external, that pull us away from God. We just need to be careful which armour we’re putting on.

The armour of God is a strange armour of vulnerability. Truth, righteousness, faith, and readiness to proclaim the gospel of peace are qualities that can only be developed and accessed if we let down our guard. This is what makes it so hard to choose the way of Christ in the world; it can be really scary, just like the cross. And yet therein lies our true protection.

Today, three beautiful baby boys are being welcomed into the body of Christ. I cannot imagine anyone who could look at Andrew and Conor and Daniel and not want to protect them by any means possible. And, you know, we are giving them the best armour we can give.

All of us here today are doing what parents and communities have been instructed to do at least since the time of the book of Deuteronomy. We are taking the most important and very best wisdom of our experience with God and each other, and we are making it known to our children and to our children’s children.

The Baptismal Covenant provides an unbeatable outline for dealing with the powers that beset us in life. The sacraments of Baptism and Holy Communion are outward and visible signs of the inward Grace of God’s victory over all the evils that seek to drag us down, those outside ourselves, and those within.

We are already and always protected by the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit; our job is to live into what they offer and to trust that this Way and this Truth and this Life hold us in the truest freedom and security. This is the armour we want to remember as we head out this Labor Day weekend into another school year and the upcoming election season, and as we begin the new program cycle here at the cathedral.

But back to that southwestern highway. There is another landmark a bit farther down the road, another, more hospitable, sign. This one reads: “Famous Questa honey this way. Voted best in the state.” I’ve tasted Questa honey, and it deserves all its prizes. They blend it somehow so that the honey stays both fluid and formed; it retains all its honeyness, but it doesn’t slide off your toast.

I wonder sometimes if the tacks-and-nails-in-the-driveway people have ever considered what their neighbors might have to offer. I like to imagine that one of these days they will venture out to get a jar of the honey that won first place at the state fair, and thereby get a taste of the sweetness possible in the life around them.

We can’t force people to take what can only come to an undefended heart, but, as God’s children, and with God’s help, we can always receive it ourselves and we can leave a bit of honey out in plain sight, just in case.