Reverend Mom

We're in and out of the money

2012-01-30T11:47:00.000-05:00

Earlier last week on NPR a story was featured about the Sundance Film Festival, that many of the films highlight our nation's economic struggles, both documentaries and fictional films. I recently saw Tower Heist in which the little guy gets robbed blind by the big rich guy and the little guy gets revenge. (Which incidentally involves a cool twist on Ferris Buehler's Day Off.) And many of us are swept up by Downton Abbey, in which a wealthy, landed family is thrust into the lives and cares of their working-class dependents during World War I.

Lately I have been reflecting about the power that money has in our lives, how most of what we do is motivated in some way by the pursuit and earning and spending of money. If I talk about stewardship and giving in the church, it seems oddly self-serving, as a good portion of a church's budget is spend on staff, especially clergy. Now that I am seeking a settled position as a pastor, I have to consider compensation, real estate prices in the area, and the fact that my oldest daughter will be in college in two and a half years, not to mention whether or not my husband will be able to find a job in the solar field in the area where I am called.

To me, it seems that money is a symbol of our inability to trust one another, that we will do what we say we will do, at the level of expectation of the one who requires our service or product. In the movie Phenomenon there is a brief interchange in which George (John Travolta) is repairing a friend's vehicle. The friend needs his truck but doesn't have the money to pay for the repair. George needs some solar panels installed but he doesn't know how to do it. A neighbor who does know about solar needs to have a well dug on his property, something the truck guy does for a living. So George proposes that the truck guy dig the well, the solar guy install his panels and George will fix the truck--all with no money changing hands, trusting that everything will wash out in the end.

Money is a system invented, produced and protected by human beings, often at the expense of another group of human beings. Like any source of power, those who have it have a difficulty time sharing it with those who don't, and yet this is the primary example of Jesus, Buddha, and others whose example of compassion and downward mobility mystifies the powers that be. And yet we in the church are beholden to this system of distrustful transactions. In fact, we accept it as part of the norm, rather than imagining another way.

Unless we start sharing the power of money in radical fashion. Think of all the places that money hides in a faith community, in your church: buildings, endowments, Communion silver, make your own list. Because that's where it will begin, locally. I know this is an unpopular view with some but sooner or later denominations will not be able to sustain themselves. Local and small is where it will be at. Coalitions between different faith communities and civic organizations and mission assemblies and grassroots organizations like Simply Smiles will be the model.

Money in and of itself is not a bad thing, but how we have organized economies has become systemically evil. The church is the workshop for the kingdom of God, for God's realm of justice and compassion for all and for the earth. Jesus spoke about more about money and the poor than he did about anything else. It's high time the church joined him.

Now that I have your attention...

2012-01-24T14:58:00.000-05:00

If you've ever wanted to see a sermon from me, here it is. I preached this on January 15, 2012 at Monroe Congregational Church for the purpose of sharing the video with search committees. It's entitled "A Driveway Moment". The scriptures were Psalm 111 and Mark 1: 21-28.

Sometimes it's not just a cookie...

2012-01-13T17:43:00.001-05:00

Every now and then I order Chinese takeout for lunch--vegetable mai fun--thin rice noodles stir fried with an assortment of fresh veggies. Yum! And each time I save the fortune cookie for last, perhaps with a cup of green tea.

Now usually I read Chinese cookie fortunes with equal measures of skepticism and fun. But the last five fortunes have begun to sound like the UCC slogan, that God is still speaking, only on little slips of white paper. And this all started when I sent in my profile and began hearing from search committees. Here are those five fortunes, in the order that I received them:

Yet by calling full, you created emptiness.
The possibility of a career change is near.
All things come to him [sic] who waits.
A person with a determined heart frightens problems away.
Bide your time, for success is near.

Now you may think I am reading into these. I probably am. Don't we do the same when we read the Bible for guidance? But what if it's also my hopes and desires calling out into the unknown and the unknown answering back? Is that any more ridiculous than thinking an ancient book can speak to me in the present? And by the way I believe the Bible does still speak, the way that God still speaks through you and me and community and actions and strangers and experiences.

From these fortunes I've chosen my 'word' for 2012: a determined heart. Not only because of my search for a settled position but also because I'm 46 and my father died of a heart attack at 46. I don't want to just 'get through' this year so I can be 47. I want to embrace it, savor it, delight in it, wrestle and struggle and cry and laugh and be real through it all.

So who's to say the universe doesn't speak through fortune cookies? Now I'm looking forward to the next word.

An unwelcome prophet

2012-01-12T08:18:00.001-05:00

“You know, Jesus reminded us in a magnificent parable one day that a man went to hell because he didn’t see the poor. And I come by here to say that America, too, is going to hell, if we don’t use her wealth. If America does not use her vast resources of wealth to end poverty, to make it possible for all of God’s children to have the basic necessities of life, she, too, will go to hell.”

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

Highly irreverent but terribly relevant

2012-01-10T09:30:00.004-05:00

(This video contains language some might find offensive. For those who wonder why it's on a pastor's blog, read the title of this post again. It's also wickedly funny!)

The difference between being a Christian and being Christian.

Off the map, without a plan

2012-01-04T11:16:00.000-05:00

For quite a while now I haven't believed in that whole 'God has a plan for me' thing. When you think about it, it's one of the most self-absorbed things one can say about the divine. Yes, I believe that there is a God, that of Love, but a plan? All scoped out, just waiting for me to figure out what it is? With all that there is in the heavens and the earth, God has also mapped out each and every life since time immemorial? The purpose of this seems to be to lift up a shaky, vulnerable ego, not sure of its place in this world. And right now I could use some lifting up, just not in a way that puts me at the center of my own little universe.

Now that I'm searching for a church to serve I'm also wondering about the working of the Holy Spirit in this process. In the past I thought the Spirit would lead me to a specific church, one prepared for me. But again, listen to how ego-centered that is. Realistically, I would think that the leading of the Spirit has more to do with being: being authentic, real, compassionate, loving, alive -- and helping others to do the same. The rest is just geography. It doesn't really matter where I serve, as long as it is a place and a people where I can be true to that calling of the Spirit.

Developing character

2011-12-27T09:22:00.004-05:00

I think Charles Schultz must have read Paul's letter to the Romans: "And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us." Romans 5: 3-5

Forgiveness 2.0?

2011-12-23T22:42:00.004-05:00

I have been reading Brian Zahnd's book UNconditional?: The Call of Jesus to Radical Forgiveness, which at first glance on the library bookshelf, looked like an excellent read. After all, Miroslav Volf wrote the foreword and there's an endorsement from Eugene Peterson on the front cover. And with the word 'radical' in the title I buckled up for an exhilarating ride.

I agree with the whole premise, that in order for forgiveness to be healing and transformative, that it must be unconditional. Which also means the degree of sin does not matter. Radical enough so far. However, Zahnd posits unconditional forgiveness as a uniquely Christian virtue/teaching, as given to us from Christ on the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

I agree that if those of us who call ourselves 'Christian' are truly going to follow Jesus, then we need to be unconditionally forgiving. But to tout Christianity as the religion that teaches and espouses radical forgiveness is hubris. What we certainly do not need is more Christian triumphalism, which Zahnd decries in the preface.

He writes:

"Of course there is cheap forgiveness that is worthless and an affront to justice. Essentially, the Buddhist position is that evil is a nonexistent illusion, so there really is nothing to forgive. This is nothing like the Christian position. Christian forgiveness is not a cheap denial of the reality of evil or the trite sloganeering of 'forgive and forget'."

I'm wondering, given his Pentecostal background--I'm not sure he truly understands the 'Buddhist position'. To get to that place of nonexistent illusion, one must meditate and practice a lifetime of detachment and compassion, which takes a great deal of discipline. There is nothing cheap about it.

He also implies that the law of Moses is improved upon by Jesus, implying a lower status to the Ten Commandments and the books of Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy:

"In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is making an implicit claim to speak with the same authority as the One who gave the Law at Mount Sinai. Jesus was saying that the Law given at Mount Sinai was being countermanded (italics mine) by the sermon given at the Mount of Beatitudes."

Stating that Jesus expanded the Law of Moses might have been a better choice of words. Even so, I'm not sure many Jews would be heartened to hear it.

In fact I think that his holiness the Dalai Lama might have it all over Zahnd. In his book Beyond Religion: Ethics for Whole World, his holiness writes that religion is not necessary to cultivate compassion. Jesus said that we are to love our enemies and forgive them, which seems to me to be a radical form of compassion.

"...[Extended], universal compassion is not rooted in any self-regarding element, but rather in the simple awareness that all others are human beings, who, just like oneself, aspire to happiness and shun suffering. With this kind of compassion, our feeling of concern for others is completely stable and unaffected by the attitude they may have toward us. Even if others threaten or verbally abuse us, our compassion for them, our concern for their welfare, remains. Genuine compassion, therefore, is directed not at people's behavior but at the people themselves."

Our Western, Christian-based notion of forgiveness has a great deal to do with ego, which is why Jesus' call to radical forgiveness can be so difficult for many. We still think in terms of worthiness and entitlement, often withholding our forgiveness because the offending party has not, will not or cannot apologize or repent or atone for the pain they have caused. Yet both compassion and forgiveness are neither earned nor deserved. And when we get down to it, both may lift up and heal another but it is through them that our own hearts are saved and made whole.

True, I have just begun both books--a habit of mine: reading more than one book at once. Both promise to discuss justice in later chapters. Still, the first few chapters, I think, give the overall impression of the author's viewpoint. And when it comes to forgiveness or compassion, there can be nothing unique about them, except how each of us lives out this radical call in our own lives.

So, Brian, this could be a lesson in forgiveness for me, in that I was frustrated and angered by some of your words. But in truth, there is nothing to forgive. You are a human being, like me, trying to find your way in this world by following the Way of Jesus. And though Jesus calls us to embrace suffering rather than shun it, we usually fail miserably. And so we have the need for radical compassion. And so I thank you for your words, for like that Serbian Orthodox priest of whom you wrote, you have pushed me closer to compassion and closer to Jesus: "For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?" I have much farther to go in following this wisdom.

Here is an example of radical compassion from the animal kingdom, from the Pocatello Zoo in Idaho:

Elk saves marmot

It's not socialism--it's the kingdom of God

2011-11-21T12:28:00.004-05:00

The first Sunday in November our interim senior minister preached on the workers in the vineyard, from Matthew 20.

From The Message by Eugene Peterson:

"God's kingdom is like an estate manager who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. They agreed on a wage of a dollar a day, and went to work. Later, about nine o'clock, the manager saw some other men hanging around the town square unemployed. He told them to go to work in his vineyard and he would pay them a fair wage. They went.

He did the same thing at noon, and again at three o'clock. At five o'clock he went back and found still others standing around. He said, 'Why are you standing around all day doing nothing?'

They said, 'Because no one hired us.'

He told them to go to work in his vineyard.

When the day's work was over, the owner of the vineyard instructed his foreman, 'Call the workers in and pay them their wages. Start with the last hired and go on to the first.'

Those hired at five o'clock came up and were each given a dollar. When those who were hired first saw that, they assumed they would get far more. But they got the same, each of them one dollar. Taking the dollar, they groused angrily to the manager, 'These last workers put in only one easy hour, and you just made them equal to us, who slaved all day under a scorching sun.'

He replied to the one speaking for the rest, 'Friend, I haven't been unfair. We agreed on the wage of a dollar, didn't we? So take it and go. I decided to give to the one who came last the same as you. Can't I do what I want with my own money? Are you going to get stingy because I am generous?'

Here it is again, the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first."

Many Americans do not like socialism because they think it's unfair. "Why should I pay more taxes so everyone can have healthcare and an education, whether they work or not?" Many of us like living in a meritocracy: we earned it, therefore we deserve it, we're entitled to it.

I would bet that most folks who enjoy this lifestyle also think they have to earn their way into heaven as well. "I give to my church and I pray every day and read my Bible and I've even served the poor. I've made mistakes but I know I'm forgiven through God's grace." But is God's grace also for that Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, atheist, gay, prostitute who had an abortion, who cheated on his wife, who's addicted to alcohol and drugs, who's indefinitely incarcerated for being an illegal immigrant, who's on death row for murder, who just got out of prison for molesting children?

Folks, we'd like to think that we're the ones who showed up first, who agreed to that daily wage in the early morning and thought we were going to get more. In truth, we are all johnny-come-lately's. All of us have fallen short of the glory of God. None of us deserves any of this, the good or the bad. Yet God is generous with us anyway. So why should we be stingy with this extravagant love that has been lavished upon us?

But then there's the question of why should we be good at all? If God's grace is for everyone, even the most heinous of sinners, why should we love and give and forgive others?

I don't know about you, but when I'm giving to others without a second thought to myself (and it doesn't happen often enough), that is when I feel truly alive, when I feel as though I am living the way I was intended to live. And when I forgive and accept someone as they are, I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted from my heart, setting both us free.

It isn't socialism, it's something better. It's called love.

"Love never gives up.

Love cares more for others than for self.

Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.

Love doesn't strut,

Doesn't have a swelled head,

Doesn't force itself on others,

Isn't always "me first,"

Doesn't fly off the handle,

Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,

Doesn't revel when others grovel,

Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

Puts up with anything,

Trusts God always,

Always looks for the best,

Never looks back,

But keeps going to the end."

--from 1 Corinthians 13, The Message by Eugene Peterson

Time for an image shift

2011-10-18T20:23:00.002-04:00

I just finished reading Rob Bell's book Love Wins. At first glance I thought it would be a post-modern, evangelically emergent take on Phillip Gulley and James Mulholland's superb book If Grace is True: Why God Will Save Every Person. And to a certain degree it is. It's written in brief paragraphs, the kind used by pastors when preaching a Sunday sermon, with the appearance of an epic poem. On some days the story of faith is rather like an epic poem. He uses stories from his own life and from folks who worship at the church he pastors. He puts interesting spins on Bible stories and passages we think we know up and down. As USA Today puts it: "One of the nation's rock-star-popular young pastors, Rob Bell, has stuck a pitchfork in how Christians talk about damnation.” Which is a relief, as most evangelicals have been using that pitchfork when speaking of salvation and what's required for it.

But when Rob Bell speaks about hell, when he takes away the abuse but leaves the sting of it and puts it in its place, he says nothing of the hell inflicted on others, the hell that we do not choose but has been chosen for us by those in power. He says nothing about oppression, injustice, and the hell prisons that the powerless have been locked in and struggle to break loose from. Hell on earth may be the consequences we suffer as a result of our own actions, but what of the hell on earth that is suffered as a result of the actions of others? How does an abused woman take responsibility for her own hell? How does she learn to trust the love a father God?

I posted this on Rob Bell's Facebook wall, which I think he doesn't even read, judging by the comments:

"I have deep concerns about the chapter "The Good News is Better Than That": the story you begin with about an abused woman and then you go on to tell the 'stories' of the father and his two sons. Why should a woman who's been hit by every man she's been with now trust the retelling of her story by a God who is male? We still continue to shape God as male and that definitely shapes some of us women in a way that is not only helpful but hurts."

I then received 7 comments declaring that God does not have a penis or reproductive organs and therefore I should not be offended, that God is Father in the Bible or that God isn't male but identifies himself that way or that we in our small minds can't know who God is, so God reveals God's self as Father but God isn't male.

Huh? Last time I checked, my daughters' father is a male.

Jesus did a radical thing by calling God 'Father'. Jesus brought close the Creator of the Universe, the One who fashioned the earth and the heavens--YHWH, I Am Who I Am, the ineffable. The Church brought God even closer by declaring that Jesus was God in human form, the Word incarnate. What has happened in the two millennia since then is that we have personalized God. We have brought God so close that we think we know who God is. We've rendered God powerless by thinking we have a handle on who God is. Thus, we can also reject this God and walk away without a second thought.

We need another image shift in our relationship with God. Not male, not female. Jesus brought God close; now it's time to back up a bit and see the bigger picture.

Panentheism: from the Greek pan (all), en (in), theos (God)--All in God. "Everything is in God and God is in everything, but God is more than everything" (Karl Christian Friedrich Krause, 1828). Or as it says in the Book of Acts: "In [God] we live and move and have our being." Native Americans called it the Great Spirit. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies worshiped the great Mother Goddess. George Lucas called it the Force. Australian Aborigines speak to Divine Oneness. Dietrich Bonhoeffer referred to God as "the Beyond that is in our midst". Immanence and transcendence. No names, no gender. All names, all genders. More and more.

Interestingly enough, Rob Bell made a short film entitled "She", about the feminine characteristics of God, about how we cannot understand God until we recognize the feminine qualities that God possesses. I just wish he had used the Isaiah passage he mentions, regarding God having compassion like a mother, when he introduced his chapter with the story of the abused woman. It would have been so much better. Then he could have given his different take on the father and the two sons.

Here's the film:

Human need over corporate greed

2011-10-17T13:26:00.000-04:00

I was hungry and you blamed it on the Communists.

I was hungry and you circled the moon.

I was hungry and you told me to wait.

I was hungry and you set up a commission.

I was hungry and you said, "so were my ancestors."

I was hungry and you said, "we don't hire over 35."

I was hungry and you said, "God helps those..."

I was hungry and you told me I shouldn't be.

I was hungry and you told me machines do that work now.

I was hungry and you had napalm bills to pay.

I was hungry and you said the poor are always with us.

Lord, when did we see you hungry? (Matthew 25: 37)

Thank you, Sojourners.

Ten good reasons not to call me as your next pastor

2011-10-12T10:37:00.000-04:00

(Another section in my profile requires me not only to give references but to give myself one as well. I borrowed this idea from another pastor who had posted their own good reasons on a consulting website. The way I look at it, this list will tell a search committee if they want to invest time and resources to interview me or not. I know what I want and I don't want to settle for less.)

1.    If you believe that worship is the most important thing you do as a church and that it only occurs on Sunday morning, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

2.    If you value new people as workers and pledge units rather than as welcomed agents of change and companions along the Way, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

3.    If you’re looking for someone who does not share some of the same common weaknesses and foibles as you do, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

4.    If you think that being Open and Affirming is the final frontier of Christian witness, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

5.    If mission is something that occurs only on a trip or once a month, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

6.    If ministry is something that can be measured, quantified, strategized, programmed and categorized, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

7.    If the idea of creating art, poetry, and music alongside the poor and outcast shrinks your spirit rather than enlarging it, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

8.    If you’re searching for an expert to teach you how rather than a fellow student to learn with, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

9.    If the phrase “Life is messy—love it” fills you with more fear than trust, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

10.    If laughter and humor aren't regular and highly-prized expressions of your life together, then I’m probably not the right pastor for you.

This is the church I want to serve

2011-10-05T19:18:00.001-04:00

The following is from my Statement on Ministry, one part of my ministerial profile:

When Jesus revealed the Way of ministry, he was very direct and brief: “You give them something to eat” (Mark 6: 37); “Let the children come to me” (Luke 18: 16); “Take, eat; this is my body” (Matt. 26: 26); “Take up your cross and follow me” (Mark 8: 34); “Let anyone with ears to hear listen” (Luke 8: 8); “Go, make disciples…” (Matt. 28: 19); “Love your enemies” (Matt. 5:44); “…love one another” (John 13: 34); “Feed my sheep” (John 21: 17). These could be the purpose statement of any local church. But more than that these verses are spiritual practices: the bedrock of ministry and faithfulness to Jesus Christ.

I believe that it is our spiritual practices, our faithfulness that saves us each and every day. And what I mean by “saves” is that we are pried off our tendency to focus solely on ourselves in any given moment. Ministry is about learning those spiritual practices and sharing them with others, not only for ourselves but that lives may be changed and transformed, that we might do justice and make peace with one another, that the unconditional love of God would be made visible and tangible.

The next frontier of the church will be those who consider the church to be irrelevant but who still want to make a difference and are working for change in the world. What can unite believers and non-believers are the spiritual practices common to many traditions such as meditation, serving others, feeding the hungry, extending hospitality, forgiveness, compassion, and moving others to do likewise and more.

In our Christian tradition the pendulum of salvation swings between its two foci of faith and the practices of faith. There are phases we go through where faith alone, belief that a power greater than ourselves, can save us. Other times we are caught up in the practices of faith—worship, service, prayer, study, giving, hospitality—and we are saved, released from self-absorption, by the doing of them.

The apostle Paul tells us that we are saved by grace alone, that works/practices alone will not save us, nor will faith without works. We need both but even then it is only grace that saves. Paul is not talking about the present moment but salvation on a grander scale, of that time when all will be welcomed to the heavenly banquet.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think about the heavenly banquet on a daily basis. Rather, every day it is myself I need to be saved from, from my pettiness, my ego, my wants and wishes, my propensity for procrastination, my snarky attitude while driving.

Ultimately, the spiritual practice that saves us is love: love of God, love of neighbor, love of self. Ours is a ministry of love. Author Samir Selmanovic, in his book It’s Really All About God, says it well, about following Jesus and his ministry of love:

“Jesus offered a single incentive to follow him…to summarize his selling point: ‘Follow me, and you might be happy—or you might not. Follow me, and you might be empowered—or you might not. Follow me, and you might have more friends—or you might not. Follow me, and you might have the answers—or you might not. Follow me, and you might be better off—or you might not. If you follow me, you may be worse off in every way you use to measure life. Follow me nevertheless. Because I have an offer that is worth giving up everything you have: you will learn to love well.’”

This is the Jesus I follow, the ministry that gives me joy, the grace that sustains me, the Church I serve.

Maybe. May be.

2011-10-01T16:18:00.001-04:00

It's difficult to write about many things when there's one thing struggling to be heard. As poet Ellen Bass once instructed a bunch of us burgeoning poets, "You have to write the poems you don't want to write before you can write the ones you do want to write. Otherwise, they'll all have to crawl over the ones sitting like a lump in the back of your throat." Or words to that effect.

So...I haven't been writing much of anything because of one true thing (thank you, Anna Quindlen) that needs to be said.

I am grieving. I thought it would nice to have a rest from parish ministry for a few months (no telling when they will end), but all I feel is sad and angry...what most folks call depressed. I didn't just go from 90 mph to nothing; I parked the car in the garage, put an old parachute over it, and tucked the keys in a drawer. Yes, I've done some things this summer I would not have done had I been working: I went to South Dakota on a mission trip with my Monroe peeps to an Indian reservation with Simply Smiles; I co-deaned a conference for twenty 5th and 6th graders at Silver Lake Conference Center with my friend and pastor Jennifer Gingras entitled "Clowns for God"; I traveled to Costa Rica for a week-long adventure with my family. I'm teaching myself how to play the Native American wood flute. I'm working on a clay sculpture at the high school that will serve as a Communion set in some future ministry setting.

But it's not enough. This November I will be celebrating 20 years of ordination; 15 of those years have been in temporary ministry positions. I want to settle down with a congregation and see what that feels like. Ever since I left full-time ministry to be home with my girls (which I have never regretted for an instant, for which I am immensely grateful) I have also been grieving the loss of that ministry. And please do not attempt in the comments to mollify that emotion or to help me realize the blessing of being able to stay home with my children. I know that. I've heard all of that for the past 15 years. What seems to be beyond understanding is how something so wonderful can also be a source of pain; how a life with God can be life-giving and be a struggle, that God can be the one thing that saves you and the biggest question mark of your life. A life with God, like any other relationship, is complex and sometimes there are no answers--not even a 'yes' or 'no' as whether or not to stick with it. Most days it's a 'maybe', which might turn out to be the most faithful answer we can give.

I've written my profile. I've received all my written references and I've submitted my profile as 'complete' to the UCC Profile Office in Cleveland. I've decided that despite everything, perhaps because of everything, that I need to do this: I need to love and to serve and to make it my life's work. And I think I'm good at it, at least, as far as I've gotten to this point, and I still have a long way to go. But it is a calling I can't let go of and that won't let go of me, even if I wanted it to; a heartstring that does not break when stretched but only keeps pulling.

Tricky part is...my husband feels called to work in the solar field, research and design specifically. This is the other reason I have kept myself temporary and loose; so that when he finds that dream job we can pick up and go. But for one reason or another he has not been able to find that job. And he's paid just enough at his current job to make it difficult to consider leaving, even though he's miserable there. It would be easier having him lead the way since he has the higher earning potential. But I can't wait any longer. Four years ago he earned another Master's degree, in computer and electrical engineering, that took three years to finish. Another temporary ministry gig for me and I just might go the way of John the Baptist.

Prayers, people, I need prayers. Big ones, small ones, one word of hope. Strike a match, hold a vigil of candles, a campfire in the backyard, a bonfire on the beach. Bring them all together to make this light big, that a faith community in need of a pastor like me might see it, that I might go to where they are.

A chance for world peace

2011-09-06T17:37:00.004-04:00

This past Saturday I took my youngest daughter to a Yankees' game in New York. If you know where I grew up, you know this is quite a feat. I'm from the South Shore of Massachusetts. My mother took me to Red Sox games during the days of Fred Lynn, Carl Yastrzemski, Carlton Fisk, Jim Rice, Luis Tiant, Dwight Evans, Dennis Eckersley, Wade Boggs and Bob Stanley. I have "lived and died with the Sox", as they say, for most of my life.

So for me to take my daughter to a Yankees' game is no small thing. And yet I did it because my love for my daughter is much, much greater than my love for my Boston Red Sox. I wore my Red Sox cap and proudly escorted my daughter into Yankee Stadium on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon.

I had decided ahead of time that I would ignore jeers and taunts but would welcome any questions about my choice of hats. As it happened, I heard only two of the former and received but one question--from a woman sitting in front of me: "So, why the Red Sox cap?" We had already made exchanges about the game; now she was ready to satisfy her curiosity.

I replied that I was making an effort toward world peace. If I, a Red Sox fan, can take my Yankees' daughter to a Yankees' home game and cheer them on, then there's hope for the world. After that declaration, she and the man seated next to her spent the next several minutes trying to figure out what I did for a living. At first they were convinced I was a teacher--not bad for a first guess. Of course, after that they didn't get any closer; the man even paid me a backhanded compliment with "a swimsuit model"! I replied that I do that in my spare time.

When I finally confessed that I was an ordained minister, the woman, who was Roman Catholic, said to me, "You have to go to school for that?" (When they were guessing, I had said that I went to college and grad school.) I explained, yeah, we have to learn all that church history, Hebrew scriptures, the New Testament, systematic theology, etc., just like a priest would. In return, she gave me a blank look. Oh well.

So now I had my ally in the bleachers in case anyone gave me a hard time. By the way, Boston fans, Yankee fans aren't half so rabid as you might think. Although if I had worn the cap to a Yankees'/Red Sox game in New York, perhaps they wouldn't have been so forbearing!

It was a great game and a wonderful time with my daughter. Here's recap of the game:

Mid-August Lunch (2008)

2011-07-06T20:16:00.002-04:00

The need for connection, conversation, good food, and good wine never leaves us. At least, I hope so. Wouldn't it be wonderful if as we age, we could live in small groups, cared for by one or two individuals, who would cook delicious food for us, look after us and keep us comfortable and safe? There's a time when we all need more care than what our families can provide, and that's alright. But before that, we're capable of still living a life that gives great joy.

Mid-August Lunch is a delightful movie, a slice-of-life story about Gianni and his mother and the three unfamiliar Italian mamas (one is an 'auntie) who come to spend the weekend during the Italian summer holiday Pranzo di Ferragosto or mid-August lunch. Gianni Di Gregorio, who directs the film, stars as the mother-doting son who takes life as it comes, as slowly as he can enjoy it. While watching the film I got the feeling of some friends who got together to tell a simple yet entertaining story.

I should be so lucky at the age of 80 or more to spend the month of August in Rome, eating a meal cooked by someone like Gianni. Ciao, bello!

Leaving

2011-06-13T14:33:00.006-04:00

Genesis 12: 1-9; Acts 2: 1-21
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
June 12, 2011 – Pentecost Sunday

(After 2+ years this church found its settled pastor, who will begin in August. I chose to leave now to spend the summer with my husband and daughters and to give the congregation both an opportunity to self-govern for a while and to open some space between myself and the new pastor. This was my last sermon to the Woodmont congregation.)

Some of you may remember that on my first Sunday here I said that as an interim pastor I would operate rather like Nanny McPhee. I quoted these words: “When you need me but do not want me, then I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, then I must leave.” The first statement makes it difficult to stay, the last more difficult to leave. But both accurately describe the transition a congregation goes through during the interim process. More than that, both statements describe a life of faith; a life lived in community with God.

Living with God means a life of comings and goings. It may look like we’re staying put for a while, but actually God is always getting us ready for the next adventure. Like a garden or a forest or an ocean or a galaxy, there’s a lot going on that we don’t always see but things are changing and moving nonetheless. Everything, everything is on its way to somewhere else—constantly—always moving, always changing. It only looks like we’re standing still because time seems to move so slowly. The universe is about 15 billion years old and it’s still evolving, still growing, and our knowledge of it still expanding.

Yet when we look back on our lives, a speck of years in the span of existence, it seems all of it has occurred in the blink of an eye. How quickly these past two years have gone by and yet while we were in the middle of it, didn’t it seem like this day was so far away? Inevitably leaving is part of the plan, at some point in time, in whatever way. Eventually we all leave what is known and go into the unknown.

When God told as then Abram and Sarai to “go”, God wasn’t telling them to go so much as to leave. Leave behind all their family, their familiar fertile land in Sumer, in the delta of the Euphrates; leave behind the inheritance of his father’s land for a land that God would show them, a unfamiliar place, a land in which they would be strangers.

For many of us this is not good news. Leave? Just because God said so? Leave for a place far away, with no idea what it will be like, giving absolute trust to a God who only a few chapters back destroyed almost all of creation and humankind with a flood, then scattered a burgeoning human race by confusing their language.

But now God makes promises of blessing and descendants to Abram, and God makes good on those promises. We see the relationship between God and human beings change and grow. However we know nothing about Abram, about what kind of man he is. When God last singled out a human being for a special calling, which was Noah, we read that he was a good man, a man of integrity in his community and that he ‘walked with God’. But we have no such recommendations for Abram. Perhaps he was simply in the right place at the right time.

And so Abram, at the age of 75, leaves everything he knows, taking with him his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, all his possessions, animals and slaves and sets out for the land of Canaan. And he doesn’t make the journey in one huge push but goes in stages: one step, one day at a time. Ever since then, God’s people have been on the move, whether for survival or exile or to return home or to leave once more.

Even in the Pentecost story we get the unmistakable feeling that everything is changing for the disciples. Jesus has been raised from the dead and has has ascended into heaven. They have gathered together as Jesus taught them but then suddenly there is a gust of wind and flame. Whenever a wind blows through, when flames are burning, nothing is ever the same as it was. It would have been comical, almost comforting if they had been drunk on wine instead of filled with the Holy Spirit. Instead we have a group of disciples who are now compelled to preach, to tell the story of Jesus, their story—to anyone who will listen.

Even more than that, they can now speak to anyone in their own language—yet another sign that soon they will be leaving their beloved Jerusalem, their families, the inheritance of their fathers and mothers, their faith tradition as they had always known it, and go to the foreign lands of the gentiles.

In Jewish tradition the day of Pentecost is a celebration of the giving of the Ten Commandments to Moses 50 days after the exodus. Now God is giving another set of marching orders so transformative that they cannot be denied. And yet we’ve all done our best, from time to time, to keep this story quiet, as fascinating as it is to us, even though, perhaps even because, it has the power to change the way we live our lives. We may resist the movement of the Spirit but sooner or later we’re going to have to leave what is known and venture into the unknown. Leaving, whether physically or spiritually, is how we grow.

Woodmont UCC, the story of Jesus living in you, your story is on the move. It always has been and always will be. The wind blows where it will and on you will go. Today you are opening a door and crossing a threshold to a world, a place yet unknown. As the good doctor once said (and I’ve edited this a bit):

“The Holy Spirit is upon you!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And with Jesus in your heart, YOU are the ones who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’ve got too much heart to think any street is a not-so-good street.

And who knows? God may not go down any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, God will probably call you to head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy and gutsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t. Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And the holy church gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a church lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How many angels on the head of a pin?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up their mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across a weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for the budget to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for a committee-free night or waiting, perhaps, for enough money or a pot to boil, or a few more members or a string of pearls, or a pastor who wears pants (perhaps you’ve had enough of girls!), or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll move beyond all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where the Worshiping Musicians are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you were made to fly!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are Fall Fairs to be chaired. There are races to be run. And the miraculous things you can do with God’s call will make you the church-iest church of all. Glory to God! You’ll be as amazing as grace can be, with the whole wide world watching you sing! Glory be!

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll have lonely times too. Things you can’t do ‘cause you’ll work against you.

All Alone!

Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll resist quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though the powers that be growl. On you will go though your sinking hearts howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems with God as your North Star.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with some mighty strange birds as you go. So be sure to speak up when you speak. Speak with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And when you dance, always forgive when someone mixes up your right foot with their left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(One hundred six and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Folks, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Barrieau or Burrows or Bray or Bob, Jason, George, Eric, Frank, olé!
You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Wealth inequality

2011-06-11T19:23:00.000-04:00

This method was used in the 1980's to illustrate the excesses of nuclear stockpiles in the US and the then USSR. I can remember a church member involved in the anti-proliferation movement dropping BB's into a galvanized garbage can. And yeah, you couldn't even hear a BB drop when he was done. Too much is way too much.

Bad news and Good News

2011-06-10T09:29:00.001-04:00

Are you a trader?

2011-06-08T07:33:00.001-04:00

And their eyes were opened

2011-05-11T11:02:00.004-04:00

Psalm 116: 1-4, 12-19
Luke 24: 13-35
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
May 8, 2011 - Mother's Day

Last week we laughed because of the resurrection; this week we wept.

I didn't preach a sermon this past Mother's Day. Instead we put aside the usual agenda to help one family in their grief for a baby that died 20 years ago, that was never named, that was not laid to rest.

In the place where the sermon would go, after the scripture readings, the youth message and a hymn (At the Font We Start Our Journey), I began the liturgy for baptism with the words from the gospel of Mark:

"People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.' And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them."

We prayed, blessed the water, and the parents named the child Matthew. I then poured water over their hands, baptizing Matthew in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, the Mother of us all.

The congregation stood and welcomed this child into their midst as a member of the church. We prayed that this child would receive the new life given in Christ. And then we remembered this child, Matthew. We re-membered him, realizing his absence but also now his memory in this church family. The mother stood and told the story of his birth, how he would not survive long after, that she was unconscious and had never really embraced nor fully mourned her son. She wanted to name him Matthew because that was the gospel through which she came to know the Bible as an adult.

I talked about the journey to Emmaus, that it not until that time and in that place that these disciples were able to see the risen Christ, and that now this family was able to see the risen Christ in their midst for having been a part of this faith community, in this time, in this place. Then we prayed for Matthew's spirit and for our spirits too.

At the words of commendation (Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Matthew. Acknowledge, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a son of your own redeeming. Receive Matthew into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace) I could no longer hold it together. My voice broke on the word 'son' and I finished the prayer with tears slipping down my cheeks. It was the first memorial service I had ever done for a child, and I don't think it made any difference that there was no small casket and that he had died 20 years ago. It certainly didn't for his parents or for the congregation.

After a blessing, before we began the Prayers of the Church, I said, "That felt good. It felt good to do that." And then: "God is good." The congregation responded "All the time." And I said, "And all the time..." they replied, "God is good."

It was a good Mother's Day.

The church improvisational

2011-05-02T09:23:00.006-04:00

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, Caravaggio, 1601-02

John 20: 19-31
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
May 1, 2011 – Holy Humor/Bright Sunday

Recently I read Tina Fey’s memoir Bossypants, recalling her days as a member of the Second City improv theater in Chicago. Did you know that there are rules for doing improvisational comedy? You wouldn’t think so to look at it. There’s no scenery, no props, and no script; it’s just made up as the actors go along.

Even though the Christian faith has a script (holy scriptures—what we call the Bible), some fabulous scenery (the whole of creation and the living of our lives), and a few props (the cross, bread, juice, the waters of baptism), the religious establishment is sometimes accused of making it up as it goes along. Indeed there are some tenets of Christian doctrine that seem as though they were conjured from the human imagination: original sin, the virgin birth, even the resurrection. For hundreds of years there have been rules about what is orthodox belief and what is heresy; rules about what makes a faith community the Church rather than just a social club.

Thankfully church life has loosened up some over the years. Indeed there are some who would say it has loosened up too much. In the United Church of Christ there are no tests of faith, no creeds we must adhere to. We recognize that everyone is on a journey of faith, that every relationship with God and with the church is unique. Yet there is also an ancient tradition that goes all the way back to Jesus and his disciples and it is this faith and this community that we strive to emulate.

If I didn’t know any better, from this morning’s reading from the gospel of John, I’d think that Jesus knew the rules of improvisational comedy. Not that he or Thomas are trying to be funny but according to Tina Fey, they are following the rules. The rules of improv are also pretty good for what it means to be the church.

1. The first rule is to agree, to say yes to whatever is being created. So if your partner says “Freeze, I have a water pistol,” you can’t reply with “No, it’s not. It’s your finger,” then the scene has come to a stop rather than going on. This rule reminds us to keep an open mind to what is going on around us. Thomas is not yet ready to keep an open mind about this risen Christ. He demands to see Jesus’ wounds and to place his hand in his side. Jesus doesn’t say, “Resurrection isn’t about the body” or “Get your filthy hands off me”. Instead he says yes to Thomas and the scene continues.

2. The second rule to is to add something of your own, to say ‘yes, and’, to agree but to also go on with what has been handed to you. If I say, “Gee, it sure is humid,” and you say, “Yeah…”, then there’s really no where to go. But if you say, “What do you expect from living inside a giant rice cooker?” or “Yeah, it’s so humid even my wrinkles can’t hold out” or “I told you we shouldn’t have crawled into the belly of a whale”, then we’ve got somewhere to go. When Jesus says to Thomas ‘put your hand in my side’, Thomas doesn’t say “Eew, yuck! No, thanks!” Rather, he adds his ‘yes, and’, his confession of faith: “My Lord and my God!”

3. The next rule is to make statements. If we ask questions all the time, we put pressure on our partner to come up with all the answers. If we point out all the obstacles, it then becomes up to our partner to solve them. Whatever the difficulty is, we need to be part of the solution rather than add to the problem. Jesus asks Thomas a question but he follows it with the answer, making a declarative statement: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Not having seen Jesus in the flesh presents a problem of faith: how are we to believe if we have not seen? Jesus reminds us that faith is not about what is certain but what is uncertain. Improvising is all about uncertainty and not knowing what is going to happen next.

4. Finally, there are no mistakes, only opportunities. Thomas wasn’t there the first time Jesus appeared to the disciples: rather than a mistake it was an opportunity for Jesus to teach and to help his friends understand what it means to believe and to be in community with those who may have doubts. Jesus and the disciples could have chastised Thomas for missing out the first time. Instead we have a beautifully improvised scene in which those who doubt are included and we receive the blessing of the words “come to believe”, illustrating that faith and living in community are not a place to arrive at but a journey, a process, an improvisation.

(After this point, members of the congregation took turns telling those religious jokes we get in our email--and some I'd never heard before. I should say that up until I preached the sermon I was wearing a squid hat, borrowed from my daughter's friend at school. It became too heavy to wear, at which point I took it off to reveal the tiara I was wearing underneath. It was also Communion Sunday, so we had milk and 'Nilla wafers by intinction!)

Jesus, Mary and joy

2011-04-27T09:00:00.007-04:00

Mary at the Tomb, by Lisa Hornor

John 20: 1-20
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 24, 2011 – Easter Sunday

Have you ever heard the joke “What do you get when you play a country song backwards?” Well, you may have even heard the answer in Rascal Flatts’ song “Backwards”:

If the resurrection was like a country music song played backwards, it might sound something like this:

I was sittin’ in an upper room
Oh so far away from Galilee
When this beloved disciple walked in
And sat right down next to me
I could tell he’d seen some hard times
There were tear stains on his hairshirt
He said you wanna know what you get
When you play Jesus’ death backwards?

He gets his life back.
She gets her heart back.
The disciples get their teacher back.
The Romans get the thorn in their side back.
The darkness gets the light back.
That heavy stone gets rolled back.
Jesus is king; salvation bring.
The angels sing, sing, sing and the heavens ring
We get the way and the truth and the life and the glory
in which we tell that old, old story
Sounds a little crazy, a little scattered and absurd
but that’s what you get
when you play Jesus’ death backwards

Wouldn’t it be nice, we think sometimes, if we could play our lives backwards? If we could just rewind a few minutes, a few hours, days, weeks, years—back to that time before we did whatever it was? Or before the cancer, before we lost our job? Before the person we loved left us or died, before the fight and the hurtful words, before we lost our temper? Before that moment we were so scared we didn’t know what to do, before that moment we wish we had said or done what was in our hearts?

Regret is a terrible thing. It can paralyze us, make us crazy, and drive us to other actions we may also later regret. I read once that many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves—regret of the past and fear of the future. Even though Jesus was crucified for being fully human and fully God, I doubt he had any regrets about that. He may have been scared and full of sorrow, perhaps even a little relieved, but I don’t think he was regretful.

Regret, by Cyn McCurry

Every Easter we try to make sense out of the resurrection—something that makes no sense at all. And yet we often have difficulty making sense and meaning out of our own lives. What makes us think we can tackle a mystery like the resurrection with any less struggle?

One thing I do know is this: the resurrection is not Jesus’ death played backwards. It’s not our own lives moved back to some restore point before the troubles. The resurrection is a moving forward through the regrets and the fears, through our lives and our inevitable deaths, and doing so with joy.

Sometimes we are tempted to believe that joy is just not possible given the circumstances of our lives. But I’m not talking about happiness. Happiness is fleeting, dependent on whether or not we ate breakfast, what the weather is like, if our body is working right and all kinds of outside influences. Joy is what sustains us despite the conditions of our lives; as the poet Wendell Berry said, “Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.”

At the beginning of Lent we read verse 12 of Psalm 51: “Restore to me the joy of my salvation and sustain in me a willing spirit.” To me, that says to be joyful is to have a willing spirit. Though Mary had lost not only her best friend but her teacher and savior, she had a willing spirit to stand at the cross while he died, to go where her friend was buried and be persistent in finding him.

If her story was a country song, it might go something like this:

Jesus, Mary and joy
Jesus, Mary and joy
She sang the blues
But he brought Good News
And now she spreading the joy

She was a woman possessed
Jesus healed her
Then she confessed
That Jesus was Lord
He could not afford
To live a life that leads to death

He gave all that he had
Even then it wasn’t all bad
And despite that old cross
They gained what was lost
And now she’s spreading the joy

Jesus, Mary and joy
Jesus, Mary and joy
They both sang the blues
But he brought Good News
And now she’s spreading the joy

Even when we sing the blues
It’s then Jesus gives Good News
And now we’re spreading the joy

Amen.

Shake, rattle and roll

2011-04-11T11:09:00.006-04:00

Skull with Cigarette (1886), Van Gogh

Ezekiel 37: 1-14
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 10, 2011

(Ezekiel is calling together the dry bones of the desert valley, except that no one is showing up. He and the spine are having a conversation about the reluctance of these bones to return.)

Ezekiel: Where is everybody?

Spine: Well, sir, not everyone is on board with this getting back together thing, this family reunion you’ve got planned.

Ezekiel: It’s not my plan. It’s all God’s idea.

Spine: Apparently so, sir. It seems everyone else has a different idea and has made other plans.

Ezekiel: I thought at least Radius and Ulna would be here – they’re usually ready for anything. Forearmed is forewarned, you know.

Spine: I know, sir, but they’re still out shopping with Tibia, Fibula and Femur.

Ezekiel: Let me guess…this is going to cost me…

Both: An arm and a leg!

Ezekiel: I thought for sure Skull would be here. He’s always head and shoulders above the rest.

Spine: Yes, but he’s been taking this separation on the chin—lost his head about it, I’m afraid. I think it’s affected all the dry bones the same way—taken the life out of them.

Ezekiel: So why are you here?

Spine: Evidently, sir, I’m the only one with enough backbone.

Ezekiel: But see, it’s not about standing before God in fear and trembling. God is going to knit you all together with tendons and cartilage…

Spine: God knows how to knit?!

Ezekiel: …and forgiveness and grace. God’s going to give you muscles for justice and peace, and ears to hear God’s word, and a stomach for the law and the prophets, and a heart of courage and compassion.

Spine: Sir, we dry bones have been apart so long we’ve forgotten what it’s like to live with God and each other. There were times when words like ‘obedience’, ‘surrender’ and ‘covenant’ made us stiff-necked. If you could have only heard the knees creak and groan when they had to kneel…

Ezekiel: God isn’t promising an easy life but rather new life. It’s not about bowing and scraping before God but about dancing in the presence of God, even in the midst of trouble.

Spine: Sir, do we get skin? Please say yes. And could you make it rather thick? With all these hostile takeovers—what with the Babylonians and now the Assyrians breathing down our necks—we tend to bruise easily.

Ezekiel: Yes, God will cover you but you’ll still be vulnerable—it’s really the only way to be compassionate.

Spine: Okay, so God will put us all back together again—make a body of us again. Is that it? Do we just stand there?

Ezekiel: Didn’t you hear me? I said dancing. I said new life. Weren’t you paying attention? You’ve got a lot of nerve!

Spine: If you’ll recall, I haven’t got any nerves right now!

Ezekiel: Oops! Sorry.

Spine: So just how is God going to accomplish this new life?

Ezekiel: God will put the Spirit, the breath of life into you. You think that it only happened once, back in the beginning? We may all be dust and to dust we shall return yet God will not leave us hopeless. God is always ready to breathe new life into us.

Spine: Great, just as long as God remembers to use Altoids!

Ezekiel: Hey, don’t complain! Anything smells better than a bunch of dead, dry bones coming out of their graves!

Spine: Okay, okay! Keep your hairshirt on! So, let’s get this party started!

Ezekiel: May I have the first dance?

Spine: As soon as I get my feet under me!

Watch the crowd and how it moves to the music, how everyone comes to life as the music begins.

Strange comfort

2011-04-05T08:54:00.005-04:00

Psalm 23, by Irv Davis, (c) 2000.

Psalm 23
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 3, 2011

Security is a word we hear more often these days. The Department of Homeland Security, formed in 2002 in response to the attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, has increased access to our privacy in the name of security. We have security checks at state and federal buildings, at some schools, and at major entertainment and sports venues, like concerts and the Olympics, even in Bridgeport at Harbor Yard. Security at most airports has been increasing steadily, to the point of invading personal modesty with revealing body scanners. It is now customary to hand over briefcases, backpacks, laptops and handbags, take off our shoes, belts, jewelry, and even then we still might have to be checked with a wand or a pat down. And then there’s our Social Security system, originally intended to be an assistance check added to one’s own personal savings, but now it’s the only source of income for a great many folks with the funds dwindling rapidly.

Our obsession with security betrays our addiction to fear. Fear that we can’t ever be safe enough. Fear that we won’t have enough to live. Fear that the ways things are will come to an end. We want to know that everything will be alright, that we will be cared for, and we want it guaranteed.

Living with fear is very exhausting. It makes it difficult to sleep, makes it difficult to relax, to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy any sense of peace. A guarantee of security might make it easier to breathe and to go about our business but at what price? Ben Franklin said, “They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither safety nor liberty.” In our desire for guaranteed security we have traded our safety for our souls. And those who offer this guarantee think they have a window into our souls and our lives.

An ancient Chinese story is told of an old farmer who used an old horse to till his fields. One day the old horse ran off into the hills. Everyone said, “What a shame!” The old man replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” A week later the horse returned with a herd of wild horses. Everyone in the village congratulated the old farmer, for the measure of his wealth had been increased. The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” When the old farmer’s son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off and broke his leg. Everyone said, “What bad luck!” The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” A week later the imperial army was marching through the village, conscripting all the young men into the emperor’s war campaign. When they saw the farmer’s son with his broken leg, the army excused him from military service. Everyone said, “It’s a good thing that horse broke his leg.” The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

We are quick to judge, quick to secure meaning and at least a small measure of comfort in the events of our lives, to know why things happen the way they do. We want guarantees and certainty, the very opposites of faith and serenity. Faith is a trust not in what we know but in what we can’t know for certain; serenity is the state of being calm, peaceful and untroubled in the face of that which produces fear.

Have you noticed that in the past ten years or so, in political and other forms of discourse, a difference of opinion, viewpoint or belief is generally not tolerated? Increasingly there is a lack of trust in others who do not share our mindset. On the airwaves, on TV news shows, and in the public sphere we argue and shout more than we listen, consider and discuss.

It is the certainty of our religious convictions that often drives a painful, hurtful wedge between human beings. I believe that the next challenge of the church is that of interfaith relationships and working alongside those of no faith tradition. If we are honest with ourselves, it is not the form of our faith which gives us comfort but its content: peace and justice for all people and for the earth and all its inhabitants, extravagant welcome, wholeness, healing, forgiveness, and compassion. As Christians we see this most clearly in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. But not everyone sees in the same way that we do, nor should they have to in order for all of us to be compassionate towards each other and to share what we have.

Kashmir, India, 1999.

Psalm 23, the most memorized text in the Bible after the Lord’s Prayer, is one used mainly for comfort, especially at a funeral or memorial service. But it is a strange comfort if we read it closely. This is a paraphrase I wrote some years ago as a call to worship:

God is our guide and friend. In God we lack nothing. We come for restoration and strength to follow God’s way of narrow distance and wide compassion. God is always with us. Wherever we are, God is. We seek the ways of life though we fear change as though it were death. God feeds us at the same table with our enemy, holy love pouring down like oil on our heads, filling our cupped hands with mercy. We are God’s dwelling place, a holy tabernacle, the body of Christ.

The only comfort that is promised in this psalm is God’s presence, in good times and in the worst of them. God restores us because we’re going to need all our strength for the path of righteousness and justice. God leads us, but sometimes to places we’d rather not go, even unto death. God feeds us but at the same table as our enemy. God anoints us but God also anointed Jesus to be the Christ and look where that got him. A relationship with God has never been a rose garden. What we are promised is streams of mercy, meadows of restoration, and the presence of God along that path of righteousness that inevitably goes through the valley of death.

We all want to be comforted by our faith, by God, and by each other. Surely this is a purpose for church: to be loved and to love others. But God also leads us beyond ourselves to the world that is waiting to be loved; the world that is waiting to be shown what it means to feast at a table with enemies, with our worst fears; a world in which the only thing that is certain is change. We put our faith in a loving God because we want that change to be for the good of all and not just for some or a few.

A charcoal sketch of the valley of the shadow of death that I did in high school.

Think of this church, of the collective faith in this room. Where is God calling you that you’d rather not go? What is the perceived enemy with which you must sit at table and be fed by the hand of God? What is the path of righteousness that God has set before you as a community of faith? What interferes with your serenity and your faith in the uncertain? How have you experienced God’s presence during this interim time?

Is there a God? In truth we cannot say without a doubt that God exists. What we can say is that even with our doubts, when we open ourselves to the mystery we call God, we know ourselves to be comforted; that when we let go of certainty, we can be at peace with the unknown and journey through that dark valley in faith that God is with us; that when we put our lives in God’s hands, we can eat at table with our worst fears and know that we will be restored.

Amen.

What we know...

2011-03-23T09:01:00.002-04:00

...is that we really don't know much.

Go naked for a sign

2011-03-15T08:22:00.017-04:00

The Human Condition, Rene Magritte, 1933

Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-8; Psalm 32
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
March 13, 2011

The summer before my oldest daughter turned three, Andrea would not wear a bathing suit. It was the summer of toilet training, before she would begin preschool in the fall. She wanted to be free, to feel the sun and water and sand on her bare skin, and if she had an accident, she wouldn’t need to be changed. She ran on the beach with no shame, no self-consciousness about her body or her nakedness. As I wrote this sermon I looked at the pictures I took of her as she unabashedly looked into the camera. She was beautiful.

But I could tell that not everyone on the beach that day felt as I did. There were glares and stares, even a whispered comment that she was too old to be running around without a bathing suit. They didn’t understand how different this child was from the infant who screamed when we gave her a bath.

From her very first bath Andrea could not stand to be exposed and bathed, not even in the safety baby tub that barely contained any water. She would turn red from crying as she lay in the prone position, the only position allowed in this new-fangled way of keeping baby safe while bathing. David and I had to devise our own method in order that Andrea feel safe and comforted while we bathed her. What we did was to recreate some of the atmosphere of the womb, the first waters that Andrea ever knew.

First, we would warm the bathroom with a heater. Then we lit a few candles rather than use the overhead light. The bathtub was filled only halfway with warm water. Then either David or I would get undressed and get into the tub holding Andrea against our chest so she could hear our heartbeat, cradling her much in the same way as she was carried in utero. It was at about three months, after the colic dissipated, that she was able to sit up with assistance in a small tub and then in a safety chair in the bathtub.

When both my girls were born they were placed on my bare chest; not only to begin the nursing process but more so they would bond with me and I with them. When we’re born, much like Adam and Eve when their eyes were opened, we move from unknowing to knowing, from having all our needs met without even having to ask into a strange new world of light and sound, varying temperatures and naked vulnerability. That first skin-to-skin contact stabilizes the baby’s heart and breathing rates, helps keep the baby warm, and reduces crying, giving the child the earliest opportunity to nurse and to know that their needs will be met. This naked vulnerability between mother and infant is baby’s immediate education in the ways of trust and dependence.

Adam and Eve, Marc Chagall, 1912

When Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the tree, they were born into the world of good and evil. Rather than this naked vulnerability binding them to God, it drove them away into hiding themselves. From this point on, nakedness would be equated with shame, our bodies relegated to evil rather than good, our standing with God being on tenuous terms.

However, this is not a prescriptive story about how it should be; rather it is a descriptive story about how things are. We were created for the garden. We were intended to live in innocence, shamelessness, and in harmony with God, each other and the creation. If there was any original sin, it was in humanity’s ignorance and hubris that we could outsmart this mysterious power that brought forth life out of lifelessness, that we could have knowledge like that which created the heavens and the earth, that we could evade death. And throughout our evolution as a human race we have tried to hide ourselves from God and from each other, protecting our naked vulnerability, shaming what makes us unique, denigrating what makes us beautiful in the eyes of God.

How often do we hide our tears and keep our sadness and grief to ourselves? How many of us try to avoid seeing our naked bodies in the mirror at all costs? When was the last time we were with someone or a group of people and we were not afraid to be our true selves? How many times a day do we regret what we said or did not say, what we did or what we did not do? How bare do we lay our souls, the good and the bad, before God?

The Nakedness of Adam, Alan Falk, 2003

We might be able to fool others, and more likely ourselves, but we can’t fool God. It’s like hiding the liquor bottles at the bottom of the recycling bin, sneaking something we’re not supposed to eat on a diet, not telling our partner about that bonus check or the money we lost, buying things we don’t need and stuffing them in the closet for later. And no matter which part of us we hide, the good or the bad, we end up hiding the other as well—we might as well be invisible for all that! God knows us inside and out, sees us for who we are, and calls us to do God-work anyway. God knows that we are far from innocent and yet does not condemn. With God, the cat’s out of the bag and it’s okay!

This doesn’t mean we can do what we want and get away with it. Nor can we just let it all hang out, as they used to say. Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant reformation, wrote these words about sin and grace: “If you are a preacher of mercy, do not preach an imaginary but the true mercy. If the mercy is true, you must therefore bear the true, not an imaginary sin. God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong, but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world. …Do you think such an exalted Lamb paid merely a small price with a meager sacrifice for our sins? Pray hard for you are quite a sinner.” God’s mercy is infinite because our capacity to sin is also infinite but so is our ability to do and be good.

As I’ve said before, our ability to accept and love others as they are is directly related to our own level of self-acceptance. A church cannot give an extravagant welcome if its members are worried about where they stand with God, each other and themselves. What if the next time you were about to give yourself a piece of harsh criticism (or anyone else for that matter), instead you gave yourself or someone else a hug? What if, as Maggie Kuhn said, you spoke your truth even if your voice is shaking? What if instead of only seeing the bad or the good about yourself and others, you looked at yourself and at others the way God does?

Trust is...

(c) Kristin Noelle, 2011.

God’s eyes were already opened that day in the garden. Later in the passage we can hear the disappointment in God’s voice. God metes out some consequences for each of the players in this drama. But there is also tenderness—God clothes Adam and Eve with garments made from animal skins.

Even though they thought they could hide what they did and who they had become, God looked on this humankind made in God’s own likeness with clear eyes. God saw the mistakes, the tendency to be beguiled, to act without thinking, to hide and cover up, and to pass the blame yet also saw that original innocence, that naked vulnerability that resides in each one of us. God saw the whole package, and even so God still desired to be in relationship with these unpredictable beings of free will, even to the point of suffering and dying on a cross.

The Garden of Eden, Erastus Salisbury Field, 1865

God was and is willing to go naked for a sign. In creating humankind in the divine image God became naked and vulnerable to the creation. We witness this in moments of courage and greatness, in the many expressions of creativity and genius, in the simplicity of a meal for one who is hungry, clothing the naked, visiting those in prison, caring for the sick, clean water for those who thirst. God’s naked vulnerability can also be seen in the eyes of those who suffer from injustice, whose young bodies and lives are bought and sold and discarded, in those who bear the indignities of age without care, those who live through war, disease, poverty, natural disasters and their aftermath.

If we are to do God-work, then we must be willing to go naked for a sign ourselves: to be honest about who we are without shame, to love unabashedly, and allow the divine image within us to take its rightful place. When you look in the mirror, Woodmont UCC, what do you see? Do you see your beauty and your love handles? Do you see your openness and your hesitation? Do you see your greatness and your pettiness? Do you see your passionate spirit and your fear of failing? Do you yet have a measure of courage and serenity and wisdom to embrace all of who you are and serve God anyway?

Go naked for a sign. Be vulnerable and tell God everything. God knows it all and wants you still.

Amen.

August, 2007: US-installation artist Spencer Tunick and Greenpeace present a living sculpture: hundreds of naked volunteers symbolize the vulnerability of the glaciers under climate change.
(Aletsch Glacier, Switzerland)

[1] http://www.scrollpublishing.com/store/Luther-Sin-Boldly.html

[2] The sermon title is taken from avant-garde poet/author Hakim Bey. I also used this same term in last year's Transfiguration sermon.

Glory dazed

2011-03-07T20:53:00.006-05:00

Transgfiguration

Exodus 24: 12-18; Matthew 17: 1-9
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
March 6, 2011 – Transfiguration Sunday

One day in the span of eternity, Jesus and Moses decide to visit their former stomping grounds for old time’s sake. While walking in the Sinai they come to a huge rock; Moses takes a wooden stick, strikes the rock, and water comes pouring forth. Jesus says, “Not bad, old man, not bad.” Upon entering a small village Jesus finds some jugs filled with water; he dips in a cup and the cup is miraculously full of wine. Moses said, “Still got the touch, huh?” Then they come to the Red Sea; Moses lifts his hands in the air, the waters part, and they cross safely. Jesus says, “Wow. That one is my all-time favorite.” After a few days’ journey they come to the Sea of Galilee; Jesus steps out onto the water and begins to walk across the surface. All of a sudden, he sinks like a stone. After he swims to the shore, he says to Moses, “I can’t understand it. I used to be able to do that, no problem.” Moses says to Jesus, “You putz! Now you’ve got holes in your feet!”

We love to relive the good old days, those days of glory when we were younger; things were familiar and comfortable, and seemingly more predictable. Though we would never admit to a desire to live in the past, many times we may find ourselves unconsciously trying to recreate the good memories and feelings we enjoyed in past relationships, events, and patterns of behavior. Even if some of Freud’s theories of psychology were a bit outlandish, he was right about one thing: we tend to project our myopic view of the past onto present circumstances as a way of creating a comfort zone to shield us from the unknown.

Look at what is coming out of Hollywood these days. Many big movies and TV shows are remakes of each other, or of Broadway productions, adaptations of popular books or earlier versions of a familiar story. Recent movies such as Tron: Legacy, Yogi Bear, The Green Hornet, The Green Lantern, and even True Grit are all examples of our longing for the familiar past recaptured by new technology and another generation of magic-makers. In the short term it generates a lot of excitement, but in the end, a steady diet of old-made-new produces a cynical viewing audience who think they’ve seen it all because they have.

When Peter sees Jesus in all his glory, together with Moses and Elijah from those good old days, it’s as if God were back in the house. Before Israel settled down and made a home, a temple for the presence of God, the Ark of the Covenant was placed in a tent that could be packed up and go wherever God led the people of Israel. As you know, the festival of Sukkot, or the festival of booths, is to remind faithful Jews of the wandering in the desert and of their dependency on God. Peter reacts to this holy event like any good Jew would: he wants to build booths for the presence of God revealed in Jesus.

But this isn’t the good old days of Israel. And what’s funny is that those good old days weren’t so good all the time. The people murmured and complained to Moses about the food and water. They turned from God and worshiped a golden calf. They were bitten by poisonous snakes. When Elijah was prophet, Israel was a divided kingdom and there was drought and famine in the land. He had to flee Israel because there was a price on his head from Israel’s foreign queen, Jezebel.

Though God’s people had not had a prophetic leader in a long time, even so they weren’t really paying attention to the new thing God was doing in their midst. Jesus wasn’t God’s version of “Prophet 3.0”—he wasn’t even behaving like the messiah that had been long-expected. God snaps Peter out of his ‘glory daze’ with words similar to those heard at Jesus’ baptism: “This is my son, the Beloved; with him I am well-pleased; listen to him!” It’s a new day! The Good News, fresh words of grace and mercy, peace and justice, are forthcoming—take notice!

Lately I have heard some murmuring here too. Excitement and anxiety levels are rising as the search committee begins to focus on a few talented candidates. There have been comments along the lines of: ‘I can’t wait for the new pastor to come in and take over’. In the most recent set of glory days your last pastor was a take-charge person. So, purposefully, I have not been a take-charge kind of pastor; in fact, that’s not even who I am. When moving on to new leadership it’s good to have another experience of leadership style, to open the community to other possibilities, other avenues of creativity and ministry.

When matching up congregations and pastors, it’s all about a good fit. There are different ways of being church and different ways of being a pastor and both can change in the course of their lives. It’s not about finding the right kind of pastor or being the right kind of congregation but whether or not you’re right for each other, whether or not you’re a good fit.

Receiving a new pastor can be a transfiguring event in the life of a faith community. Hopefully, though, it won’t be like the good old days before but like the new glory days ahead. Both the Exodus and Matthew passages refer to 'six days', recalling the sixth day of creation when humankind was created in the image of God. God is not done with you yet. God is still creating, still speaking.

Six days after Jesus foretells his death and resurrection he is transfigured into glory. Where Jesus leads, the church is to follow. You too will make sacrifices on your way to the cross. You too are called to carry your own cross and to die upon it. But you will also be resurrected into glory, into new life and yet-to-be-imagined possibilities. And not solely because of a new pastor but through the Holy Spirit working through your partnership in ministry.

What are you looking forward to as a church? What are your dreams, your hopes for the new glory days ahead? How open are you to the unexpected, to the surprising ways of the Holy Spirit? What past behaviors, expectations, and habits do you still need to let go of? What do you need to be doing in your own spiritual life to be able to follow Jesus wherever he leads?

Glory to God in the Highest by Cornelis Monsma

God is always coming into our lives in new and fresh ways, still creating, still speaking. We are made new whenever we listen, when we pay attention to Jesus and where he is going next. And when we go with Jesus, we’ll never be able to say that we’ve seen it all. It will be as the beloved hymn: “Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place, crowned as saints, we ever shall be lost in wonder, love and praise.” May it be so. Amen.

Going deep

2011-02-14T20:28:00.005-05:00

Psalm 119: 1-8; Matthew 5: 21-37
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
February 13, 2011

I can’t stand it when Jesus does this. For the past two weeks we’ve heard his gentleness, his compassion, his pastoral side. I guess he was softening up the crowd, turning over the hard soil of their hearts, killing them softly with his words, with his beatitudes song. Then Jesus added some salt and light to the mix, building up the people with a sense of purpose and mission, preparing them for these hard seeds necessary for the kingdom of God.

But before he directs them down the difficult discipleship road ahead, Jesus assures his listeners that the law of God is not going anywhere; that though he has come to give the people the good news, it does not change God’s expectations of us. In fact, it seems that God’s people were just skimming the surface of what God wanted from them, obeying the letter of the law without going to the heart of it. Even though they were living in the land of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, in truth they had made their home in exile. They had become estranged from God and from each other. They had treated God’s law as though it were a to-do list, their salvation as check marks.

Eugene Peterson in his paraphrase The Message tells it like this: “Trivialize even the smallest item in God's Law and you will only have trivialized yourself. But take it seriously, show the way for others, and you will find honor in the kingdom. Unless you do far better than the Pharisees in the matters of right living, you won't know the first thing about entering the kingdom.” When it comes to Jesus and God’s law, discipleship is all about right living, right relationships. If we aren’t right with God or with each other, how can we do and be what God needs for the beloved community, the kingdom of God?

We’d like to think that when we’re angry or frustrated, in any conflict, in any trouble we might be having, that it’s the other person, the clique, the other team, the competition, the government, other nations that are the problem. Gandhi once said that the only devils running around are the ones in our own hearts and that is where all our battles ought to be fought. Sounds like something Jesus would have said, what he is saying as he delves beneath the surface of the law and goes deep into it.

When we were kids we used to say “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” as a way of warding off the sting of whatever insult was being hurled our way. The truth is, words do hurt. Jesus is saying that words said in anger have the power to kill. We know this from the media attention given to bullying and from the young people who ended their lives. The internet was flooded with messages and resources about how to deal with the bullies in our schools, work places, even in our worship communities.

One of my pastors and my colleague, Rev. Jennifer Gingras, talked about bullying this past fall with the junior high youth group at the Monroe church. Through discussion and role play and telling their own stories they created an art project entitled “In Our Shoes”. The kids brought in an old shoe and decorated it with paint and glitter, writing their truth in fabric marker in the open spaces. Phrases like “Their words will always hurt me” remind us of the responsibility we bear whenever we speak, that hate or angry speech is not really what we mean by free speech. They wrote story cards that were randomly assigned to each shoe and wrote a litany that they then led the congregation with in worship. Through this project, eleven-, twelve- and thirteen-year-olds learned to not turn the other cheek meekly but with active resistance to the bullies in their lives.

Truly, Jesus is making perfect sense when he follows his ‘salt and light’ message with this one. Often when we shine brightly, when we give our unique flavor to the world, it is then that we can become an object of bullying. But bullies aren’t born that way. A bully is someone who suffered some sort of abuse; who never learned to defend themselves nor did they heal from their wounds. We all have our wounds; therefore, we are all capable of bullying, of lashing out at those who are actively being brave and authentic in the midst of their woundedness.

In all these difficult sayings and interpretations of God’s law, Jesus is telling the crowd and us that we can’t treat people as objects, as though it doesn’t matter what goes on in the hamster cage of our minds; as though it doesn’t matter what we say or don’t say. But we all know from personal experience, from being on the receiving end that it does matter. It does hurt to be treated as if we were made from sticks and stones, not the flesh and blood person we are.

So what is Jesus’ solution to this problem? Plucking out our eyes and cutting off our limbs? Making peace with the person who has something against us? At first glance it sounds pretty extreme—and focused solely on the offender rather than on the victim. But it’s not as if Jesus divided the crowd into victims and offenders, telling the victims that they were excluded from this part of the sermon. Offenders were once victims themselves. We’re all capable and culpable. We’ve all had our 15 minutes of bullying. If we’ve scoffed at or discarded someone else’s opinion, tried to close down a discussion, judged someone else’s efforts without offering to help, or taken 10 minutes to say what could be said in two (no wonder it’s called the bully pulpit), then we’ve been a church bully.

It all begins with us: whether or not we’ll put up with bullying, whether or not we will engage in it. Ironically, most bullies are met with more bullying, with angry words said in a whisper, sneering looks behind one’s back, cold shoulders, or by staying away completely. We tend to interpret Jesus’ words about turning the other cheek as being too kind in the face of injury and injustice, so either we flee or we fight back.

Counterprotest signs at a Westboro Baptist Church protest

Actually, when Jesus says to turn the other cheek, in today’s language it means that we need to set boundaries, to clearly communicate and expect what are acceptable behaviors and those that are not. To turn the other cheek is to say that hitting the first time was unacceptable; the second blow reveals the hardness of heart of the offender and the willingness of the victim to show compassion.

The ability to be compassionate and loving toward others is directly related to our ability to accept and love ourselves as we are. If we’re having problems being compassionate toward those who have hurt us, we’re also having problems loving ourselves. The poet W.H. Auden wrote in his poem “The Age of Anxiety”:

“We would rather be ruined than changed.
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the present
And let our illusions die.”

Through his radical interpretation of God’s law, Jesus is reaching out to save us from ourselves and offers an opportunity for us to change. Trouble is, we have to know we’re in need of saving, that indeed, there is no greater enemy than ourselves. 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich believed that sin is necessary in the life of faith because it leads us to self-knowledge, which leads to the acceptance of God’s role in our lives. Here it is again, the first three of the twelve steps: admitted we were powerless, that our lives had become unmanageable; came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity; made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God.

If you think these steps are only for addicts, you’re right. A bully is someone who is addicted to their own way, and we all have that demon running around inside us. None of us are immune. If we think to ourselves ‘that’s not me’, the only person we’re fooling is ourselves.

How deep are you willing to go with Jesus, both as a person of faith and as a Body of Christ? How have you been hurt by being a part of a church and what part of that hurt are you still holding onto? To whom do you need to go and come to terms with your accuser before offering your gift at the altar of God? What if during the passing of the peace we actually made peace by saying we’re sorry and asking for forgiveness? In what areas of church life and in your own life are you insisting on your own way? What makes it difficult for you to let go of the outcome and trust God?

After I posted my word for 2011, which is ‘forgive’, a blog friend shared a brief, blunt prayer with me that cut like a knife through my ego: “Forgive them. Change me.” May we all be blessed with the courage, humility, and the serenity to offer this prayer each day.

Amen.

A new blog on the rolls

2011-02-12T09:32:00.010-05:00

Through an online workshop I'm taking with Mondo Beyondo, I've found a creative blog to follow:

Loved: A Ritual, by Kristin Noelle, 2011

You can sign up for 30 days of sketches based on the theme of trust here. If you want to see a sample of what you'll be getting, click here and here. It's like the New Yorker cartoons, but with kindness and grace.

I have her listed under "People to See" as Life Beyond Fear.

Enough

2011-02-06T21:40:00.005-05:00

Salt Shaker 2, Craig Stephens, 2008

Isaiah 58: 1-12; Matthew 5: 13-20
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
February 6, 2011

From when my girls were about 5 or 6 years old to even now, every so often, when we’re eating out at a restaurant, they like to sprinkle a little salt from the shaker into their hands and lick it off. How many of us did that when we were young? Most of us like the taste of salt on our food, but we all know the warnings about too much. We tell ourselves and our children to ‘go easy on the salt’.

Another basic element that Jesus uses in his lengthy sermon in Matthew is light. Our parents would tell us not to look at the sun too long or it would damage our eyes. We have to be careful when we’re out in the sun, making sure we use sunscreen and a hat, perhaps limiting our time outside. And yet we love light: how it causes living things to grow, the way it creates long shadows and colors and warmth. Many people suffer from seasonal affective disorder because of the decreased amount of daylight during the winter months.

Both salt and light are necessary for a good life. Too much or too little of either one can be harmful. Sometimes we wonder how we know how much salt or light is enough. However, in this morning’s gospel lesson Jesus isn’t talking about balance. Jesus is telling the crowd that they can never be too salty or too much light. Eugene Peterson, in his paraphrase The Message, puts it this way:

“Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

“Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father/Mother in heaven.”

‘Be generous with your lives.’ That can sound daunting on some days. How often do we feel less than equal to our lives, let alone have what it takes to be generous with them? Time and again we feel we’re not enough, that our days are more apt to take the stuff out of us, leaving our lives bland and gray. Salt and light? We wish.

And yet wouldn’t it make sense that God created us with what is not only necessary for our lives but fill us to overflowing? God is extravagant with grace; it’s we who can be cautious with it sometimes. God’s love is unconditional; it’s we who set limits on how far our love and compassion can go.

In her book The Soul of Money, author Lynne Twist speaks to the myth of scarcity that we repeat to ourselves every day. When you wake up in the morning, what are the first thoughts you have? For many folks it goes something like this: “I didn’t get enough sleep. I don’t have enough energy or time to do everything that has to be done today.” She writes that the thought ‘not enough’ occurs to us automatically, without little or no critical thought as to whether it’s true. We tell ourselves things like “I don’t get enough exercise, I don’t have enough work, my company is not making enough profits, I’m not organized enough, I don’t have enough money, I don’t have enough time off”.

Then it gets personal: “I’m not thin enough, pretty, handsome, successful, smart, educated”—add your own to that ever-growing list. Before the day even begins we’re found wanting, unable to rise to whatever challenge that has been set before us. We’re always behind the 8-ball, like Sisyphus pushing that mighty boulder to nowhere.

We do this at church as well: we’re not big enough, we don’t have enough money, we don’t have enough members, we don’t have enough time to do everything. Hence we can’t be generous with the life of the church, the Body of Christ, because we’ve convinced ourselves we don’t have enough to give, let alone have enough for ourselves.

What would happen if we operated from a place of sufficiency, that is to say, what if instead of a mindset of scarcity, we came from a place of faith that declares we are enough? Do we really believe that God could be so cruel as to give us purpose and mission and yet not give us power equal to our tasks? Of course not! Then why do we choose to focus on lack rather than on the many gifts and blessings God has sent our way?

The Extravagant Generosity of God, Ruth Tietjen Councell, 2008

Author Marianne Williamson says that “[joy] is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.” Some might think of that as a Pollyanna way to live, but I think Pollyanna has gotten a bad rap. Joy and gratitude are what make it possible for us to live through the tough times, to have faith that God does have our best interests at heart, and yes, that things are actually going to be okay.

The prophet Isaiah tells us that God isn’t interested in our wasted spirits, our drawn faces, our souls empty from always being busy yet having enough energy to whine and complain. Curiously enough, when we occupy ourselves and our hearts with the problems and needs of others, rather than our need to look busy or so worn out no one will ask us to do anything—that’s when our light shines. When we feed the hungry, when we put warm clothing on those who need it, when we welcome the homeless into our homes, when we put aside our work, the phone, the computer and we make ourselves fully available to our families, that’s when the light comes on and stays on.

Again, Eugene Peterson, from the prophet Isaiah:

“If you get rid of unfair practices,
quit blaming victims,
quit gossiping about other people's sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
firm muscles, strong bones.
You'll be like a well-watered garden,
a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You'll be known as those who can fix anything,
restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
make the community livable again.”

You are enough, just the way you are. Be generous with your lives. So go ahead and shine! Don’t worry about losing your flavor. With God, there’s plenty more where that came from.

Amen.

A fool's errand

2011-01-31T21:43:00.007-05:00

Micah 6: 6-8; Psalm 15
1 Corinthians 1: 25-31; Matthew 5: 1-12
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
January 30, 2011

This past Tuesday evening I did not watch President Obama’s State of the Union speech on TV. Rather I have watched clips of it on the Internet. Though I generally support our president, there was one set of remarks he made that gave me pause:

“We need to out-innovate, out-educate, and out-build the rest of the world. We have to make America the best place on Earth to do business. We need to take responsibility for our deficit and reform our government. That’s how our people will prosper. That’s how we’ll win the future.”

Sadly, the language of empire still manages to find its way into presidential rhetoric. Capitalism is still the bottom line. I know that the president must contend with Tea Party Republicans and blue dog Democrats and all the rest while striving to remain true to his own goals and values. I saw a photo of a protest poster that read “Obama is not a brown-skinned anti-war socialist who gives away free health care. You’re thinking of Jesus.” I know Obama is not Jesus nor should any of us expect him to be.

And yet I ache inside when the counterculture language of the Bible is overshadowed by our country’s nationalism and our longing for the so-called glory days when the United States was a superpower in every way. What a contrast to phrases such as ‘blessed are the meek’, ‘walk humbly’, and ‘God’s weakness is stronger than human strength’! Yet these words can seem hollow and empty as we human beings continue to grasp for possessions, power and financial security.

All of these lectionary passages speak of how to live in this world—with open vulnerability and authenticity. So much of our culture is about coping with or covering up or protecting or numbing or denying our weaknesses. As I’ve said before, none of us wants to be taken for a fool. And yet we who follow Jesus up that small hill to hear that in our lowest moments we are blessed, against the megaphone of this world and even our own experiences, on some days all our faithfulness can seem like foolishness.

We follow a man who preached love in the face of fear and death, who threatened those in power by eating and drinking with prostitutes and tax collectors and raising the dead, who died on the Roman Empire’s version of the electric chair. In the eyes of the world we are fools. Suckers for Jesus. But the more I preach that story, the more rebellious and subversive I want to become. And that’s the transformation, the life-changing moment that Jesus is after in each one of us; that the story becomes so compelling that it releases our grip on our fear, lifts us out of the narrow view of our own story, and puts us smack dab in the middle of someone else’s story. Like this one.

Every night Julio Diaz, a thirtysomething social worker, ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner. One night in March of 2008, as Diaz stepped off the train and onto a nearly empty platform, he was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy came up to him and pulled out a knife.

The kid wanted his wallet, so Diaz just handed it over. As the boy began to walk away, Diaz said to him, “Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.”

The kid looked at Diaz, “like what's going on here?” He asked Diaz, “Why are you doing this?”

Diaz replied, “If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.” Being a social worker, Diaz thought he could help the guy. They went into the diner and sat in a booth.

Since Diaz is a regular, pretty soon the manager, the dishwashers, the waiters all come by to say hi. The kid said to Diaz, “You know everybody here. Do you own this place?”

“No, I just eat here a lot,” Diaz told him. The kid replied, “But you're even nice to the dishwasher.”

Diaz replied, “Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?”

“Yeah, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way,” the boy said.

Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. The kid sat there with almost a sad face. He couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to.

When the bill arrived, Diaz said to his would-be robber, “Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you.”

The kid didn’t think twice and returned the wallet to Diaz, who gave the boy $20, figuring who knows? Maybe it would help. Diaz then asked for something in return — the young man’s knife —and he gave it to Diaz.

Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, “You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch.” The way Diaz figures it, “if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world.” [1]

What was the last foolish, makes-no-sense, upside-down thing you did for Jesus? If the cross is foolishness, why are you still here? If serving at this church can sometimes be one of the hardest things you do, what keeps you coming back?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

Amen.

1. http://www.npr.org/2008/03/28/89164759/a-victim-treats-his-mugger-right

Snowrise

2011-01-27T07:49:00.005-05:00

Another January morning, another snowstorm (10"), another snow day for my girls.

Now the sun is shining through our east-facing window--bright and gold through the icicles.

The moon is setting and the snow is rising!

Trust me

2011-01-24T12:55:00.005-05:00

Calling Disciples, He Qi

Isaiah 9: 1-4; Matthew 4: 12-23
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
January 23, 2011

Boyd Packer, a prominent leader in the Mormon Church, tells the story of Dr. Faun Hunsaker, who was visiting their Southern States mission. Dr. Hunsaker was invited to stay at the home of a member, arriving after the children had gone to bed. He was given the parents’ bedroom to stay in.

During the night he heard the door open and the sound of little feet. A little boy frightened by a bad dream had come to his parents' bed for comfort. Sensing that something was different, the little boy felt Brother Hunsaker's face. So he spoke quietly to the child. The startled youngster said, “You're not my daddy!”

“No, I'm not your daddy.”

“Did my daddy say you could sleep here?”

“Yes, your daddy said I could sleep here.”

With that the little youngster crawled into bed with Brother Hunsaker and was soon asleep. [1]

We are soft-wired for connection and trust. We come into this world trusting that the people around us will take care of, love, feed, and comfort us. Through our relationships with our families and later on, with other adults and peers, our ability to trust becomes more complex. We adapt what we’ve learned, gauge what we can say and do with new people based on previous experiences, and choose whether to renew trust with someone who has broken it. If we’ve experienced any kind of abuse, it can be very difficult for us to form connections, to feel like we belong, or to trust ourselves, let alone anyone else.

I Will Make You Fishers of Men, Joey Velasco

Interestingly enough, we are hard-wired for caution and fear, and with good reason. These innate characteristics have saved human beings from becoming the next meal of a grizzly bear or African lion all the way to keeping us from making friends with every person on the street. Caution and fear are what keep us alive some days. They wise us up, saving us in our foolish and reckless youth to living to be older and levelheaded adults.

In fact, we’re so hard-wired for fear and caution that it’s possible to be born without these qualities. It’s called Williams syndrome. Children born with this disorder are biologically incapable of distrust. Yes, most children are friendly, conversing with strangers in public, waving, smiling, mimicking others’ faces, mannerisms, and words. Imagine, though, if during the course of an innocent conversation, your child then said to an unknown adult, “Will you take me? Can I come home with you?”

Children with Williams syndrome are unconditionally trusting and loving. They have no social fear whatsoever. The boy in the previous story was startled, scared to find someone else sleeping in his parents’ bed. He asked questions. He wanted to know if this unknown person had permission from the person he trusted the most, his father. Children with Williams syndrome must be taught these behavioral lessons over and over again, often living very sheltered lives.

However, in this morning’s gospel lesson, we see Jesus’ first disciples behaving as though they are unconditionally trusting as well. They ask no questions. Jesus does not say by what authority or training they will be doing this ‘fishing for people’. Thus far he hasn’t preached any sermons, healed any people, or performed any kind of miracle. Yet Peter and Andrew, James and John immediately leave their nets and boats, their families and community to follow Jesus. What would induce them to trust this unknown and as yet, untested rabbi?

Calling of St. Peter and St. Andrew, James Tissot (1886 - 1894)

The author of Matthew himself gives Jesus some geographical credentials by quoting from the prophet Isaiah: “He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”

The territories of Zebulun and Naphtali, two of the lost tribes of Israel, to listeners in both Isaiah’s time and in Jesus’ would be like us hearing about places like Mogadishu, Afghanistan, the Sudan, Vietnam—places where war and its atrocities had made a living hell for those who live there.

So when Jesus moves into this neighborhood, he is saying in no uncertain terms that he has come for the lost, for those who live in the shadow of death, for those who have been forgotten. Jesus and his disciples would not be fishing for converts but for those the world has left behind. They would be doing God’s work of gathering in those still in exile: the poor, the outcast, those considered unclean. For this reason, these first few disciples trusted Jesus with their lives.

Think of the people you trust, with whom you can be your most vulnerable self. What is it that makes them so trustworthy? What qualities do they possess? Usually these are folks we can believe in, that is to say, they have integrity, their insides match their outside—they are authentic.

When we say we believe in Jesus, what we mean is that we believe, we trust that he is the authentic, utterly faithful image of the fullness of God. For some Christians that means Jesus is the Son of God, born of a virgin, who came to take away our sins. For others this is not necessary in order to believe in Jesus; rather there are Christians who look to Jesus, his actions, his teachings, his authenticity as one who fully embodies God’s law and love.

Because of the Enlightenment in the 18th century, the words ‘trust’,’ believe’, and ‘faith’ have come more to mean to ascribe to a creed or doctrine or religious code. Actually, these words have more to do with loyalty and relationship than with any kind of test. The word ‘believe’ comes from an old English word which means ‘to belove’. When we say we believe in Jesus, we believe in God, we believe in the Holy Spirit, what we’re really saying is that we belove them. We have a relationship with them. We trust them. We trust that when a promise is made, that it will be fulfilled; that we are unconditionally loved; that when we are lost, we will be found; that the kingdom of God truly indeed dwells within us and amongst us.

We could quote Bible verses, the Nicene and Apostles’ creeds, and the Ten Commandments until the cows come home. We could agree with every set of statements that exist about the Christian faith. But this is not what it means to be faithful, to trust God, to believe in Jesus. The opposite of faith and trust is not doubt but anxiety, worry, fear. Think about how often during the course of the day you are worried, anxious, fearful. Think about those times you have felt those feelings at church. Are there people here with whom you can share your anxiety, your worries, your fears? Is this a church where these feelings are talked about openly and authentically or with only a few?

Keeping our anxiety, worry and fear to ourselves is what makes us feel lost, is what drives apart community and gets us feeling purposeless, wandering—as though we are in the dark. When a community, a church operates from within the shadows, all of the decisions made, even with the best of intentions, contain within them an undercurrent of anxiety and worry. Being open and honest about these feelings takes away their power over us, bringing the light of God into that shadowy place. Believing in one another, being faithful in our commitment to each other, trusting that everyone is doing the best they can with what they’ve got—this is how we are found, it’s what brings us together, and gives our life together meaning. This is what makes a church feel like home.

Jesus said, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Said another way, “Belove one another as I have beloved you. Believe in one another as I have believed in you.” Jesus trusted these disciples, not because they were exemplary people, not because they had proved themselves in some way, not even because they might have been good fishermen. He trusted them because they said ‘yes’ to him when he hadn’t promised a thing except that they would be catching people.

At some point you said ‘yes’ to Jesus and to each other. You say it each time you come to worship, when you serve on a committee, when you put money in an envelope, when you teach Sunday School, when you bring food and help out at a mission meal and any other number of ways. But as in any relationship, when was the last time you said it out loud and really meant it? Jesus trusts you to do God’s work of gathering in the lost. If Jesus has called each and every one of us, who are we to be anxious?

Amen.

1. http://lds.org/ensign/1986/11/little-children?lang=eng

The antidote

2011-01-19T18:33:00.005-05:00

Isaiah 42: 1-9; Matthew 3: 1-2, 11-17
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
January 9, 2011

None of us likes to be fooled nor do we want to miss the boat on anything either. It seems that most of us are persuaded that there must be one right way to do things; usually our way or the way of the mob, the majority or those in the resistance camp. We want to know who and what is right so we won’t have to be wrong. For many folks certainty is the unconscious drive behind religious faith. Or the rejection of religious faith. As I said, none of us likes to be hoodwinked.

Recently a group of folks volunteered for a study to not only be hoodwinked but told openly by researchers that they would be. The study was conducted by Harvard Medical School and Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. 80 patients with irritable bowel syndrome were divided into two groups: one group was given a placebo to be taken twice a day, the other was given nothing. The hitch was that those who took the placebo knew they were taking sugar pills. Some of the patients and a few of the doctors conducting the study were skeptical as to whether or not the pills would have any effect on symptoms. Placebo studies that had been carried out in the past concealed the fact that patients were taking sugar pills. Though the placebos in many cases worked, hence the term ‘the placebo effect’, the secrecy surrounding the pills made it unethical for doctors to prescribe them.

Surprisingly, 59% of those who knowingly took sugar pills had adequate relief of symptoms compared to 35% of the group who took nothing. And of course, there were no side effects. Researchers theorized that it was the ritual of taking a pill that did the trick. Usually when we take aspirin or something for a headache, we of course expect relief more so than when we don’t take anything.

Many more studies need to be done before doctors could prescribe placebos. So far sugar pills have only been effective on maladies due to an overactive nervous system, that is, stress and anxiety. However, it does beg the question if an honest placebo would work with more serious illnesses like Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, cancer and others. If the cure to what ails us is in our minds, wouldn’t it be miraculous not to have to poison our bodies in order to be well and whole?

The word ‘placebo’ is actually a 13th c. name given to the rite Vespers of the Office of the Dead, which comes from the opening of the first antiphon or responsive song, taken from Psalm 116.9: “I will please the Lord in the land of the living”. ‘Placebo’ means ‘I will please’, the future tense of the Latin placere. In the late 17th c. the word placebo gained its medical meaning: a medicine taken to please rather than to benefit the patient.

In this morning’s gospel lesson we read that after Jesus is baptized by John, God is well-pleased; that somehow Jesus submitting to John for baptism pleases God. Through the centuries many have been puzzled as to why Jesus would require baptism. It’s not as though he was a sinful person needing repentance, to turn toward God. We’ve heard at least six weeks’ worth of readings that Jesus is God-with-us. What benefit would there be to Jesus receiving John’s baptism of repentance?

In fact, John and his message of repentance were seen as an insidious poison by the powers that be. He challenged the status quo, calling the people out from the cities and towns, declaring that God was not in the seat of power but in the homeless wilderness of our lives. He hurled insults and levied charges against both the Pharisees and Sadducees, the religious authorities of his time. He was loud and obnoxious, clothed in animal skins, his diet that of a wild bear.

So when Jesus wades into the Jordan in front of God and everybody, asking John to baptize him, Jesus aligns himself with this apparent poisonous personality. Even though Jesus is both physician and medicine to our souls, to sin and evil, Jesus looks like poison.

We all know or have known people who have toxic personalities. They spread chaos in their wake, they hurt and destroy, they shame and blame others. Perhaps we’ve even been a member of a church where one or more of these bullies was a leader or a behind-the-scenes-wrecker. It’s not easy being in community with the person we least want to be there. When Jesus said ‘love your enemies’, I would bet this is the kind of person who would be the most difficult to love.

And though it may be easy to identify such persons, it’s not as simple as that. Often what irks, angers or frustrates us in other people are traits that we ourselves possess. Rather than examine the health of our own psyche, it’s much easier to diagnose someone else’s problems. All of us are capable of wreaking havoc, large or small, in our communal lives.

Before worship began, I gave two small containers to two different people.

(Here is where the manuscript of my sermon ended, and the extemporaneous began. I had given the two containers pictured to two different worshipers before service. I gave no instruction, except that they may do with them as they wished and that I needed them back at the conclusion of worship. I did not think ahead of time who I would ask; rather I followed the Spirit's leading. What follows is a paraphrase of the rest of my sermon.)

Interesting! The person I gave the button to now has both the prescription bottle and the button pinned to his shirt. The prescription bottle took a trip around the room but the button stayed in one place.

(Incidentally, the bottle had a label on it that said "DAMITOL - Warning: Contents may be hazardous to community life. Keep out of reach of children." Inside the bottle was a slip of paper that read "Active ingredients: Fear, anxiety, self-absorption, anger, non-communicated expectations, assumptions about others. Possible side effects: Conflict, bruised egos. If taken with a dose of grace, there is increased likelihood for spiritual growth.")

Now I could make all kinds of allusions to why one object traveled and one stayed in one place, but I think you can guess those yourself. The thing of it is, is that too often our tradition treats baptism as if it was the antidote to fear and sin, as if the waters of baptism had the power to turn us away from ourselves toward God.

Baptism is the outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible reality, that we have made a choice to follow Jesus, to recognize others as a child of God and to treat them that way. Sure, it would be nice to wear a button that says that we are a child of God and I hope you'll treat me that way, but that's not what it means to follow Jesus. To follow Jesus means to take the focus off of ourselves and instead look at others with clear and compassionate eyes. It means making this decision each and every day, that we will follow Jesus.

Jesus is the antidote, taken through the waters of baptism. In Jesus, God says to us, "You are my child and I will treat you that way."

(The idea for this sermon came to me in a dream. I was little nervous: one, because of the source of the idea, and two, because it was open-ended. I didn't have a clue what would happen.)

The word for this year is...

2011-01-05T12:51:00.008-05:00

Jan over at Yearning for God is trying to discern a word for the New Year. Rather than formulating some useless resolution that will only be broken just in time for guilt-inducing Lent (now I really do have to give up whatever it is), why not instead have a word to remember for the year? A word to challenge, to guide, to comfort, to focus and bring me round again.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I prayed for a word; that it might come to me in a dream or be wandering in the fog as I wake up. My subconscious seemed to be lying in wait, because right on the heels of my request came the word: Forgive.

Forgive myself every time I make a mistake or fall off the pedestal of other people's expectations that I've put myself on.

Forgive all the drivers who cut me off, won't let me in, tailgate me, all of us in our own little auto-worlds.

Forgive folks for who they are not and love them for who they are.

Forgive the Church for the same reason as the one above. Love the Church for what it is.

Forgive my former stepmother and how our relationship ended but never had closure.

Forgive my father for smoking until the day he died of a heart attack.

Some of this forgiving work I thought I had already done and finished with it. But forgiveness is like an onion - there are many layers and as each one gets peeled away, sometimes it can make you cry.

And of course, the biggie....forgive God. For all the things I've ascribed to her and all the ways I've blamed him. Like most who receive my blame, God hasn't deserved it. Forgive me.

Camped out

2011-01-03T19:34:00.007-05:00

The Christ Child by Mike Chapman, 1999
"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..." (John 1: 14)

Sirach 24: 1-12; John 1: 1-18
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
January 2, 2011

My mother has never really liked camping, and now that I’m an adult I can understand why. Basically, it’s like living at home, only more work. Cooking was done over an open fire or a charcoal hibachi or on a propane stove. Pots and pans, plates, cups and silverware were washed in a single, small wash basin. The fridge was essentially a cooler with a bottom container for a block of ice, which also had a spigot for water as the ice melted. The bathroom could be a few yards or a short bike ride away. In summer we could usually count on a dozen or more mosquito bites and what you might call ‘traveling sickness’. In May and October the nights were almost always cold.

Of course my younger brother and I loved it. We got to sleep in our clothes, eat cook-out food every night, roast marshmallows, and sleep in the back of the station wagon, then a tent, and finally a pop-up trailer. Our family could not afford any other kind of vacation, but in all we visited 19 states including the entire eastern seaboard and four of the Maritime Provinces in Canada.

Sometimes when visiting family long-distance we would stay in the trailer especially if we had brought the dog and the cat with us. At a family reunion in Mississippi we set up the trailer in the backyard so there would be more room in my grandparents’ house for aunts and uncles and cousins. In 1976 we went to General Synod in Washington, D.C. but camped in Fairfax, VA because it was much more affordable than the Hilton hosting the meeting. Camping became a way for my family to go anywhere we wanted, to have a home, a familiar dwelling in a strange place.

When Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt on their long journey to the promised land, God went before them. When the law, the ten commandments, were given, they were then contained in the ark of the covenant, an ornamental chest that was carried on two long poles shouldered by Levite priests. As God’s people journeyed through the desert, they would make camp and the ark of the covenant would be placed in a tabernacle—a tent-like dwelling where God promised to meet with Israel. It was a sanctuary, a temple of the Most High God that could go wherever the people went—a home, a familiar dwelling in a strange place. You could say that God camped out with the people of God.

From the apocryphal book Sirach we heard that Wisdom pitched her tent with Jacob and the people of Israel; that in the holy tent Wisdom ministered before the Creator and in Jerusalem Wisdom took root and was given a resting place, presumably the great temple built by Solomon.

Though revelation and salvation have come in particular times and locations throughout human history, God’s dwelling place was never meant to become permanent, was never intended to become prime real estate or a reason for war. Rather, like Jesus’ ancestor Ruth, God goes where we go, God dwells we dwell. As was said by the Lakota holy man Black Elk, the holy land is everywhere.

Model of the tabernacle that housed the Ark of the Covenant

It has been the practice of humankind since before recorded history to mark a holy site, a place where God’s presence was unmistakable, with what the Celts call a cairn or a makeshift altar—a simple pile of stones. Some of these can still be seen all over the world. These markers point the way along the path rather than assert the privileged claim that God can only be found here.

As Christians we believe that God pitched a tent with us in the life of Jesus, the kingdom of God dwelling within us and within all creation. Over the centuries our hubris has led us to make exclusive claims that God-with-us is more like God-is-with-us. God-with-us, God living in the human tabernacle says more about God than it does about us. In his first letter to the Corinthians Paul uses tabernacle as a metaphor for the human body, that our bodies are temple-tents for the living God, reminding us not only of the temporary nature of our lives but also that God is deeply and intimately connected to us.

And we know from the life of Jesus that God goes with us even into the most terrifying, messiest, loneliest places of our lives. So we shouldn’t be so surprised when Jesus invites us to make camp in the most terrifying, messiest, loneliest places in other people’s lives. As my good friend Larry Wood once said, because [Jesus the] Christ is spacious and gracious, the fit can be a little baggy. I’ve never known a tent that wasn’t a little baggy—which is reassuring when we are trying to make some room within us and in our lives for this newborn Jesus.

Nativity icon - in many of these Mary is depicted as being in a womb

And the mystery of it all is that through the birth of Jesus God lives in us and we live and move and have our being in God as well. We dwell within each other, going where the other goes, setting up camp, a sanctuary, a home, a temple for the Most High God, a familiar dwelling in all those strange places we are compelled and called to go.

The question is, how attached are we to the way things are and what we think we know? What are we carrying that needs to be left behind or given away? How far are we willing to go on this camping trip with Jesus? Yes, it’s more work but it’s work that will bring all of us home.

Advent gave us time to prepare for the birth; Epiphany is our time to experience God’s presence as unmistakable. In Epiphany we get ready for the journey, one that eventually leads to the cross. In the words of the poet: “…but Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement; for nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.” We are being made into a sanctuary, a holy tabernacle, a temple-tent, one that can make itself at home in a stable with homeless shepherds yet take us all the way to the foot of the cross.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary
Pure and holy
Tried and true
With thanksgiving I’ll be a living
Sanctuary
For you

Regalo abbracci - Felice anno nuovo!

2010-12-31T19:58:00.002-05:00

For all whose 2010 requires an embrace. My love and friendship to you in 2011.

Incarnation = Vulnerable

2010-12-24T20:39:00.008-05:00

Vulnerable (c) 2005 Linda Huber

Genesis 3; Luke 2
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
Christmas Eve – 2010

(Much of this meditation is due the work of Professor Brené Brown, a researcher/storyteller at the University Of Houston Graduate College Of Social Work. I am profoundly thankful that there are academics studying what makes for joy in human living.)

Tonight we celebrate the incarnation, the embodiment of the sacred, that mystery of God-with-us in the birth of Jesus. What does that mean, the embodiment of the sacred? What does it mean that God is with us in Jesus? How does a mystery like that make any difference after we’ve taken down the Christmas tree and put away the ornaments and the nativity set? What are we really celebrating?

We call this a holy night, a holy birth because God came into this world and into our lives in a way we had not experienced before. And yet God has always been coming into this world, seeking a connection, a relationship with the creation, with every living thing. All through the salvation story we can see how God reaches out, human beings reject. God allows human beings to suffer the consequences of their disconnection, human beings repent. God then opens the way to return to connection and relationship. Sounds like any normal interaction between a parent and a child. Or between any two people who have made themselves vulnerable to one another through love.

When we say that in Christmas we celebrate the incarnation, what we are really celebrating is vulnerability. Being vulnerable is when we say ‘I love you’ first, without thought to a response. Being vulnerable is allowing ourselves to be fully seen, to risk ourselves with no guarantees. Being vulnerable is investing ourselves in a relationship that may not work and doing it anyway.

Being vulnerable is messy. It’s a messy way to live. When we open ourselves like that, when we love, we expose ourselves to the possibility of rejection and pain. We all know what that’s like, to love and to not be loved in return. We can become guarded, careful, fearful, shamed by our experience, wondering if we are even worthy of love. Some of us may have learned from those experiences not to open ourselves like that ever again.

However, when we guard our hearts from pain and rejection, we also close the way to joy and creativity and the ability to give. Professor Brené Brown says that adults today are the most in-debt, obese, addicted and medicated in U.S. history. We find ways to numb ourselves, to keep this feeling of being vulnerable under lock and key. We all do this. If we think we are exempt, we are fooling no one but us. Perhaps we are not in debt but we still buy more than we need and save not nearly enough. We may not be obese but we still indulge ourselves at the table or between meals and we lead less-than-active lives. We may not be addicted to drugs or alcohol or tobacco; we may not be on medication but we still have to have that coffee or soda or some kind of treat; we engage in too much screen time of any kind.

All of this serves to soften the cliff-like edge between us and that open chasm of our feelings. But feelings are feelings and they travel the same pathway whether they be sorrow or joy, hope or despair, anxiety or calm, fear or love. When we numb ourselves to the bad stuff, we also blunt our ability to feel the good stuff. We then become miserable, which leads us to feeling vulnerable, which then leads us to engage in our numbing behaviors and the cycle begins all over again.

And the shocking thing of it is our culture has given us permission to do this: it’s called rewarding ourselves, treating ourselves, giving ourselves a little comfort; after all, we say, we deserve it considering all we put up with. This is how our culture makes money, it’s Madison Avenue at its finest; this is how an empire is made and recessions are born: with human misery, out of our inability to deal with the fact that life is vulnerable and messy.

From the very beginning life on this earth has been that way. The only instance when there was no mess, no risk was in that formless void. When God spoke, when energy became matter, mess and risk entered in and hunkered down for the duration. In the creation of the heavens and the earth and especially in human beings, God not only created vulnerability but also became vulnerable to the creation. In reaching out and desiring a connection with those made in the divine image, God became willing to the possibility of being a jilted lover. And our history with God has been one of the messiest love stories ever since.

In the birth of Jesus, God became completely and utterly vulnerable. In both the Matthew and Luke nativity stories, Jesus is born into a mess of some sort, whether it be under the rule of a vengeful king, the Roman occupation or laid in a feeding trough for animals. His parents were peasants, his hometown full of coarse, minimally-educated folks who worked hard and lived simple lives. His birth was witnessed by homeless shepherds or a few magi wanted for questioning, depending on which story you read.

When we are born and when we die we are at our most vulnerable and dependent. As children we love with our whole hearts, we immerse ourselves in joy and in play. It is only as we grow that we learn that the world may not and sometimes does not love us as we love ourselves. And so we begin the cycle of shame and fear that can plague us all through our adult lives.

In Jesus, God shows us how to live a vulnerable, open, wholehearted, joyful life. From Jesus we learn the risk, the price of a wholehearted love but we also learn courage, hope, and the knowledge that not only are others worthy of love and compassion but that we are too. Jesus teaches us through his vulnerable life and messy death that the practice of gratitude, joy and love are possible even in the face of great terror so that we might be able to face our own fears and be healed.

The Vulnerable Happiness of a Cherry Tree, Trine Wejp-Olsen, 2007

In Jesus we celebrate that God is fully known; God allows God’s self to be fully and deeply seen, granting us the trust we need to allow ourselves to be fully and deeply seen by others. Only in this way can we truly and deeply see others as they are. Yes, we are imperfect; yes, our lives and our life together are often quite messy. We are also worthy, just as we are.

So, baby Jesus, welcome to this messy, imperfect world! We’re glad you’re here. A weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Merry Christmas, Church! Amen.

Least likely

2010-12-15T09:56:00.002-05:00

Saint John the Baptist, Giovanni Francesco Barbieri (1591 - 1666)

Isaiah 35: 1-10; Matthew 11: 2-11
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
December 12, 2010 – Advent 3

I am a fan of the underdog, the supposed losers of this world. I cheered for the New Orleans Saints in last year’s Super Bowl. I grew up south of Boston, with a baseball team that long-suffered under a curse. I work for a guy who was homeless, poor, talked about loving one’s enemies and being blessed for meekness, who died a horrible death, convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.

I’m a soft touch when it comes to Salvation Army volunteers, a street person asking for a few bucks, or the many causes that fill my mailbox and ask for my time on the phone. I invite those wet-behind-the-ears, young Mormon men into my home for something to eat or hot to drink as they pass through our neighborhood every few years. When someone comes to my front door to ask for support I sign the petition and write letters to folks in Congress to abolish the death penalty or to save Long Island Sound.

I love stories about individuals and communities facing incredible odds, and maybe they don’t win the battle, they don’t save the day, but they get back up again the next day and try once more. I appreciate the courage it takes when someone is willing to step out on a limb, try their best, and though it may be far from perfect, it is enough. I love the rich, sumptuous, crowded list of those ‘least likely’.

In this morning’s reading from Isaiah we have a rather strange neighborhood: God’s ‘least-likelihood’: wilderness and desert are singing, flowers are blooming on the dry, barren land, weary hands are given strength, wobbly knees are made firm; the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame leap like deer, the voiceless break into song; springs of water spout forth in the desert and streams flow, like a wadi or a dry riverbed after a heavy rain; the hot sand will become a quenching pool, the thirsty ground will spout like a water fountain; even where jackals and coyotes hang out will be like a soaking swamp, and the dry grass will become lush and glossy.

Blue Reeds, a glass sculpture by Dale Chihuly, Phoenix Desert Botanical Garden

And in this least likely oasis there will be a highway, a holy road that will lead God’s people out of exile. The least likely possibility will happen, that God’s people who had been taken captive will now be welcomed home. Even those who usually lose their way will be able to find this road and follow it. For so very long God’s people could not sing their songs of home; now they shall find their voices. The seemingly endless sorrow and grieving will give way to everlasting joy. It is a dream that belongs to all of us, for we all long for home and wholeness.

By the time of John the Baptist, a time of house arrest for God’s people with the Roman occupation, the collective memory of this ‘least likely’ dream had faded. It had been some time since a prophet had been seen in Judah. Given the circumstances, many had expectations that the Messiah would come soon. Some thought he would lead a revolution to oust the Romans and establish King David’s dynastic throne once more.

So when John appeared on the scene, the very voice crying out in the wilderness, many thought he was Elijah come again to herald the advent of the Messiah, who would be the stream flowing in the desert. John’s call to repentance reminded God’s people of that least likely oasis, that peace where one expects strife, that hope where one expects despair. The people flooded the wilderness with the anticipation that now it would be God who would travel that holy road to them, that the Messiah would be their rescuer.

John also had his own expectations, someone with more fire, who would put things right, overturn the oppressive regime; someone with more power than one who talks about turning the other cheek. This Jesus didn’t seem like a very likely messiah. As John sat in prison thinking about what he was hearing from his followers, he might have been wondering if losing his life was worth it. And it sounds as if John’s disciples may have come to the same conclusion: “Are you the One we’ve been expecting, or are we waiting for another?”

Can you hear the guardedness in that question, the desire to not misplace their hopes: “You sound like the least likely candidate for the Messiah. Are you sure we can trust you, follow you?” After all, Jesus’ curriculum vita wasn’t exactly top drawer. The prophet Micah wrote about the place of his birth: “And you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” Or as Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message: “But you, Bethlehem, David's country, the runt of the litter—from you will come the leader who will shepherd-rule Israel.” And before you form in your mind a lovely pastoral image of green pastures and still waters, let me remind you that shepherds were one of the lowest-caste occupations in the Middle East. They were poor, uneducated, sometimes criminal. From the most hick-town will come a bandit to lead a ragtag, often rebellious people. Yup, it’s got success written all over it.

Even Jesus’ hometown where he grew up had a rotten reputation. In the gospel of John, as Jesus is collecting disciples, one of them says to another, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nazarenes, like other Galileans, spoke in a coarse dialect, sounding not quite as refined and educated as those in Judea. So here we have a coarse-speaking itinerant rabbi, the son of a carpenter and a peasant girl who descends from the none-too-perfect King David. Again, Jesus is not exactly what was hoped for.

All of us know what it is like to have our hopes dashed. Christmas is the one holiday charged with more expectations than any other and can set us up to be disappointed in any number of ways. Some of us may have hard feelings attached to this season or at least know someone who does. We’re raised on stories of magic, yet the magic does not come so easily when one grows up poor. Those of us who grew up in an alcoholic or abusive home know that Christmas was most likely the worst day, week, or month of the year. And if a loved one has died in the month of December, Christmas is never the same again.

Trouble is, we all know how this story ends, with Jesus on the cross dying a death no one deserves, least of all him. An ignominious death isn’t exactly a selling point or an obvious source of redemption. Which is what prompts John’s question: what am I here in prison for? What am I dying for? Did I proclaim the right person? Did I get the message right? Are you the one?

So Jesus reminds John’s disciples of that ancient dream, that the least likely things to happen are indeed happening: the blind see, the deaf hear, the lepers are cleansed, the lame walk, and he adds a couple of the very least likely to happen to up the ante: the dead are raised and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense that Jesus hasn’t lived up to their expectations of him.

Jesus came not to satisfy our expectations but God’s expectations for the kingdom. And in God’s kingdom everything is upside-down, backwards, from the bottom up, from last to first, for the least and lost. In God’s kingdom what is least likely is most likely to happen, to bear fruit, to be true.

What expectations do you have about Christmas, about yourself, about this church that are unrealistic or least likely to happen? Can you appreciate the difference between unrealistic and least likely? When have you been surprised, or uncertain, like John, about how God was at work in your life, and in the life of this community? In what ways do you long for streams to break forth in your own desert wilderness? And in our longing, how can we praise God?

And you, O Woodmont United Church of Christ, though you may be one of the littlest UCC churches in the Connecticut conference, from you shall come forth, for God, leaders who will be like springs in the desert, the Hail Mary pass in the fourth quarter, those who have the courage to step out on a limb, try their best, and though it may be far from perfect, it will be enough. A small church with no steeple that sometimes worries about its financial solvency, that can often feel chaotic and disorganized yet feeds the poor and hungry and makes everyone feel loved who comes through their doors. The dead are raised and the poor have good news brought to them. Yup, it’s got success written all over it.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Five Christmas markers

2010-12-11T19:26:00.003-05:00

from Jan at Yearning for God:

Name five things that mark the Christmas season for you:

1. Salvation Army volunteers ringing their bells in front of the Stop and Shop.

One of my Advent devotions is whenever I see the red bucket and hear the bell ringing, I put a dollar in the bucket and shake hands with the volunteer, wish them a Merry Christmas, and thank them for their work.

2. Buying presents not only for my family and friends but for co-workers and for folks in town for whom the town social worker has posted a wish gift.

I love being creative and generous with gift-giving.

3. Christmas movies.

I like the classics like It's a Wonderful Life but I also like any movie that illustrates the power of the incarnation, unusual ones like Temple Grandin, about a brilliant autistic woman in the 1960's and '70's who's now a professor at the University of Colorado; or Seabiscuit, about a horse who was not only healed by those who loved and understood him but who also gave healing to those around him and to a country in the middle of a depression.

4. Thinking about my Christmas Eve meditation so I have some idea what I'm going to say.

You'll have to wait for this one.

5. Getting the Christmas tree and decorating it with my family.

We went this afternoon, to a tree farm we've never been to before but whose price seems reasonable for the quality of trees - $49. I've been looking at it as I've been writing this post. And if you've been reading this blog for a few years, you'll also know I'm looking forward my lifetime Christmas Eve tree tradition.

Vulnerable = Incarnation

2010-12-08T08:45:00.003-05:00

Big thanks to Nina from Woodmont UCC, who shared this with me.

Church blocks

2010-12-05T19:20:00.008-05:00

Isaiah 11: 1-10; Matthew 3: 1-12
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
December 5, 2010 – Advent 2

First, I want to thank everyone who participated in our Advent congregational art project by painting a pair of wooden blocks, which have been and will continue to be arranged differently each Sunday in Advent. On each of the blocks are words and images illustrating God’s dream for the kingdom and those things which thwart it. Participants were asked to think of something that needs to change in the world or in the Church or in ourselves and to paint that on one block. On the other block I asked folks to paint what would need to happen in order for that change to take place. For example, ‘greed’ and ‘share’, ‘confusion’ and ‘focus’, ‘war’ and ‘peace’.

As the blocks are arranged in different configurations each week, the pairs we painted are juxtaposed with other words, other images we may not have imagined. Just as in the reading from Isaiah, where we see the wolf with the lamb, the leopard with the kid, the calf, the lion and the fatling together, and a little child leading them, so now we see ‘fear’ and ‘give more’; ‘racism’ and ‘let go, let God’; ‘let it go’ and ‘forgive’; ‘gossip’ and ‘respect’; ‘working together’ and ‘homeless'.

And we begin to realize that God’s kingdom is built with not only with the just but with the unjust as well; that in God’s vision of the world, predators, those who tear apart, come together with innocent prey, not to hurt or to destroy but to live in the fullness of the knowledge of God.

In the reading from the gospel of Matthew we see John the Baptist in the wilderness of Judea, by the shores of the Jordan, proclaiming a message of repentance. People poured out from the city of Jerusalem and from the Judean countryside and came to John for baptism, to be made whole. They turned not only from their sin but also from the persons and places of power toward someone who by all appearances was homeless, poor, and a bit on the crazy side. John was all these things out of his radical love for the Lord and so that the way of the Lord would be not only obvious but in your face.

Perhaps those who were coming to John had an inkling of some of what was wrong in the world or in their religious structure or in themselves and they recognized that this baptism, this cleansing was something that could make change possible. Certainly the poor were there and those considered easy prey by those in power: widows, orphans, the blind, the lame, the deaf and mute, ordinary folks who had to work hard to earn a living, maybe a few prostitutes and tax collectors—the folks that would soon be Jesus’ closest companions. John being who he was would have attracted the least of God’s people: those who were hungry and thirsty for God’s realm.

But then some Pharisees and Sadducees arrive for baptism as well, those with religious authority whom John viewed as predators, calling them vipers—vicious snakes with long fangs and deadly venom. John had not wasted his breath in warning them that the kingdom of God had come near. John, who was an Essene, one who rejected the religious authorities and the power they held over human souls and lives, knew that God spoke from the wilderness, not from the seat of power.

Pharisees and Sadducees were natural enemies—both spiritually and politically, yet when they had seen the crowds of people heading toward the river they joined forces to protect their status and resist the coming change in Jesus. I’d like to think they might have been motivated by a sense of guilt or shame about their past actions. After all, it was this ragtag prophet leading the people to greater devotion and not them.

But guilt and shame have a way of stopping us from changing. Though there are such things as healthy guilt and shame, more often than not, these feelings can paralyze and wound us to the point that we judge ourselves flawed and defective or it is the world around us that is to blame. Sometimes we can take our guilt too far by taking too much responsibility for others, convinced that we are good only if we can be perfect or perform tasks perfectly.

Strangely enough, the emotion that we need more of, and that John the Baptist is seeking in those Pharisees and Sadducees, is remorse. Remorse is the capability of feeling the pain we have caused others. It is the flip side of empathy, that ability to put oneself in someone else’s shoes, for predator to know what it is to be prey and vice versa.

Remorse is more than just the consumer regret we hear about. It comes from the Latin remordere which means to torment or to vex, or literally, to bite back. It is as if with our words or actions we sink a predator’s teeth, long fangs into someone, knowingly or unknowingly; yet also bite ourselves at the same time. With remorse the pain we cause another is our pain. When we feel that pain, it is then that we can be made whole, for we realize that we—human beings, animals, plants, the very earth, the whole of creation—are one.

It seems every day we witness those in power as lacking in remorse. To be sure, there is plenty of shaming and fists beating the chest but very little in the way of remorse. As human beings we are pain-avoidant, to the point of often taking little responsibility for the pain we cause. But we know from experience that at some point it will come back to bite us.

The irony is that what appears to block our way to the kingdom of God makes the very pathway to the wholeness God intends for us. Greed, war, guilt, shame show us the need for generosity, peace, forgiveness and respect. The pain of remorse leads to wholeness. In Advent we focus on hope, peace, joy and love, for we know the world and we ourselves can be tempted to believe that despair, strife, sorrow, and hatred are normal and even to be expected.

Where are the places in your own life and in the life of this church where you feel remorseful? With whom do you feel juxtaposed, like polar opposites, oil and water, day and night, where there is unresolved tension and the need for reconciliation? What do you do to cope with pain or to avoid it altogether? How have guilt and shame paralyzed and wounded you in your life and in your life together as the Body of Christ? In what areas of your life and your life as a congregation have you come to expect the worst? What is it that you really hope for?

What would this church, this world, what would you look like if none would hurt nor destroy anymore, if the need for remorse was no more? As God’s Advent rearranges us and puts us with people and situations that seem like natural enemies, like polar opposites, let us watch for the unexpected, for God’s surprising love to lead us to healing and to wholeness. Amen.

Red alert!

2010-11-29T18:08:00.003-05:00

Swords and Plowshares, Phillip Ratner, 1998, from the Safad Bible.

Isaiah 2: 1-5; Matthew 24: 36-44
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
November 28, 2010 – Advent 1

I must confess to you that I procrastinated in the writing of this sermon, which can happen when God’s word is disruptive. After reading the gospel lesson numerous times, after praying, thinking, reading other sources and then reflecting on all of this, I was still quaking in my shoes. You heard the Matthew text. It sounds like a terrorist alert. “Warning, red alert! A dam has been destroyed due a terrorist bomb and a flood is coming. Warning! There have been random kidnappings in the area. Stay alert for further messages. Warning! There have been numerous break-ins in the area. Keep watch in your neighborhood.” We heard images of God coming into the world not as a cute, cuddly infant, but God as a flood, a kidnapper, a thief who comes into our lives with disturbing surprise and upheaval. What a way to begin Advent.

Did you know that in order to guard against a terrorist attack, our government established a website called ready.gov? It was launched in 2003 by the Department for Homeland Security. The website educated citizens on how to prepare for a terrorist attack, whether it be a chemical or biological threat, an explosion, a nuclear blast, or a radiation threat. Since Obama was elected in 2008 it is now sponsored by FEMA and Citizen Corps and is geared to prepare businesses, families, kids and military families for any natural or man-made disaster. The website exists so that we will be “better prepared for the unexpected.” During the Bush administration it used to display the different colors of the alert system. Since Sept. 11 we have been at a yellow alert and at various times that alert has been upgraded to orange. Red is reserved for an imminent threat of attack.

That color-code alert system reminds me of the 1970’s and ‘80’s when we educated ourselves about nuclear proliferation and worried that our Soviet neighbors would start the next world war. Those were anxious times.

And then there are the bomb shelters of the 1950’s and ‘60’s. And the air raid sirens of the 1940’s. It seems we have always lived in fear of our imminent destruction, especially since our technology has outstretched our ability to control it and use it for constructive purposes rather than destructive ones.

With the advent of ever-more revealing screening technologies and airport pat-downs, it seems we are more fearful of a terrorist attack than of God coming into the world. We are more ready to destroy ourselves than we are for God to disturb our lives with the message of Jesus.

Isaiah has a different vision of our future. In the future that Isaiah imagines, all nations come to God’s holy mountain. God judges between the nations and puts things right between them. And it is not God who beats the swords into plowshares but the people. It is we who turn our spears into pruning hooks, our weapons of mass destruction into tools for harvesting food, our bullets and bombs into grain to feed the hungry.

There is a monument in Washington, D.C. that illustrates this passage poignantly. Artist Esther Augsburger worked for two and a half years with the Metro Police Department to construct it. The sculpture, entitled “Guns into Plowshares”, measures 16 feet high, consisting of 3,000 handguns welded together to form the steel blade of a plowshare. The handguns were ones that had been surrendered by local residents.

It is this future that God wants us to be prepared for, this future of peace, this future of passing down knowledge to our children of how to feed people rather than how to kill them.

But sometimes it appears that this future, this vision of peace, is scarier to us than a future terrorist attack. When we prepare out of fear, we think we can hold onto what we have. We afford ourselves the illusion that we can control the outcome, that we can fight and be triumphant or that we can run away and hide if necessary.

When God warns us to prepare out of love, love for the kingdom, love for everyone including our enemies, including those whom we consider outsiders or we disagree with, we then have to let go. We have to let go of what we think we know, let go of our treasured opinions and way of living, let go of all that we think keeps us safe in the eyes of the world. We have to let go of our fear and embrace the way of love. Sadly, we humans seem to find it easier to base a life on fear than on love. And those in power find it easier to govern those who fear than those who love in Jesus’ radical way.

God comes into our lives and interrupts the order we have so carefully surrounded ourselves with. It is our reluctance to follow God’s way that gives Advent its sense of urgency. If we kept alive Isaiah’s vision even for just a few minutes each day, we think, we wouldn’t have to wake up to such a disturbing alarm. We wouldn’t have to listen to these Advent texts that drag us away from the manger and its warm scene. We could go about our orderly way.

But no. Jesus pulls up our eyelids and jolts us awake with the words, “Keep awake. You do not know when God is coming.” I have a sticker someone gave me that says, “Jesus is coming. Look busy.” We smile ruefully because we know that we have been too busy with things other than those which lead to the kingdom of God.

Jesus tells us that if the owner of the house had known when the thief was coming, he would’ve kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. Hindsight is always 20/20, so we are cautioned to stay awake in the present moment, to not be lulled asleep by our comforts, to not numb ourselves from our fears.

If we had known that war only leads to death, destruction, and disease among nations and that the death of an enemy is no different than the death of a loved one in the eyes of God, would we have stayed awake and kept watch with our adversaries until God had led us to another way?

If we had known that deep water oil drilling is not failsafe, that an accident could be catastrophic—both to human and aquatic life, would we have stayed awake until we found another way to provide energy? We would have seen all people and not just some, all the earth and not just where we live, as one creation, made by God for all people.

If we had known that a child would grow into an adult in the wink of an eye, a spouse would change and grow over the years, a parent would get older and not as able, would we have stayed awake and kept watch with them until we found a way to keep our temper, give thanks for their love, accept them as they are, and take it all one day at a time?

If we had known that we were only given so many years on this earth to give, to love, to see, to smell, to touch, to hear, to taste, to know, would we have stayed awake and kept watch, watching for God in each moment, ready for God to break in at any time? We would have known our life here is far too precious to waste on business as usual.

Our God is the One who is always coming into the world. The waiting of Advent is not to wait for God to come but for us to prepare, to get ready. God is always ready to come into the life of this world and into our lives at any given moment, if only we stay awake and keep watch. If we are mindful of the holiness of each moment, of each breath, of each person, of each gift of creation, God is there, ready to break us out of our complacent ways of living and believing and transform us. We truly can be “better prepared for the unexpected”. Though we do not know when God will come, we do know God will. Of that we can be certain. What a way to begin Advent! Thanks be to God.

Bird by bird

2010-11-15T19:16:00.006-05:00

The Siege and Destruction of Jerusalem A.D. 70, Roberts (1850)

Isaiah 65: 17-25; Luke 21: 5-19
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
November 14, 2010 – Stewardship Sunday

As the passage from Luke was read, was not the description of events eerily like those we are experiencing now? Certainly we have wars and nations rising up against other nations. We have had plenty of natural disasters—earthquakes in Haiti, Chile, New Zealand and Indonesia, tornados, mudslides, cholera, famine, drought, forest fires—to herald this alleged end of times.

And then there is our popular culture that at times reeks with depravity. Play Station 3 game series like “Call of Duty”, some that are rated T for teen, where war is glorified in a virtual reality and war’s greatest pain is anesthetized. In our recent election we had pundits and politicians going to war with each other rather than engaging in serious debate about what needs to be done and how it could be accomplished. And then on a lighter note: neither the Red Sox nor the Yankees was in the World Series. Surely now we know that the day of the Lord is near.

But these supposed signs of the end do not happen only to nations, cities, or groups of fans. All of these are composed of individuals and families: individuals who have been laid off from their jobs; individuals who are poor and sick and cannot get adequate health insurance or quality of care; individuals who are in danger of losing their homes; individuals who are teachers, underpaid and overworked, and their students in schools with slim to no resources; individuals who struggle to get an education, to keep their family under one roof, to hold onto hope that things will get better. Surely these are also signs that God is coming to judge the living and the dead.

Let us also remember some other words of Jesus, that we cannot know the day and the hour when God will come. That is only for God to know. Even from our own experience we can say that when we think we know something is going to happen, the fact that we think we know is proof that we don’t know anything.

We live in a culture of fear, some of it due to outside forces, all of it due to our own human weakness. Thinking we know what is going to happen is our own defense mechanism of dealing with our fear. Jesus says to us in other passages in his gospel that our fear, our anxiety will only drive us away from God and away from each other. Jesus has more important work for us to do rather than managing our fear.

Jesus tells those around him that before the end comes, they will be witnessing to the truth of the gospel as they are living it out in their lives and for this they will be arrested and persecuted. This isn’t very comforting or reassuring. For the author of Luke this was already happening to the early Christians. They were convinced the end was near because the temple and all of Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans. Being a Christian was not only unpopular, it was downright dangerous. Some Jews like Saul were bringing followers of the Way bound to Jerusalem as offenders of the Jewish faith. Believers were being tortured for worshiping Christ as their King rather than Caesar. These early Christians believed that their life in the flesh was nothing. The integrity of one’s soul was more important. As Martin Luther wrote in his famous hymn: “The body they may kill; God’s truth shall triumph still; God’s reign endures forever.”

But what is it that we can witness about? To what social concern shall we apply the truth of the gospel? Almost every one of them, from gay marriage to abortion to immigration to Islamophobia, creates conflict and divides the Church. If we are to witness, shouldn’t we be doing it together as a united front, as a Church, as the Body of Christ? Isn’t there one thing all Christians can agree on?

Often it is helpful to look at the passages that frame the lectionary text as a way of providing context for the message at hand. Before this morning’s text we have the story of the poor widow and her offering. Jesus said that out of her poverty she gave all she had to live on. The author of Luke immediately goes on to contrast this scene with other folk observing the almost royal beauty and splendor of the Temple, yet Jesus says it will be destroyed completely. And then after the text ending with “By your endurance you will gain your souls”, we are told the city of Jerusalem will fall. The “city set on a hill for all to see” will be no more.

Here is where the Church’s witness can focus in agreement. Poverty is a biblical priority. I read recently that one out of 16 verses of scripture is about poverty—one out of nine in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. James Forbes, a former pastor of Riverside Church in Manhattan, said, “According to Matthew 25, nobody gets into heaven without a letter of reference from the poor.”

All of these other supposedly “nonnegotiable issues” that the Church is in conflict over can sometimes be distractions from the one moral issue, poverty, that one that outweighs and informs every other issue. Abortion does not directly compel us to examine what everyday choices we make with our money, how we behave as consumers. Same-sex marriage does not demand that we change how we live our lives for the sake of others. Immigration and Islamophobia beg how do we treat the outcast in our midst yet they have not necessitated a transformation of individual and collective, corporate values. To be sure, these issues are important and deserve our attention, our best efforts, our faith, and our prayer. But surely not at the cost of our fellow citizens who live in squalor or who struggle just above the poverty line.

In this bountiful land there are 43.6 million people who are poor—the largest number in the 51 years for which poverty estimates have been published; 50.7 million are without health insurance and 37 million are hungry. 3.5 million U.S. citizens are homeless—39% of them children. If our witness to the truth of the gospel is needed anywhere, certainly it is desperately needed by the poor.

“But,” we say, “What can I do? Am I to sell all that I have and give it to the poor? Surely Jesus did not mean that I am to trade places with the poor? What can I do? The problems of our world are so huge, they are seemingly insurmountable.” Sometimes we can let the problem and all its complexities overwhelm us to the point of being paralyzed.

Author Anne Lamott tells the story of her older brother who, when he was ten years old, was trying to get a report on birds written that he’d had three months to write. It was due the next day. She writes, “We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, CA, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder and said, ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.’”

Jesus does not expect us to save the world. I suspect he does not expect our nation to save the world either. As for how the story of the world is going to end, we leave that in God’s capable hands. All anyone can do is to give what they can on a daily basis to those in need. Of course, to those who can give much, Jesus said more will be asked of them. And if we think we are doing enough for the poor, if we think we are doing our share, the very fact that we think so is proof that we could be doing a whole lot more.

But we don’t have to have some grandiose plan, some lofty goal that just might kill our efforts and our spirits. One kindness, one intervention, one increase on a pledge card, one local food drive, one hour of literacy volunteering, one church tag sale, one Saturday at Habitat for Humanity, one time when we say what we really think, just taking it bird by bird. God calls us not to manage our fear but to be stewards of our love; our money, our time, our lives are the means by which we are able to be generous and extravagant with our love. It is all anyone can really do but with perseverance. Truly it is what Jesus did in his lifetime; it is his legacy to us.

We are not meant to preserve that city set on the hill for all to see. All that we do to protect the splendor and beauty that we have created will come to an end someday. But what we do for each other, for the poor, for our neighbors—whether they be next door or 10,000 miles away or somewhere in between—what we do one person at a time, as we give witness to the truth of the gospel as it is revealed in the living of our lives, by enduring in this way will we gain our souls, which are forever. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Kingdom migration

2010-11-12T16:16:00.004-05:00

Moses leading the Israelites by a pillar of cloud

Psalm 98; Job 19: 23-27a; 2 Thess. 2: 1-5, 13-17
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
November 7, 2010 – All Saints Sunday

November is a season of migration. Flocks of Canada geese and sand hill cranes, millions of monarch butterflies, herds of bison and pronghorn, even rattlesnakes and bats, are making their way from their summer homes to their winter camps. In this month’s National Geographic magazine I read that “animal migration is far grander and more patterned than animal movement. It represents travel with long-deferred rewards. It suggests premeditation and epic willfulness, codified as inherited instinct.”

Evolutionary biologist Hugh Dingle has identified five characteristics that apply to all migrations: a prolonged voyage that conveys animals outside their familiar habitats; a tendency to move in a straight path rather than a roundabout way; special behaviors in preparation for migration, such as overfeeding; an extraordinary distribution of energy; lastly and most importantly, an undeterred and focused attention to the journey to the exclusion of all else. You might say that animals that migrate have a higher sense of purpose.

Sand hill cranes

We who journey with God are also on a migration of sorts—a spiritual voyage spanning millennia, bearing the same five qualities, though in differing forms. In the wilderness God’s people were led by pillars of cloud and fire. Through the centuries we’ve traveled by the wisdom of prophets and the inspiration of ordinary individuals. We who call ourselves Christian look to Jesus as the Way, the Truth and the Life. We strive to follow the Holy Spirit who continually urges us onward to the unfamiliar territory of the kingdom. Special behaviors are required of us in preparation, such as being fed through study, prayer, giving, service and worship. As we all know in the Church vast reserves of energy are demanded of us as God’s hands and feet in the world, hence, the need to be fed. All of this is channeled into our higher sense of purpose, the kingdom of God’s grace, compassion, justice and peace.

A life of faith is a migratory path. There is no standing still, there is no status quo, despite the efforts of some to fashion the Church into an unchanging monolith. So often it is easy for us to be distracted. We hear the culture warmongering against the way of peace and justice; our spirits rise and fall with the financial market and our checking account; we are often tempted to measure our faithfulness in terms of what we do rather than by the softness of our hearts.

Monarch butterflies

The infant church in Thessalonica had been temporarily thrown off-course by reports that Jesus had returned without their knowledge, that the kingdom had arrived and they had missed it. Paul, or someone close to him writing in his name, encourages this small congregation to remain steadfast, to remember that they were chosen by God for faith and they are witnesses to the fruits of this faith. He reminds this fledgling church of the tradition that has been handed down to them by those trustworthy in the faith.

We too have a source of those trustworthy in the faith: those saints who have passed on before us, who entrusted us with the tradition of following the Holy Spirit wherever she goes. Migratory paths are taught from parent to offspring, from one generation to the next. We follow in the path of folks like Diane and Carlos, Charlie and Eleanor, Hal and Herb, Marjorie and Cecil. They knew that the path of faith is one of long-deferred rewards; that it requires reflection, planning and an epic willfulness, codified as inherited instinct—inherited from those who came before them.

Sometimes in the Church we inherit dysfunctional patterns—self-defeating habits that perpetuate unhealthy congregational behaviors which can take us off-course. It is up to every generation, as in every family, to decide what we’re going to hold onto and what we need to let go of. What was handed down to us may no longer work. It doesn’t mean we are disloyal to their memory. Rather we honor them when we remember that the greater mission is the kingdom of God, which does not change.

Pronghorn

But our migratory path toward the kingdom is not linear nor is it spiral or zigzag: it does not even exist in time. In truth, at any given moment the kingdom can come to us. It comes when justice is lived, when we are at peace with ourselves and our neighbor, when mercy is done, resources shared, forgiveness spoken, when bread is broken and the cup poured out. The kingdom is eternally now, entering into our journey with God, when the invisible becomes visible in us and through us.

All of this we do step by step, one day at a time, feeling our way on this great migration. Our guidance system, our homing beacon is a mystery that tells us that God is very real, made known to us through the creation in which we live out our faith; for it is God who first showed us the way and continues to lead us home. And sometimes the only way we can articulate this faith, what we know to be true, is in song:

“Who taught the sun where to stand in the morning?
And who told the ocean you can only come this far?
And who showed the moon where to hide 'til evening?
Whose words alone can catch a falling star?

“Well, I know my Redeemer lives.
I know my Redeemer lives:
Let all creation testify;
Let this life within me cry
I know my Redeemer lives.”

"Redeemer"©Nicole C. Mullen

The stillspeaking church speaks again

2010-11-05T10:41:00.002-04:00

As a friend and colleague of mine said, this is the church I love and love to serve.

Uniquely UCC from United Church of Christ on Vimeo.

Children of Abraham

2010-11-03T11:57:00.005-04:00

Jesus and Zacchaeus

Psalm 119: 137-144; Luke 19: 1-10
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
October 31, 2010 – Reformation/Reconciliation Sunday

One of the most publicized family feuds was in 1998. It was the controversy over whether or not Thomas Jefferson fathered one or perhaps all seven of Sally Hemings’ children. Thomas Jefferson was a Virginia landowner and owned hundreds of slaves, Sally Hemings being one of them. For over two hundred years questions have been raised about their relationship and whether or not it produced children.

Technology caught up with those questions in the person of Dr. Eugene Foster, a retired medical professor from the University of Virginia. He compared the blood from five descendants of Field Jefferson, Thomas's paternal uncle, with the blood of the descendants of Sally Hemings, Thomas Woodson—whose family claims Jefferson as an ancestor, and the Carr brothers, Jefferson’s nephews—who were long thought to have fathered Sally Hemings’ children. Though the findings were not conclusive, they provided strong support to the supposition that Jefferson was the father of at least one of Sally Hemings’ children.

Thought it ranks high on the list, this quarrel is not entirely about racism, as we might assume. It also has to do with privilege: being buried at Monticello, not far from where Thomas Jefferson was laid to rest; open and accepted membership in a prestigious founding family. As a child, Shannon Lanier, a descendant of Madison Hemings, stood in front of his first grade class, stating that Thomas Jefferson was his great- great- great- great- great- great-grandfather. His teacher told him to sit down and stop telling lies. Ultimately this dispute is about inclusion, reconciliation and a sense of legitimate belonging in this nation’s history.

Monticello

So you can imagine what a family reunion it must have been. Every year hundreds of Jefferson descendants, who comprise the Monticello Association, gather at the historical landmark after hours. And after an invite from one of the association members, dozens of Sally Hemings’ descendants began attending, not as family but as guests, and with them, hoards of reporters and photographers.

But as we in the church well know, an invitation can be a far cry from a warm and hospitable welcome. Many association members were in favor of the Hemings being in attendance but most were not. Eventually a vote was taken to deny them full membership and to restrict their numbers at the annual reunion. Attempting to form a human wall between the Hemings descendants and Thomas Jefferson, the association tried to deny them access to the Monticello cemetery. Since 2004 not one of the Hemings has attended the reunion; now they hold their own gathering at Monticello—at sunrise in a recently discovered slave cemetery. It’s not much of a stretch to say that, in order to get a clear glimpse of Jefferson, Hemings’ descendants may have to climb a tree, the family tree, limb by limb.

"Virginia Luxuries," by an unknown artist, around 1800. Courtesy Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum.

Zacchaeus knew what it was like to be excluded because of who he was. From the text we read that he was rich, he was short in stature and he was not only a tax collector but the chief of them all. These all look like many strikes against him.

And yet, according to the Jewish wisdom tradition, being rich was not an evil thing; in fact, it was a sign of God’s blessing and favor, that one must be wise and righteous in the eyes of God. Wealth was not an end in and of itself; it was vehicle for expressing one’s faithfulness to God and to neighbor. Are you generous or greedy, giving or withholding? And as for short of stature, the Greek words for this phrase translate as ‘small in maturity’, that is, the crowd was treating him like a child. They had formed a human wall between Zacchaeus and Jesus, deciding who had access to Jesus and who did not. A tax collector who worked for the Romans and the chief one at that? According to the crowd, Zacchaeus was definitely out.

In last week’s lectionary reading from Luke, Jesus tells a parable about a Pharisee who when he prays, extols his own righteous behavior and thanks God that he is not like ‘that tax collector over there’. Jesus, though, lifts up the humble faith of the tax collector beating his chest, praying “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!” Jesus also said that prostitutes and tax collectors would enter the kingdom of heaven before the righteous. He was known to sit at table with sinners and tax collectors, even calling one to be part of his inner circle of disciples. And in today’s lectionary reading Jesus says he not only will but must come to Zacchaeus’ house.

This story has usually been read and interpreted as a man who once cheated folks but for having received Jesus into his home now repents and changes his ways. But according to biblical commentators wiser than I, there’s more to this story about Zacchaeus than meets the eye.

In verse 8 the Greek verb “to give”, didōmi, has been translated in the New Revised Standard Version in the future tense: “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” But in the Greek and in other translations it is in the present active tense: “I give…”, “I repay…”, implying that Zacchaeus is already giving to the poor and repaying any fraudulent transactions. If citizens could produce the receipt given to them, tax collectors, by law, were required to repay the defrauded amount plus 20%. A faithful Jew was also required to give to the poor. Zacchaeus is not only faithful but goes beyond the law, giving half to the poor and repaying any debt plus four times as much. In fact, the name ‘Zacchaeus’ in Hebrew means “pure” or “innocent”.

Zacchaeus is a rich man in the classic Jewish tradition, in that he is more than faithful, but because he is the chief tax collector working for the treacherous Romans, the crowd grumbles and assumes Zacchaeus is a crook. Salvation has come to Zacchaeus’ household not because of anything Zacchaeus has done but because Jesus chose to lift up one who is humble and righteous, who is also a child of Abraham.

We human beings have a long-standing tradition of building walls between “us” and “them”, based on judgments, assumptions and half-truths. On Oct. 20 NPR political analyst Juan Williams was fired because of comments he made on the Fox network show “The O’Reilly Factor”. Here are his exact words: "I mean, look, Bill, I'm not a bigot. You know the kind of books I've written about the civil rights movement in this country. But when I get on the plane, I got to tell you, if I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous." He also tempered that remark by saying that blaming all Muslims for the actions of extremists would be akin to blaming all Christians for the actions of Timothy McVeigh.

And yet Jews, Christians, and Muslims are all children of Abraham. He was the father of nations, promised by God who is the God of all nations. Abraham was not native to the land of Canaan but originally from Ur, a city-state in ancient Sumer that would later come under the control of the Babylonian empire, the empire that would one day destroy the temple in Jerusalem and send Israel into exile.

None of us can claim legitimacy for ourselves. Just as Jesus insisted on coming to the home of Zacchaeus, legitimacy is a gift we bestow on one another. It is when we reach out to ‘the other’ and say “You are my sister, my brother, I claim you as family, and this whole earth is our home.” When we are able to do this, then we will have reconciliation; then we will have peace.

Notice the Star of David and the blossom of light around Zacchaeus.

But peace and reconciliation require that we become small and pure in heart, like Zacchaeus. If salvation is to come to this house we call Earth, and it must come, it begins with each of us acknowledging our safe distance from the poor. It begins with taking inventory of ourselves and if we have cheated anyone of forgiveness, compassion, or justice, we restore to them not only what is due but even four times as much. We are to emulate Jesus’ accounting of grace, that we are to forgive not once, not seven times, but seventy times seven, that if someone takes our coat, we are to give our cloak as well, to go the second mile, to give to anyone who begs of us.

We cannot claim any greatness except that of God working through us, and even that is a dubious claim when one examines our track record with God. Yet God’s merciful cup overflows. God’s passion for us is a stubborn love and God remains steadfast. God claims all of us as children, as one family, that none would be lost, that all would be sought and found. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Holding on and letting go

2010-10-18T09:15:00.009-04:00

The Widow and the Unjust Judge

Genesis 32: 22-31; Psalm 121; Luke 18: 1-8
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
October 17, 2010

Earlier this week I hope you all had an opportunity to watch some of the footage of the Chilean miners being rescued from their 68-day ordeal 700 meters below the earth’s surface. To me, it was like watching a birth, as the workers stood by the rescue shaft, waiting as the cable slowly raised the capsule containing, each in their turn, one of the 33 miners, moving from darkness into the light. I couldn’t help but cry with joy and with memories of those times when someone lifted me or a loved one out of the darkness, when God reached into that pit of despair and raised me into the light.

Of course, as a follower of Jesus, I can’t help but think of the resurrection, as though that deep hole underground was a tomb of death yet through love and hope and prayer and the hard work of many, it became a womb of life. As a person of faith I would say it was the prayers of perhaps millions around the world that sustained the miners and their families in their waiting, as well as knowing that everything was being done to rescue them and care for them.

In fact, one of the miners, Mario Gomez, the 9th and oldest miner to reach the surface, knelt down and prayed when he emerged from the rescue capsule. Two of the miners who were previously agnostic were said to have ‘found religion’ in the midst of their ordeal and joined in the daily prayer time the miners shared with one other. Many are calling what happened a miracle. And the Chilean people are ascribing the success of the rescue not to themselves but to God.

Mario Gomez

Alexander Chancellor, a columnist for the British newspaper The Guardian, and a self-avowed non-believer, writes that “[the] Chilean miners' rescue had everything to do with the impressive feats of the rescuers and nothing to do with God.” He admires their humility but is also confused by it, saying that the miners were also very lucky in their circumstances, unlike the nearly 500 who perished in the earthquake earlier this year. To this journalist and to us too at times, it seems that God’s mercy is mercurial, reserved for some and not for others.

Since humanity has been able to reflect on itself and human beings have perceived themselves as individuals and not just as a member of a group, the question of why do bad things happen has persisted. We have been wrestling with God on this point for millennia and we have not come any closer to an answer that gives us undoubted assurance. We have witnessed the power of prayer and yet we have also experienced its apparent failure. Does the efficacy of our prayers depend on our faith or how frequently we pray? Is it how we word our prayers, how specific or general our requests? Would things have turned out the way they did anyway, regardless of our prayers?

It seems to me that, in the American Christian experience of faith, too easily we grasp onto God and too easily we let go. The idea of God is something we should approach with fear and trembling as much as with comfort and release. The same could also be said about letting go of the idea of God. Too often, in the vacuum that our fear or anger or despair creates, we latch onto God as a cosmic cure-all, in a desperate attempt to assuage our very natural, very human feelings. We also tend to let go of God in that very same vacuum, when the God of our perceptions fails us.

There are two fundamental questions at the core of our human experience that as yet have no once and for all, satisfactory answer: one, where did this existence we live in come from? How was energy transformed into matter? What started all of this? And two, where is all this headed? What is the purpose of the universe? To put it in terms of human experience, where did we come from, how did each of us unique persons come to be? And what will happen to us when we die? Any of those questions has the power to create that vacuum, that empty space we so desperately try to fill.

The majority of human beings have come to believe that there is some sort of higher power at work in this world, that there is something beyond what science and our five senses can tell us. There is a mystery beyond our present capacity to understand, despite what Stephen Hawking says. Author Joseph Campbell wrote "We keep thinking of deity as a kind of fact, somewhere; God as a fact. God is simply our own notion of something that is symbolic of transcendence and mystery. The mystery is what's important." But how do we encounter the mystery, the unanswerable, the ineffable?

Ironically, we generally avoid these existential questions at church. Ron Brown, one of our associate conference ministers, says that there’s not a great deal of wrestling in the church. There’s plenty of what he calls ‘rassling’: arguments over small details, tussles over unimportant matters. But what the church needs is more wrestling. For instance, what about wrestling with why the church is in decline and whether nor not we’re going to follow? What about wrestling with how to be like Jesus in our daily lives? What about wrestling with forgiveness?

In these days it’s too easy to hang on to a feel-good faith or to let go of it when it runs empty. It’s hard hanging on to that mystery called God when what we’re wrestling with is the poverty or oppression of our neighbors or the cancer eating away at our life or an addiction compelling us to fill that vacuum inside us or the darkness seeping into our souls. It’s hard hanging on to God when we’re feeling spiritually hurt, especially when the church has been involved.

Jacob had the nerve to hang on until the blessing came, and we are challenged to do the same. Yes, he came away with a limp, but God never promised us a struggle-free life and certainly not struggle-free community. God did promise to help us and to remain faithful and love us—forever.

Jacob wrestling with an angel

Jesus dares us to be persistent, even nagging, in our need for justice. God’s mercy is not of the quick-fix variety or a security blanket or a bulletproof shield protecting our bodies from all harm. Luke’s gospel was speaking to early followers of Jesus—Jews and Gentiles—around the time that the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Few, if any, of Luke’s readers may have known Jesus; most did not. They were hopeful of his return but also despairing over their circumstances of persecution and what appeared to be permanent exile. In this parable, Jesus is telling his present disciples and those through the ages that God’s mercy will come quickly.

But how quickly, they and we wonder? People were perishing; communities of faith were growing weary, the power to transform seemingly ebbing away from them. Sounds familiar, yes? The spiritual practice that Jesus compels the disciples to engage in is the same for disciples of the 21st century: to pray always and to not lose heart.

Prayer that sustains us is more, though, than talking to God and a list of our requests. Rabbi Harold Kushner writes that prayer is “to come into the presence of God in the hope that we will be changed by doing so.” In prayer we persevere with God, we wrestle with God and we hang on until the blessing comes, until justice is done and mercy is granted. Prayer does not take us out of the world but brings us face to face with it and with God’s dream for the world, that kingdom of peace and righteousness for the whole of creation. In prayer we hang onto God for dear life and we let go of the outcome, trusting that God has not our best interests, but the wholeness of all at heart.

The Serenity Prayer and the Lord’s Prayer are ones we can say through the day to help us not lose heart, to help us not let go of our hearts. I’d like to introduce you to another prayer to take with you, one that if prayed in sincerity and honesty, has power, like any other prayer, to bring change and healing:

“Holy Spirit, if this direction or course of action is right for me, let it become more firmly rooted and established in my life. If this is wrong for me, let it become less important to me, and let it be increasingly removed from my life.” [1]

Are you ready to hang on for love and healing and rescue? Are you ready to let go of the schedule, the timeline, the outcome and trust God? Are you ready for blessing, for justice, for mercy? Are you ready to go deeper with God that you would be raised to new life?

[1] Flora Slosson Wuellner. Prayer, Stress and Our Inner Wounds. Nashville, TN: Upper Room Books, 1985, pg. 78.

Crossing the line

2010-10-11T21:59:00.005-04:00

Psalm 111; Luke 17: 11-19
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
October 10, 2010

Two weeks ago, when rain was pounding the eastern seaboard and storm drains were flooding, an elderly woman and her great-grandson were driving down Rhode Island Avenue in Washington, D.C. The water was so high and rising so fast that it suddenly stopped the car and surged into where Bernice and Davonte were sitting. The boy opened his door and got of the car amidst the cold, raging water. But his great-grandmother was stuck in the car. As he tried to reach her, the water kept pushing him back. Because of the increasing water pressure, Bernice couldn’t open her door. When the water level reached the steering wheel, she thought she was a goner.

One of the passersby at the scene, a Hispanic man by appearance, stripped off his clothes and swam over to the car through the trash-ridden, fast-moving, unseasonably-cold water. He opened the car door, pulled Bernice out and helped her to safety. He didn’t hesitate or keep his safe distance. He didn’t take a picture or make a video. He didn’t even call 911. Instead he risked his life to save a complete stranger from drowning.

He also didn’t stick around to be thanked or to even introduce himself. Speculation is that he may have been an undocumented immigrant who didn’t wish to be questioned by the police when they arrived at the scene. Even though many undocumented immigrants may seem invisible to us, this man crossed that invisible line between citizen and foreigner and blurred that line so much that we couldn’t tell one from the other.

Boundaries and rules are important and should be respected. They keep us safe and healthy and whole. Usually when we break those limits, some sort of trouble or disease or injury ensues. We see the sense of them and we learn to keep them.

But we all know there are other restrictions intended to control or exclude or inflict harm on others. Many of us have known what that is like. Most, if not all, of you would cross such a line to set free, include and offer healing to one such as this anonymous rescuer.

So, isn’t it strange that in the gospel lesson from Luke, Jesus does not bridge the prescribed distance between himself and this small community of lepers? Jesus was known to be not only a rule-bender but a rule-breaker when it came to healing, forgiveness and the kingdom of God. These lepers are obeying the Levitical laws of purity by keeping their distance, but that’s never stopped Jesus before. In fact, it is in the obedience to those laws that these men are healed, as they are going to show themselves to the priests. And it is the lepers who bridge the gap by initiating conversation between themselves and Jesus.

Jesus is walking the line between Galilee and Samaria, between homeland and ghetto-land, doing his high-wire act on his way to Jerusalem. On his way Jesus encounters all sorts of people: a man with many demons, a girl on the edge of death, a woman with a hemorrhage, these ten lepers. Through these people Luke shows us what kind of person shows faith, what kind of person responds to Jesus and his message of forgiveness. It was not the leaders, the in-crowd, the longtime believers who were showing faith, but outsiders who were responding to Jesus’ message with shouts of praise and gratitude.

But only one healed man returns to give thanks and praise, and he is a double outcast: he is also a Samaritan, a foreigner. He is outside the covenant and thus, not even bound to go show himself to the priests. Yet he obeys anyway, and when he sees he has been healed, turns back, falls at Jesus’ feet and thanks him profusely.

Yes, the other nine did as they were told and were also healed, but it was the faith of the Samaritan that saved him. In other translations the word ‘whole’ is used in place of ‘well’: “Your faith has made you whole”, implying more than physical healing. Here we have the difference between being healed and being saved, between obedient faith and faith that has the power to save us and transform us.

Jesus wants to know what kind of faith we have. Are we obedient to God and the limits God has placed on us, such as the Ten Commandments? There is certainly nothing wrong with that kind of faith, but for Jesus, obedient faith is a place to start. Jesus wants to know if we’re willing to cross the line from homeland into ghetto-land, to join him in his high-wire act on the way to Jerusalem. And we all know what’s waiting in Jerusalem.

Keeping to the rules may heal the open wounds we human beings have made in this world but the rules won’t save us. And as we all know, sometimes we have to go beyond the rules and our self-imposed limits for mercy and compassion to have their way.

The difference is joyful, jubilant gratitude. The Samaritan crossed the line of obedience to the law into the fearless expression of gratitude. Jesus offered him not only healing but the opportunity to be saved by grace. To one who was unclean and outside the covenant, this was good news indeed! It would be like not only winning the lottery but also being given the chance to change someone else’s life for the better.

When I had that dream that saved my life some thirty years ago (!), I felt like I had to give something back, that I had to ‘pay it forward’ to someone else who needed God’s transforming grace. I came across two verses in the gospel of Matthew that became a scripture reading at my ordination: “…those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?”

And so by entering the ministry I thought I was giving my life in return for the new life that had been given to me. But the giving in gratitude for my life didn’t end there. When I was in seminary, I racked up some debts. I had tuition, books, room and board, a car payment, and a credit card: American Express: no carrying the balance forward. I had gotten in over my head. Any income I had went out to pay bills. I can remember being on my knees crying and fervently praying to God because I was so scared of being in debt. I called a friend in my home church and shared my troubles.

Not long after that I received a money order for $1200 from an anonymous donor from my church, mailed to me by the church secretary. To this day, I have no idea who saved me. But in gratitude for that saving grace, I have been a pledging giver ever since.

I pledge to this church as a measure of my joy and thankfulness for what God is doing through you and through our time together. Each month I make out a check for $400—about 8% of my total salary. I know I’m crossing a line by telling you that, but if I am asking you to move beyond the comfort of home into a place none of us have been before, then I should be the first to cross that line.

I also plan to increase my pledge to $450 a month in 2011, for as long as I am here. You are searching for a settled pastor and you want to be able to pay that person well enough that they will be a good giver and pledge to this church. I want to be a part of that, to be a part of not only the healing but the saving grace and jubilant thanks that often comes with a new pastor.

Even though the stewardship season has not quite begun, I want you to start thinking about it and praying about it. I invite you to increase your pledge this year, even if it’s only by a dollar a week. If you give but don’t pledge, I encourage you to pledge whatever you can. In order to welcome the future with joy and deep gratitude, I ask you to make that transition, to go beyond where you are now, and cross that line of fear to get to a place of magic, that place where Jesus waits for us with not only healing but with soul-saving, life-transforming grace. That place is this church, Woodmont United Church of Christ, daring to reveal God’s unconditional love by welcoming and accepting all people, through joyful and creative worship, faithful service and spiritual growth. Amen.

U.S. religious knowledge survey

2010-10-05T18:46:00.005-04:00

An ironic surprise...agnostics, atheists, Jews and Mormons scored best on this Pew Research survey. Which means we who call ourselves Christian weren't paying attention in Sunday School. Or we forgot about that World Religions class and U.S. History and Civics. Or we're not getting our news from a balanced perspective. Or didn't receive a quality education. No wonder bigotry and ignorance still have their place in this country.

Take the quiz yourself and post your results in the comments.

Say anything

2010-10-04T19:01:00.000-04:00

Psalm 137; Psalm 37: 1-9
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
October 3, 2010 – World Communion Sunday

George Carlin was rocketed to comic fame with his routine “The Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say on Television”. Jesus had his seven last words from the cross: “I thirst”, “Behold your mother, behold your son”, “Today you shall join me in paradise” and so forth. The church has its own seven last words: “We’ve never done it that way before.”

And even though the United Church of Christ and one of its forebears, the Congregational church, are known for their freedom of the pulpit, that is, the freedom of the preacher to say what needs to be said to God’s people, there are still some subjects that God’s people don’t want to hear about from the pulpit. Many of them are also avoided in polite conversation. There may not be seven of them but you know what they are: money, sex, politics, and religion. Yes, even religion is a touchy topic many folks don’t want to hear about from the pulpit, especially if it is about our own religion and how it requires, demands, even commands something of us.

Today’s scripture adds to that list of unacceptable subjects: angry, hot revenge. You may have heard the saying “Revenge is a dish best served cold” but we all know that the desire to even the score runs hot in our blood. And we hear not only the hot-bloodedness of the writer of Psalm 137, we also hear the pain and anguish, the injustice that can cause our blood to boil.

“By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’
How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
“…O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us!
Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!”

We ask: how can language like that be in the Bible? How can a psalm like that be not only allowed but used in a book of worship?

Once again, the lectionary has taken us to the time of the Babylonian exile, that catastrophic event in the life of the Israelites. Jerusalem and its temple have been destroyed, homes have been turned to rubble, survivors, after having seen their loved ones killed, have been carted off to Babylon as spoils of war. Their trust in God was shaken to its very core. These Israelite captives wanted not only revenge but justice for their captors—a life for a life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe, as it is stated in the 21st chapter of Exodus. We can only imagine that whoever wrote Psalm 137 witnessed the death of their own child at the violent hand of their enemy.

In the book of Psalms, in their holy book of worship, the Israelites knew they could say anything to God, that there was nothing to keep from the creator of the heavens and the earth, the one who has searched us and known us since before we were born. But there is also a balance: a heaping measure of God’s comfort and reassurance:

“Do not fret because of the wicked; do not be envious of wrongdoers,
for they will soon fade like the grass, and wither like the green herb.
Trust in the LORD, and do good; so you will live in the land, and enjoy security.
Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him, and he will act.
He will make your vindication shine like the light, and the justice of your cause like the noonday.
Be still before the LORD, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way, over those who carry out evil devices.
Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath. Do not fret—it leads only to evil.
For the wicked shall be cut off, but those who wait for the LORD shall inherit the land.”

How many of us have wanted revenge on another? If you think you’re above or immune to such feelings, what about road rage? Or wishing someone ‘a taste of their own medicine’? Or withholding forgiveness, holding a grudge? We’ve all felt those feelings and our God is big enough to hear them, so why isn’t our church big enough to allow their expression here, in a place intended for honest confession, healing and reconciliation?

On the evening of Sept. 11, 2001 many churches and other places of worship were open for people to come and pray, to worship together, hold hands, light candles, to have faith in the dawn of another day. That spirit of reflection and unity lasted for quite a while. But then it seemed the songs we sang in our pain and grief were seized upon and used as a prelude to war. Though vastly different in scope, the parallels between the exile and that dark day are almost too close. A great center of commerce, twin skyscrapers that testified to American ingenuity and prowess, was made into rubble. Thousands died, including those who tried to save others. We too were shaken to our very core. Two years later war was declared and our sons and daughters have been giving their lives to it, have been made captives of it ever since.

Perhaps if we had expressed more of our grief, our sadness, our rage and our anguish within these walls, to the point of recognizing that vengeance is not ours, perhaps we might have realized the futility of war. Even if a preemptive war is intended to prevent terrorism, is not war a form of terrorism in and of itself? Can we also imagine that there are those who would pray this psalm against us? In the words of Confucius, before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.

The apostle Paul urges Christian citizens of the empire in Rome, and we who are Christian citizens of our own empire, to remember to never avenge themselves, “for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord. No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” When was the last time we witnessed mercy and forgiveness in the public forum? Reconciliation begins here. In order for that to happen, we first need to express those raw emotions that make us cry out for justice.

World Communion Sunday reminds us that we exist in relationships, that what we do here in this place affects not only ourselves but others as well, rippling through this human web we live in. Let us trust that the God who demands justice will also carry it out. Jesus himself, who from an instrument of torture and death, groaned, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” but who also prayed “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” We can say anything to God in prayer—God who tenderly holds us and understands, who forgives and heals us.

Amen.

Albert Pierrepoint, Britain's last official hangman, said that hanging is more about revenge than about justice: "I have come to the conclusion that executions solve nothing, and are only an antiquated relic of a primitive desire for revenge which takes the easy way and hands over the responsibility for revenge to other people...The trouble with the death penalty has always been that nobody wanted it for everybody, but everybody differed about who should get off."

The dead tell no tales

2010-09-24T11:38:00.002-04:00

Can you spot the gay soldier?

You're fired!

2010-09-19T21:17:00.007-04:00

The Shrewd Manager

Jeremiah 8: 18 – 9: 1; Luke 16: 1-13
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
September 19, 2010

You’re fired: the dreaded words everyone fears in today’s economy (or on the ever-popular reality show, “The Apprentice”). These words have the power to send anyone’s life into a tailspin. Back in the 1980’s or ‘90’s people might have joked with their answer to “What are you going to do now?” by responding, “You know, do some gardening, learn Chinese, play some golf, fix up the summer house.” But nowadays no one is laughing. And more often than not, the answer to the question is a dead serious “I don’t know”.

Many of you know what it is like to be laid off, been fired from your job, had to take fewer hours for the same pay, had to quit because persons were making it difficult for you to continue working, or had to leave work to stay home with your children or to take care of an ailing parent or spouse. Maybe you’ve had to leave work for two or more of those reasons. Maybe you’ve been the one who’s had to do the laying off or to fire someone.

Work provides security in so many ways. First, there’s the income. Some jobs pay more than others, but any job pays better than none. And usually, there’s more than just ourselves depending on that income. What we earn today pays not only for what we need but for any past debt and for the future as well. Second, there’s the feeling of pride, of having a place to go, a person to be. For good or ill, our work becomes part of who we are, how we see ourselves. Who would we be without our work? And then there are the benefits that are on a scale much like our salary. Work has become a safety net with some very wide holes that continue to shift under our feet. We worry that one day we’ll slip right through one of them.

This morning’s gospel lesson sounds like a story from the business pages of the newspaper. Someone from management has been taking from the till and making off with it. The owner of the company has heard from others about his manager and plans to fire him. The manager, thinking only of himself and his future, uses the shrewd mind that got him into this mess and ingratiates himself with his boss’s debtors by discounting what they owe the boss. It all makes sense until we get to the end. The boss commends the manager because of his shrewdness. And then Jesus tells the disciples to “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.”

In these days of BP, GM, AIG, Lehman Brothers, Goldman-Sachs and many others we don’t want to hear about how the government is helping them dig their way out of a very big hole. They dug their hole; let them stay there for a while. But just because some folks did something wrong, we can’t write them off as bad people. We’re all a mixed bag of good and bad, of varying degrees. All of us have fallen short of the glory of God; otherwise our world wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in.

When we get upset about this dishonest manager being commended for his shrewdness our sense of entitlement kicks in. “I’ve worked hard, been honest, and I don’t get commended.” We sound like the older brother in the parable about the prodigal son, just before this one. God’s grace sounds like cheating, as though some are getting off easy for their sin. The truth is we have all benefited from God’s generosity. The truth is we all have benefited from the ill-gotten gains of others. We all live mostly comfortable lives with enough to eat, a roof over our heads, some money in the bank, and all kinds of material goods in abundance wherever we shop, never mind where they are made, by whom, and at what price to the environment. What Jesus is asking us is: What are you going to do with this grace, with your ill-gotten gains? Keep them or use them toward the eternal home, that is, the kingdom of God?

Jesus came to point a finger, not to blame, but to get us moving. The words “You’re fired” are strangely more compelling to us than “Follow me”, but both carry with them a sense of urgency. Both send us the bold message that it’s time to let go of the way things are and find another way, using the shrewd mind that got us into whatever mess we have found ourselves in.

There once was a man, a very rich man, a millionaire in fact, who came home one day to find out that his wife was ready to leave him. In response to his wife’s wake-up call, he packed up his family in the car and they headed toward Florida. On the way they met up with some friends in Georgia who then introduced the man to Clarence Jordan of Koinonia Farms. After having lunch with Clarence, the man and his family stayed on the farm for a month. He then sold all that he had, gave it to the poor, and started an organization called Habitat for Humanity. The man was Millard Fuller.

An addict has ruined her marriage, her health, her career, her friendships, and her bank account. But when she walks into a twelve-step program she can start over again, repair the breach she has made between herself and others and God, and make another life out of the dust of her old one.

Pope Benedict XVI has become known for his expensive attire: red Italian leather Prada shoes, Serengeti sunglasses and ermine trimmed capes and hats. Anne Burke, the leader of the review board set up by the U.S. Catholic bishops to oversee their policies on priests accused of pedophilia, has written to the pope suggesting he wear a simple black cassock for the remainder of his papacy to demonstrate penance for the priest sex scandal.

How we spend our money and our lives makes a direct impact on the kingdom of God. I heard it once said that there aren’t any bad people, only bad, sometimes catastrophic decisions. Jesus is telling us that it’s never too late to change our decision, to decide for the kingdom of God rather than for material wealth and our own security.

Are we going to sell all we have and give it to the poor? Probably not. Are we going to give away our possessions and live an aesthetic life? Maybe, maybe not. But maybe our rich God understands. Maybe our God is merciful as well as just even when we give a lame attempt at serving. Maybe God is waiting for us to use our imagination even just a little when it comes to the kingdom of God, that future that’s planned for all of us.

Perhaps we’re not another Millard Fuller or Mother Theresa. But we could begin to do things differently. While we’re buying ourselves new clothes we could be buying new clothes for the thrift shop. Why should the poor get only our hand-me-downs? Instead of trading in the old car we could give it away to a charitable organization. Instead of going out to dinner, we could write a check for the same amount to the food bank. What would happen if we all raised our pledge by just a dollar week? We have about 60 pledging units in this church. You do the math.

Is God disappointed at our half-hearted attempts at discipleship? Maybe. But maybe God looks at our serving the way a teacher looks at a student’s work: some mistakes but that’s 70% of learning. God looks for progress and for learning from our past ways.

God is also shrewd with us. God is no fool. God is willing to accept even our feeble efforts as a sign of our faithfulness rather than nothing at all. God is looking for a goodwill effort; are we with God or not? We are not working our way into the kingdom but then are we willing to go with God’s flow toward that kingdom or are we working against it?

So whatever you’re doing now for God’s kingdom…you’re fired!

Now what are you going to do?

1 Timothy 1: 1-19; Luke 15: 1-10
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
September 12, 2010

I was never interested in watching the TV series “Lost”. The premise seemed at the least hopeless. A plane flying from Los Angeles to Sydney crashes on a mysterious, remote Pacific island. The survivors learn that they can’t leave the island and that they all are connected in some way. Through a myriad of plot twists and two separate yet also intertwining timelines, the show took its viewers on a wild ride, getting everyone hopelessly lost in the story and its characters. But this week I did watch the final two episodes of the TV series “Lost”, to see how such a hopeless premise could be resolved. And of course, being lost and then found is the scripture theme.

Of the reviews I read, the consensus was a strange mix of euphoria and disappointment. Some comments left by viewers were rather philosophical while many were full of feelings of being taken down a long road, only to be abandoned with no real answers as to why things happened the way they did. Nobody likes to be fooled or waste their time; nobody likes to be lost.

When you think about it, we’re all looking for some real answers, some meaning and purpose to our lives. Why do things happen the way they do? How much do we contribute to our situation and how much of it is out of our control? What is real and what is just an illusion? Are we fools for believing or not? How far off course are we?

Barbara Brown Taylor in her book An Altar in the World calls getting lost a spiritual exercise. She writes, “If you do not start choosing to get lost in some fairly low-risk ways, then how will you ever manage when one of life’s big winds knocks you clean off your course? …[The] skills are the same: managing your panic, marshalling your resources, taking a good look around to see where you are and what this unexpected development might have to offer you.” [1]

Many of us have heard or read other people’s stories of how getting knocked clean off their course gave them an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of others, and there are countless other everyday heroes that don’t make it into a book or the newspapers. Many of us not in a twelve step program don’t share with each other our stories of being lost because then we’d have to admit we lost our way, that we stumbled off the path or got blown off it, that for a while there we thought we were alone and didn’t know where we were.

The scariest thing about being lost is feeling like you’re not sure you’re going to get found, if you’re ever going to get off the island. The Sufi poet Rumi wrote, “Why, when God’s world is so big, did you fall asleep in a prison of all places?” When we first wake up to what is really real, we don’t know where we are. We don’t recognize the way home. But eventually, if we can endure and keep ourselves vulnerable to the moment, rescue does come to us.

My first experience of being lost, and I mean spiritually, emotionally, heart-breakingly lost, was when I was twelve. My father had moved out of the house and my parents were going to get a divorce, the shame of which was very keen in 1977. The year before, we had moved to another town. We had also started worshipping at another church not long before that. That meant new school, new people—I couldn’t imagine being more lost. At one particularly low point, I even contemplated suicide. Even though I had believed in God since I was a young child, I felt as though God had abandoned me and left me on some remote island to fend for myself.

For the next three years, through my freshman year in high school, my father moving to North Carolina and getting remarried, to my mother’s boyfriend moving in, I cried and cursed at and pleaded with God. In youth group I began to make new friends and deepen older friendships, including this guy called Jesus, but I still could not imagine that these people, this Jesus, loved me as I was: miserable, shy and a face full of pimples.

In the fall of my sophomore year I had a dream that changed the course of my life. In the dream I am an observer, watching the drama unfold before me. I see a group of men and women seating about a crude wooden table. Outside the makeshift shack I can hear bombs and shelling, automatic weapon fire, and people screaming. I am aware that there is a civil war being fought and that this group of people is an underground movement comprised of both sides to end the war and achieve peace.

As they are discussing and making plans, there is a loud knock at the door. The leader goes to the door, opens it and I see Jesus standing on the threshold. The leader does not recognize him but instead asks how he may help this stranger. Jesus replies that he has come to help them. The leader welcomes Jesus inside, the group makes room for him around the table, and their discussion continues.

Suddenly a woman’s scream is heard right outside the shack. Everyone rushes outside to find one their group has been fatally stabbed. Jesus picks her up and carries her inside. Jesus lays his hands upon her wound and heals her. Then the wound appears on his body and then he too is healed. The people in the group are amazed at this and ask, “Who are you? What’s the meaning of all this?”

The next morning I woke up and I remembered the dream all at once. I had no idea what it meant, so I called my pastor and asked to talk with him. He was aware of what was happening in my family and he knew how unhappy I was. After listening to me tell him about the dream, he said that there was a civil war going on inside of me, between my anger at God and my love of God. I wanted God to help me but I didn’t recognize him. God would send Jesus to heal me but I had to see what God was already doing in my life.

After that, nothing about my life changed. My parents were still divorced; my father still lived in North Carolina. My mother’s boyfriend was still living with us. I still had a face full of pimples. I still felt like a social outcast. What changed was my heart. What happened was that I turned around and started moving toward God. That’s what it means to repent: to have a change of heart, to turn around and face God.

It meant I had to stop blaming God for the way that my life was. I had to learn to accept my life and to put my focus on God and on the love that was coming into my life. And when one does this, indeed God does rejoice.

From that dream I also heard a call to the ministry, and I thought I could see how my life would go from there. Yet every direction I thought my life would take, my life has taken me somewhere else. I didn’t know how long I’d have my father, but I thought it would be longer than 19 years. I thought I would live on the eastern seaboard but I ended up in Ohio. I thought I would work part-time after having my first child but of the almost 19 years I’ve been ordained, I’ve worked about 8 years. When we moved to Monroe I thought it would be temporary; we’ve lived there almost 12 years now. When I became a pastor, I thought I had walked away from my childhood dream of being an artist, yet sometimes I try to use various art forms as a means of getting people to think about their relationship with God.

The apostle Paul certainly didn’t end up where he thought he would. He thought he was on the side of justice and righteousness when he was rousting out Jewish Christians and having them thrown in prison, but then wound up being God’s number one case history for those needing rescue. I don’t think I’m overstating it when I say that if it weren’t if Paul, there may not have been a church, yet he started out ensuring there never would be a church.

AIGA National Design Center, Design Journeys: You Are Here

Do any of us end up where we thought we would be? And does that mean we’re lost? Or could it be that we just can’t see where we are? I truly believe that wherever we are, God is; that there is no place we can go where God isn’t. Every time we try to shake God off our trail or think we’ve lost our way, God shows up in any number of surprising, subtle or life-jolting ways to bring us home.

God comes to us in Jesus to say “You are here. And so am I.” It was that truth that saved me when I was fifteen. It is that truth that continues to save me every day. None of us does this alone. Though there are days the premise of our lives may seem hopeless, though we may feel like we’re on a remote island, there are other survivors with us and all of us are connected in some way. What saves us is not getting off the island but realizing that we’re not alone.

It’s no coincidence that the TV series “Lost” ended in a church, a place of community and faith, all of the characters reunited, greeting each other in joy, forgiveness and healing. Whatever has happened to us, whatever we have lived through, wherever we have ended up, it has all brought us to this place and to this time and to this church. We are here and so is God: that mystery that found us, loved us, forgave us, and has been leading us home ever since.

Woodmont UCC Heritage Sunday, 2010

Even those who may feel lost to us, God is there as much as God is here, and God is leading them home too. We read in 1 Timothy that the whole purpose of what we’re about is to simply love and to live a life open to God. And we have also been given a commission to seek out those who feel lost and alone and help them see where they are, free them from their prison, introduce them to an old friend named Jesus, tell them our stories, and listen to theirs. Simply love. Leave your lives open to God. You are here, and so is God.

Amen.

1. Barbara Brown Taylor. An Altar in the World. New York: HarperCollins, 2009, p. 72.

Choosing God

2010-09-07T08:25:00.010-04:00

Two Roads Diverged by Wilma J. Lopez

Deut. 30: 15-20; Jeremiah 18: 1-11
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
Sept. 5, 2010

My oldest daughter has a standard phrase whenever she teases me and pushes my buttons: “I couldn’t resist, Mom!” Then I give her ‘the look’, she laughs at me, and so it goes.

One day I realized that she was making a choice, that we both were, and that we didn’t have to do the same old thing every time. She said, “Oh, I couldn’t resist, Mom!” I replied, “Oh yes you could. There were two paths in front of you. One was rather ordinary and plain, the other bright and shiny as a penny and you chose the bright and shiny one, you did!”

Every day such choices and possibilities exist before us. Some feel like old habits and ruts, others like a warm, comfortable piece of clothing, some like that bright, shiny penny, others seem empty of any kind of thrill or joy. If you think about it, our whole reality is created, moment by moment, by our choices. What we think, what we feel, what we do. What our attitude will be, what kind of mood we’re in, whether or not we’ll be annoyed or just amused by someone’s actions. And from these choices come a myriad of possibilities.

We’re convinced that we’ve been conditioned in some way to respond, to choose the way we always have. We were raised a certain way, with certain values, a mix of good and bad experiences. How can we change the past, we say, as a way of avoiding changing the present. Most of the time, we don’t like knowing that we’re co-creators of our reality. It would mean we would have to take some responsibility for shaping the way things are.

John Calvin, a 16th century theologian and Protestant reformer, believed that before the creation, God predestined the fate of the universe; that some of God’s creation was made for grace and salvation and some of it was not. Yet humankind was also given free will and the choice to reject that saving grace.

In the readings from both Deuteronomy and Jeremiah, God’s people are given a choice, between life and death, good and evil, blessings and curses, listening to God’s messenger or ignoring him at their peril. It hardly sounds like free will. Life or death? That sounds like a no brainer! And yet listen to the next verse in the reading from Jeremiah: “But they'll [God’s people] just say, 'Why should we? What's the point? We'll live just the way we've always lived, doom or no doom.”

Fear has never really worked as a coercive to get us to choose the next right thing. It’s also given the God of the Hebrew scriptures a really bad, undeserved rap. Actually, Deuteronomy and Jeremiah were written during and after the Babylonian exile, after the bad choices had been made, after the doom had happened. God’s people, in retrospect, realized that their stubbornness and their unwillingness to be shaped by God led to their destruction. And yet God continues to reach out to God’s people, again and again, offering life, blessing and goodness when we would rather die than surrender.

33 Chilean miners mark a month underground - NPR story

It’s words like surrender, obedience and repentance (change of heart) that make faith leave a bad taste in our mouths. In the words of the poet William Ernest Henley we like to think that we are the masters of our fate, the captains of our soul. We are when it comes to our attitude and our outlook on life; no one can choose that for us unless we give them that power. But resisting God will do us no good. Though we may be able to master our moments, God is the master of all space and time and we do indeed ignore that life-giving wisdom at our peril.

God is the master-potter, an artist working with an ever-changing medium called the creation. God is still discovering how to work with us earthen vessels, still shaping us, still creating us and creating through us. There are still possibilities untold: everlasting peace, the end of hunger, poverty, violence and oppression, a new heaven and a new earth but also destruction, torment, death, extinction. What will we choose? Which path will we take? What do our choices about how we live speak to the God to whom we still need to surrender?

Don Valente, son of Doña Rosa, at the Doña Rosa pottery studio in Oaxaca, Mexico

All it takes is one step: one step toward life, one step toward blessing, one step toward God. In any twelve step program one does not agree to do all twelve steps—just to begin with the first one. And that first step is all about surrender, that God knows better than we do how to end the insanity and how to begin to live. Author and Quaker Parker Palmer wrote that faith is less about taking a big leap and more about taking one more step. It’s all about doing the next right thing, whatever that may be.

What is the next right thing to do, the next step toward God, that you need to take in your life and in your life together? In what ways do you still resist God and God’s desire to be in relationship with you? Though God may not be necessary for a life lived for good, why not live with spiritual companionship that accepts you as you are and yet prods you off yourself? What are some habits, some old ruts that need to be replaced with spiritual practices such as service, study, prayer, and giving?

Our choices shape who we are and whose we are. Will we put ourselves into God’s hands and allow God to mold us and use us or will we resist and grow hard and unmalleable? When we choose God and God’s kingdom of compassion, justice and peace for all, we are shaped into a vessel that can be used toward that kingdom. Every time we choose God, that kingdom becomes more than a possibility. It becomes more and more visible, more and more a reality. And all it takes is just one step, one choice at a time.

Amen.

I thought this truth was self-evident...

2010-08-31T07:34:00.001-04:00

...but apparently some explaning was necessary.

Thanks to Suzanne for this video.

Entertaining angels

2010-08-29T19:10:00.008-04:00

Andrei Rublev, icon of the holy visitors at the oaks of Mamre, c. 1410

Hebrews 13: 1-8, 15-16; Luke 14: 1, 7-14
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
August 29, 2010

On the Emily Post website, a host giving a party is given six tips for a successful gathering:

1. Invite clearly. Include necessary information for your guests in the invitation. Is the party a casual get-together or more formal? What about the attire? Maybe a guest would benefit by knowing ahead of time who else will be there, which you might mention when they RSVP.

2. Plan well. Preparing your guest list carefully is key to a successful party. Then do as much as you can ahead of time. (Lower the stress level by serving food and refreshments you know will work.) Get everything ready well before your guests arrive, so you'll feel relaxed from the very beginning.

3. Remain calm. Giving a party can be enjoyable, especially if you approach it with simplicity. Get help if necessary, and don't let your guests think you're huffing and puffing. They'll feel far more comfortable if they don't have to wonder whether they're causing you any trouble.

4. Keep your guests feeling welcome. Make sure guests are warmly greeted, then made to feel welcome throughout the party. Look after each guest as much as you can. If you notice that a guest has an empty glass or if there's one person standing alone, remedy the situation as quickly and cheerfully as possible.

5. Be flexible and gracious. Your soufflé falls. Or one friend arrives with an unexpected guest. The ruined dessert? Have a fallback. The uninvited guest? As discourteous as it is for someone to spring a surprise on you, be gracious. No polite host would ever send an uninvited guest packing.

6. Be appreciative. Thank people for coming as you bid them good-bye. And don't forget to thank anyone who brought you a gift.

In the readings from both Hebrews and the gospel of Luke, it sounds as though we are being given a similar list of manners and behaviors but it’s more than being congenial and welcoming. It’s about realizing that we are all guests at God’s table:

1. Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.

2. Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured as though you yourselves were being tortured.

3. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.

4. When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host. …Rather, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that [you may be invited to move up higher and be honored in the presence of all].

5. When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.

A week ago Friday my family and I, and two other couples from this church, were guests at a banquet of sorts: a Ramadan fast-breaking meal called an iftar. It was held at the University of Bridgeport and it was the first time that all the Muslim communities of Bridgeport had gathered together. And to this auspicious occasion of solidarity they also opened the invitation to anyone who wanted to join them. In the same room, sharing tables, food and fellowship, were Muslims, Jews and Christians—men, women and children. (WSHU.org news story)

When we first arrived we sat at a table about midway toward the front of the room. But David, my husband and Bruce and Will wanted to mingle with others. Then one of the organizers of the evening encouraged everyone to move to the front, to make room for any latecomers. Therese, Dorothy, and my girls and I remained at our table and were joined by a group of Muslim women and their children. I called it ‘the women’s table’.

Speeches were given by representatives from the different Muslim communities, from the Executive Director of CAIR, the Council for American-Islamic Relations, and from a Jewish synagogue and from the Bridgeport Council of Churches. There was no rancor or criticism against those who protested outside Masjid An-Noor, the Bridgeport Islamic Society on Clinton Avenue. Rather, we heard encouraging words of compassion, wisdom, and faith.

We were told we did not have to pray but we prayed. We took off our shoes, with men lining up in the front and women lining up behind them. We bowed, we kneeled, we put our foreheads on the floor as best as we could. We listened to verses of the Qur’an and prayers sung in lyrical Arabic. We observed moments of silent prayer.

At sunset the fast was broken with plates of sweet dried dates, bringing to mind a line from the Psalms: “O taste and see that the Lord is good.” Bottles of water were passed around, as the Muslims in the room had not had anything to drink or eat since sunrise. Blessings were said and then we waited to be called up to the buffet lines for a dinner of hummus, lamb, roast chicken, chicken kabob, rice and salad. There was even cheese pizza for the children and for my vegetarian daughter.

There we were, all of us children of Abraham, many nations, different skin colors, each with our own holy books yet sharing the same story: that of the holy visitors who came to Mamre to prophesy what was promised by God—a child whose descendents would be as numerous as the stars in the sky, as the grains of sand in the desert. Abraham and Sarah gave them the best meal out of what they had, gave them water to wash their feet and shade in which to rest from the hot sun. They had entertained angels without knowing it, for hospitality was law in the desert. It became part of the Mosaic code of law. Jesus counted it as one of the greatest commandments, that we love our neighbor as ourselves, thus, our Muslim brothers and sisters also share this belief, as Jesus is one of their prophets as well.

I know you are welcoming folk, that your hearts are open, your minds inquisitive, and that your hunger and thirst for justice and righteousness are keen. The challenge presented to us in these scriptures is that those whose rhetoric is filled with fear are the strangers to whom we need to extend our love and our hospitality. As it says in the Holy Qur’an: “And the servants of the Most Merciful are those who walk upon the earth easily, and when the ignorant address them [harshly], they say [words of] peace.” —Surat Al-Furqān 25: 63, The Holy Qur’an, Sahih International version.

Those who say that Islam is a lie: their minds are imprisoned; therefore let us have the courage to think what it must be like to be in a prison of fear and ignorance. They are tortured by this fear and ignorance; therefore let us put ourselves in that place of torture and find within us a source of compassion. Let us give them a place of honor by listening with compassion and an open heart. May we offer words of peace when we are faced with hate and fear, remembering that we are all children of God.

Let us also remain calm and be flexible and gracious. Perhaps this church would like to invite our Jewish brothers and sisters from Congregation Sinai and our Muslim sisters and brothers from West Haven to a meal here at church. You could also open that occasion to any who are interested in learning more about how much we have in common.

If you haven’t already, make a donation to the United Church of Christ for flood relief in Pakistan, home to 16% of the world’s Muslims and the second largest Muslim population after Indonesia. It’s estimated that over 17 million Pakistanis have been affected by the floods, on par with the damage done by Hurricane Katrina in this country but not receiving not nearly as much press or support.

In Gainesville, Florida the Dove World Outreach Center plans to burn as many copies of the Qur’an as possible on Sept. 11. In response to this misinformed plan, Larry Reimer, a UCC pastor in Gainesville, said “If they can burn it, then we can read it.” On Sunday, Sept. 12, along with other Gainesville religious leaders, Rev. Reimer plans to read from the Qur’an in worship. We could join them.

This is a crucial time, when people are uncertain of their future and fear of the other is on the rise, when unrest can be taken advantage of by those who seek power and control. It all depends on how the rest of us respond. Indeed, we need to invite clearly, to plan well, to make our guests, those angels unawares, feel welcome. Most of all we are to be appreciative of this gift, this opportunity given to us, to offer compassion, to be peacemakers, to join together at God’s table of reconciliation. Amen.

Fighting fire with humor

2010-08-23T08:45:00.002-04:00

You can usually tell who is on the side of justice by the quality of their protest signs.

Thanks to my seminary friend Rick Barber for this video.

Places I've been

2010-08-17T09:00:00.013-04:00

Christchurch, New Zealand

Oaxaca, Mexico

Boston, MA, USA

New Orleans, LA, USA

Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, Canada

Lugano, Switzerland

San Diego, CA, USA

Dubois, WY, USA

Create your own travel map or travel blog

Great vacation rentals at TripAdvisor

When I look at where I've been, and I think I've been quite a few places, I realize how little of the world I've seen. One of my life goal's is to have map pins in every continent, to see as much of this world as possible.