Aint No Party Like A Jesus Party- Sermon based on John 2:1-11

I’m going to go ahead and blame the Puritans for the poor reputation of the church, and even Christianity at large in our country. It’s boring, some say. Too strict, claim others. It’s all about what you can’t, shouldn’t, or mustn’t do. Perhaps we’re a little bit beyond that, but I would guess there are at least a few of you in here today who hesitate to share your faith background and practice with people for fear of the assumptions people will make, that all of a sudden they will look at you and see a dour, straight-laced Puritan who is eyeing everything they do with righteous judgment. Or maybe you hesitate to invite people to church because, well, it is a little…sedate. And serious.

Sometimes that’s a good thing. Our world is busy and noisy and full of drama. Sometimes we need a break from that, a place to come into quiet, to rest and have a few minutes of peace to actually hear the voice of God.

And often we need to deal with serious issues that can’t be left outside the church. We can’t come into worship and pretend that the world is not broken and that God is not calling us to be part of its healing.

However. We do not need to always be serious. We do not need to always be quiet, or still. While we need to be careful not to make the goal of worship entertainment, as I think has happened in some churches, that does not mean it can’t be fun.

Jesus, as we see in this story, knows about fun. There’s a wedding going on. Weddings in those days were not one evening and done as they are now. No, weddings occurred over an entire week, and it was the host’s job to keep everyone fed and happily imbibing. Running out of wine meant scarcity not just for the couple’s family, but symbolically for the marriage itself, and would certainly mean the end of the party after only three days.

At first, Jesus is dismissive. What business is it of his if there’s no wine left? But Mary is confident, and tells the servants to do what he tells them. He has them take large stone jars, which people use to ritually purify themselves in the Jewish custom, and fill them with water. The water then is transformed into wine. And not just any wine. Good wine, the stuff you’re supposed to serve at the beginning of the party, when people actually care what they’re drinking.

Jesus not only approves of the party and celebration, he’s overwhelmingly enabling it to continue! This is not the image of Jesus we usually see. We know righteously angry Jesus, and meek and mild baby Jesus, and patient “ok, Disciples, let me explain this to you one more time so maybe you’ll understand” Jesus. But fun Jesus? Not so much.

And why not? Because we limit ourselves to what we feel is good and proper. Maybe it’s not just the Puritans. Maybe it’s New England. We’re Yankees. Reserved. Don’t get our feathers ruffled too much. Maybe. Although I’m going to bet that will not be the impression made this evening at Gillette Stadium. So why can’t church be fun?

We put limits on what church is “supposed” to be, and we do the same with God’s grace. We act as though we will need to settle for what God gives us, as if sacrifice and discomfort are what make us better Christians. Yes, sacrifice is called for. But sacrifice of what, exactly? Pleasure? Enjoyment?

That’s not the way God works. We turn to God and expect crumbs, and God gives us the entire loaf of bread. We ready ourselves for a bottle of cheap wine, and God pours out six 25-gallon jars of the best there is.

The jars in this story represent the old ways, old practices of purity that Jesus transforms with his new wine. Maybe we should think about what rituals and practices we’re holding onto that limit the abundance of Christ’s grace. Maybe we should reconsider what church and Christianity are supposed to be, and open ourselves up to what they could be.

Now, of course, we are all of many generations and backgrounds and personalities and interests. What is enjoyable to one may be intolerable to another. But that’s part of being the body of Christ, right? We also need to consider those who aren’t yet part of the body.

But we need to be open, to others and to our own desires. Are you feeling moved by a prayer or song and want to raise your hands? That doesn’t happen much in our church, but that’s ok. Do it! Is there an upbeat hymn that makes your hands itch to clap or your hips beg to sway? I was just swaying to that last hymn. Go for it! Do you agree with something I’ve just said in my sermon or with the beauty of a choir anthem and want to affirm it with a vocal “Amen?” Why not? It is, in fact, ok, to laugh and smile and have fun in worship—and not just during the Time for All Ages! God is awesome, so let’s make the worship of God that way too! We are sharing the GOOD news, right? Yes, sometimes the Holy Spirit moves us deeply to tears or to consider action in response to a prophetic word, but hello, it’s the Holy Spirit, and She likes to be mischievous and active, too, so we should let her!

Living as disciples of Christ can be serious business, but we also must be careful not to take ourselves too seriously. For everything there is a season: a time for reverence and a time for irreverence; a time for reflection and a time for action; a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to be still and a time to PAR-ty!! How many of you have seen the movie Sister Act? This group of nuns sing in a choir in a mostly empty Catholic church. They sing with love, sure, but without a whole lot of passion (and, at the beginning, not a whole lot of skill, either). Then Whoopi Goldberg arrives, acting as a nun to hide in the witness protection program. Her previous profession was as lounge singer. She is assigned the task of coaching the choir, and all of a sudden these staid nuns are not only sounding better, but they’re having fun. In one scene, they begin with a traditional arrangement of “Salve Regina,” sung very sweetly. “Hail, holy queen enthroned above, O, Maria…” Maggie Smith, who plays the head nun, looks on approvingly. Then, the piano picks up and they are rocking out and clapping, “Hail holy queen…” Maggie Smith is not amused. The sound brings in people off the street to see what’s going on. The priest waves in these inner-city kids who are peeking in to see what’s going on. In subsequent services, they sing “I Will Follow Him” and “My God (My Guy).” “Nothing you can say can tear me away from my God…”

That’s mostly about music, but it’s also about an attitude, that loving God and serving Christ does not have to be boring. “Ain’t no party like a Jesus party, ‘cause a Jesus party don’t stop!”  Now, we’re not in an inner city, so the chances of people coming in off the streets of Francestown because they can hear us outside are slim to none. But what if people heard of us and decided to take a peek? What if what we were doing—in worship, in mission, in the entire life of the church—were so exciting we couldn’t hold it in and had to share with others? What if it wasn’t just our congregation? What if that started happening all over the Church-with-a-capital-C? It makes me excited and joyful just thinking about it! Forget about church membership numbers or attendance or pledge amounts; just imagine how many more people would hear and know the Good News of Jesus Christ—the power of God’s love and the abundance of God’s grace; the feast God has prepared for us, the river of delights to which we are invited. What might our world look like, if that’s the message people heard about Christianity? It would be amazing! And all because of fun Jesus, who kept the party going.

In that spirit, we’re going to do something a little fun. Who here has played MadLibs? [Explain if necessary]. So we know how this works? Ok, let’s try this out.

On the third day there was a _BIRTHDAY________ (special occasion or event) in __CHURCH______ (place), and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his __COWS________ (plural noun) had also been invited to the (_____BIRTHDAY same special occasion or event). When the _WATER______ (liquid) gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And ___MARK_____ (name of person in the room) said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My __SKI_______ (noun) has not yet come.” His mother said to the ___PEWS______ (plural noun), “Do whatever he tells you.” Now ­­­__SINGING______ (verb ending in –ing) there were __3____ (number) ___BEAUTIFUL____ (adjective) water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding __24_____ (number) or __6______ (number) gallons. Jesus said to them, “___PLAY_______ (verb) the jars with ____BEER______ (liquid).” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. When the __TEACHER_______  (profession) tasted the __CIDER_______ (liquid) that had become __WINE______ (liquid), and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the ___DOCTOR_____ (profession) called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone __WALKS_____ (verb) the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become __LOVELY_______ (adjective). But you have kept the _HAIRY________ (adjective) wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his __PEOPLE________ (plural noun), in ___FRANCESTOWN_______ (place), and revealed his __COW________  (noun); and his disciples believed in him.

Having had this fun, remember it. Remember the abundant joy God wishes for you. And when we sing “Joyful, Joyful” after Communion, let’s do it with gusto! 

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Daniel and the Reformation

Well, here's something a little different: a peek into my thought process before I publish my finished sermon. Being at a new call which has not become accustomed to the lectionary, I decided to take the plunge and go off-lectionary for a while. After my first non-lectionary week, I had three weeks of stewardship, so that was pretty easy. Then I was left with a feeling of, "Ok, now what? How do I choose my sermon focus from the whole Bible?" I'm not sure how it arose, but I decided to start preaching stories. Familiar stories from Sunday school, not-as-familiar stories that are skipped by the lectionary, etc. I began at the beginning, with the two creation stories. The first week, I led a "time of wonder" (based on Godly Play) for my sermon, which allowed those in the congregation to share their reactions, thoughts, and feelings. The second week, I preached a sermon based on how we read both stories, which is posted here. Now, it's almost a free-for-all, though I'm realizing why preachers don't do this much--the stories are LONG! I definitely got used to preaching on small bits of scripture, and then honing in on one line or idea on which to base my sermon. Five paragraphs offer a lot of sermon potential, but at the moment I have this feeling that I should preach on the story as a whole, which I'm not sure will last.

Anyway, this week I've chosen Daniel in the lion's den (Daniel 6) as my story. It happens that this is also Reformation Sunday. Usually I don't even notice, but over the past week I've seen multiple posts on Facebook about how my colleagues are crafting their sermons in relation to this celebration of the birth of Protestantism, and it's caught my interest. So now in addition to figuring out how to focus my preaching on Daniel (in hindsight, perhaps starting a Bible study on the stories, rather than a sermon series, might have been more appropriate), I'm also trying to weave in Reformation.

At the moment, I have a sermon title, "Abraham, Martin...and Daniel" and some sense that I want to talk about faithfulness to God amidst and informing change and reform. How are we reforming now? How can we, like Daniel, hold on to faithful traditions and values even if they put us in danger of ridicule or marginalization (since not many of our lives are in danger for our faith, at least not here in the US)?Not at all sure how that's going to shape up, but I decided at the last minute to finally include in this week's liturgy a prayer of dedication I found in our hymnal weeks ago and have been eager to use. I think the ideas in this prayer will help shape my sermon. (Funny sidenote: I just did a quick search to see if I could find a link to the prayer, and it turns out the author, Herbert Brokering, edited a book of Luther's prayers. Even more perfect!). I can't seem to find it online, so I'm going to share it here, with citation (and begging forgiveness from copyright holders).

Lord, call us into the church.
Call us in often,
    and teach us the old words and old songs
    with their new meanings.
Lord, give us new words
    for the words we wear out.
Give us new songs
    for those that have lost their spirit.
Give us new reasons for coming in
    and for going out,
    into our streets and to our homes.
As the house of the Lord once moved
    like a tent through the wilderness,
    so keep our churches from being rigid.
Make our congregations alive and free.
Give us ideas we never had before,
    so that alleluia and gloria and amen
    are like the experiences we know in daily living.
Alleluia! O Lord, be praised!
In worship and in work, be praised! Amen.

 From Lord, Be With. Copyright 1969 by Concordia Publishing House. As published in Hymns for the Family of God, Paragon Associates, Inc, copyright 1976.

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One Wild and Precious Life

I am feeling reflective today. Yesterday, a faculty member from my high school passed away, only a few weeks after being hospitalized to be treated for bladder cancer. As far as I know, before that he was still teaching math and coaching. I never had him as a teacher, but his wife joined students in dance classes, and I performed with her. I grieve for her. Their daughters attended the school with me; one was a year ahead, the other, three years behind. I grieve for them. I also grieve for his students. We lost three faculty members my senior year, and one was like this--mid-term diagnosed with cancer, gone very quickly, most beloved.

As I walked my dog Lily this morning through the wooded country roads of the town where I have been serving at a new call since September, I couldn't help but think of poet Mary Oliver's famous question: "What do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Once again, Perspective has come and knocked me out of my procrastinating, lackadaisical meandering through life.

The other quote that was running through my head this morning was from an anti-drug commercial. Remember the ones where kids were listing what they wanted to be when they grew up, and the voice at the end says, "No one says they want to be a junkie when they grow up." Of course, it's different, but no one plans for cancer, either. No one says, "Ok, I'll graduate and get a job and get married and have kids and then I'll deal with cancer, and we'll just have to see after that."

Yesterday, I discovered the Facebook page of a family trying to bring everyone home. Sean was serving in Afghanistan. Heather was pregnant with a child they'd prayed 7 years for. Baby John was growing in her womb. Then, at 34 weeks, Heather had back pain and a headache, went to the hospital, and collapsed with a massive brain bleed. Baby John was delivered by emergency C-section. Sean spent 72 hours trying to get home. Heather slipped into a coma. Sean is home from war, Baby John is home after 20 days in the hospital, and Heather is still in a coma. I'm sure this is not the life they imagined when they found out they were finally expecting. In an instant, everything changed.

A woman I went to elementary school with is the mother of three beautiful girls. One January day, she took her youngest, then just 22 months old, to the ER with a swollen belly, thinking she was constipated. Instead, it was a tumor on her liver, that had basically appeared overnight. Neuroblastoma. No treatments were successful; little Rylie Hope died in April of the following year, a month after her third birthday. Not a day goes by that I don't think of that little girl, who I never had the chance to meet, but whose smile enchanted me through photos.

Shit happens when you least expect it. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. Forget plans. What ARE you DOING with your one wild and precious life?

Of course, it's hard to live like that. There are bills to pay, and the yard needs to be raked so that if you are indeed around for next spring, the lawn won't look like hell, and there is work to do, and savings to build because what if you do live to be 102?

But still. Today, anyway, I'm being mindful. I will go rake leaves not just because it's a chore to complete but because I love the colorful leaves and the sound of the dog racing through them and the smell of their damp earthiness. And I will wash the dishes, and clean the dining room and organize information for the worship bulletin because those things need to get done. But I blogged, which I've been meaning to do for months, and hope to do much more frequently. And if I don't get to sew today, at least I'll do some sketches.

See, Mary Oliver's question makes me nervous, makes me fearful of death, because right now, if I were asked what I did with my one wild and precious life, I don't think I'd like the answer. Right now, I'm wasting it, betting that I can do things tomorrow, next month, in a few years. No. I get one. ONE wild and precious life, and it's time to stop wasting it, and start singing, "No day but to-day!"

I'm off to rake leaves.

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Another Creation Story?

Sermon preached October 21, 2012, based on Genesis 1:1-2:4a (read in worship the previous week) and Genesis 2:4b-24.

I want to begin this morning with something that seems so far removed from this ancient story as to be almost comical. I want to very quickly try and explain Twitter. Twitter is an online tool for what is called “social networking,” something that used to be done over dinner or drinks, but is now done via computer or smart phone. Most users of Twitter have their profiles open to the public, which means that whether one is signed up for a Twitter account or not, their information and comments (what they call “tweets”) are accessible. One distinction about Twitter is that any post or comment you make has to be 140 characters or less. If you do have an account, you then “follow” other users so that their tweets show up in your feed, and you can interact with other users.

There are a variety of ways people use Twitter. Some use it solely to connect with people they actually know. Some use it to connect with other people who have similar interests. Some use it to promote their business or brand, or in the case of celebrities, themselves. There are those who use Twitter in one direction only; that is, they only send information out and don’t interact. Most, however, end up having “conversations” with other users and engaging with each other.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because I use Twitter. I follow people I’ve actually met and many that I haven’t. I follow people who are in ministry, or have shops on Etsy, or are interested in the environment, or have adopted, or are just interesting or funny. There is one particular user I follow with whom I agree on almost everything. He tends to Tweet a lot of social commentary, focusing on race and gender and sexual orientation. He has an interesting perspective on the world. He often Tweets in spurts, sort of making lists of opinions on certain things, Tweet after Tweet. Usually, I’ll read through his blurbs and find myself nodding my head in agreement. “Yes, that’s so true.” “Oh, what a good point.” Eventually, though, he’ll drift over into the one area where we strongly disagree: religion. See, this user is an atheist, an intellectual who believes religion is ridiculous. One of his frequent comments is about how all religions are just myths. He recently Tweeted in annoyance at how Christians call Greek and Roman god stories myths as though they are any different from our own faith stories.

Does he have a point? I mean, last week we read through the beginning of Genesis, an account of how God created the universe, including the Earth and human beings. This story is immediately followed by the one we heard this morning, another account of how the world was created. Two different stories. In one, the universe was created in six days; in the other, one day was all it took to create the earth and its inhabitants and the rest of the universe wasn’t mentioned. In the first story, male and female human beings were created at the same time, and after all the other animals. In the second, the male human came first, then all the other animals, then the female human. They also just have very different tones to them. Which one is true? Are either of them true? What about what science says about how our world was created? Are these really just myths? Because let’s be honest: if we were told these stories came from some other tradition or culture, and not from the Bible, we’d call them legends, or “creation myths,” and not even really consider believing them, right? Isn’t that what we do? I mean, come on, woman is created from the rib of man? Humans are made out of dust, like a kid playing with Play-doh? God sets a dome over the earth to separate heaven from earth, like we’re a big planetarium?

In my three years teaching Confirmation, reading these two Creation stories was always a big moment for the kids. Many had “come out of the woodwork” for Confirmation, not having been in church since they were baptized, but even those who had gone to Sunday School every week had a revelation. They knew the stories, but they never really thought about the fact that they were two separate stories. I think our society does that too: Creation happened in 6 days and Adam and Eve were the humans created. Right? So when we sit and read the stories, and they realize there are two, separate, different stories, they start asking all those same questions. Perhaps some of you are experiencing this same event this morning. Maybe some of you never realized there were two different stories. Maybe some of you knew, but always had those lingering questions. Maybe some of you felt guilty for questioning Scripture. Maybe others accepted the stories as part of our tradition and the validity of evolution without ever really thinking about it.

They are big questions, though. It is amazing how something as simple as figuring out that our Bible contains two different accounts of Creation can shake a person’s faith. All of a sudden, we wonder about the authority of the Bible. We question all we believe, and why. If those stories aren’t real, what is? How can we believe anything in the Bible? If one is true and the other isn’t, then how can we tell what else the Bible gets right or wrong? Do we hold the Bible as the holy “sufficient rule of faith and practice,” or not? What is the truth?

And here’s what I tell my Confirmation students, something I had to discover myself when all these questions arose for me in seminary, as we dissected every last word of the Bible until it seemed to have lost all meaning and sanctity: there is a difference between TRUTH and FACT.

Factually, perhaps the story we shared this morning may not have happened. Factually, although it does mesh a little better with the scientific explanation of the origins of the universe, the story we heard last week might not be quite right either. However, we can find truth in both of them.

Here are some truths I make out. First and foremost, God is the author of Creation. However it happened, beginning with the Big Bang or before that or through some other theory, God is the Creator. Another truth: human beings have a special role in creation. We have reached the point where we have the ability to destroy everything in a way nothing else on Earth can, and the capacity to see, at least in part, how the consequences of our actions will play out in the future. That endows us with a particular responsibility to care for God’s creation—to be good stewards of the Creation of which we are a part. Related to that, another truth: we are deeply connected to the earth, to dirt, to the very fibers which make up this planet. In Hebrew, we can see the wordplay: adam, human, was formed from adamah, ground or soil. Another truth: Human nature is not a duality of body and soul but a single living being, dust animated by God’s breath. More truth: male and female are both images of the Divine. Also, maybe God doesn’t get everything right the first time. In this morning’s story, God made every animal and bird as failed attempt at a partner for adam. Another truth, and hold onto your hats for this one: sexual intercourse is a divinely blessed act. Both stories make a reference to it: in the first, God tells the humans to “be fruitful and multiply,” and in the second, the man and woman cling to each other and become one flesh. More truth: Creation is very good, and ideal when there is diversity—many different plants and creatures and fish and waters. And yet more truth: like air, God is invisible, but knowable in movement and action. God’s wind swept over the waters at the beginning of creation; God’s breath brought life to human beings.

There are is probably a lot more truth to be found in these stories, and certainly in the rest of the Bible. And perhaps by the dictionary definition, they are myths—stories of heroes or deities or events of nature without a determinable basis of fact. But then, maybe that’s ok. We’re not claiming the facts, necessarily, but the truth that we can learn about God through them, which we see with the help of the Holy Spirit. As we hear more stories from our faith tradition in the weeks to come may that same Spirit of Wisdom and Truth guide us to know our God more fully. Amen.

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Truth Is...

Sermon preached Sunday, August 12 at First Church of Christ in Longmeadow, based on Ephesians 4:25-5:2.

So this morning's sermon is a bit of a brainstorm, or to use a turn of phrase I heard recently, "a mind dump." I just put thoughts down as they came, without organizing them in any particular way, so I apologize if they may seem a little random.

The title of this morning's message comes from a game played on Facebook. Those of you with middle school--or even high school--Facebook friends may have seen this. Somebody posts "message me with a number for truth is." Someone does so, and the original poster then posts a "truth" about the friend, but only using the number so it's sort of anonymous. Truths might be things like "You're a really good cheerleader" or "I had fun with you in band."

Given this morning's text's mention of speaking truth to our neighbors, I thought I'd share some of my own truths with you. These are truths about the passage, church, and some of my beliefs.

• Truth is, sometimes it's hard to speak truth to our neighbors--they might get mad or offended or worst of all respond with another truth we don't really want to hear.
• Truth is, I don't think we should gloss over the face that this letter writer is telling thieves to stop stealing not because it's wrong or so they can make an honest living for themselves, but so they'll have something to share with the needy.
• Truth is, when you argue right before bedtime, it's hard to not go to bed angry.
• Truth is, Christianity is really weird. And awesome. (That one came from a friend)
• Truth is, I worry about the future of the Church.
• Truth is, I'm not sure I believe in the devil, but if the devil exists, I probably leave room for it a lot more than I should.
• Truth is, evil DOES exist.
• Truth is, the prayer of confession at the beginning of worship is not meant to condemn individuals or make us feel guilty but recognize our communal frailty as humans.
• Truth is, forgiving is one of the hardest parts of Christianity, and one of the most important.
• Truth is, it's easy to be neighbors and "members of one another" with people like us. It's a lot more difficult to say, act, and feel that about people and groups we just can't stand, or fear, or who do terrible things.
• Truth is, we should be praying for them at least twice as much as the people we know, love, care about, and like.
• Truth is, sometimes it's tough to talk about stuff like this, or why people are or aren't coming to church, without getting angry and snarky and bitter, which is exactly what Ephesians tells us not to do.
• Truth is, it's really tough to always do what we're supposed to do.
• Truth is, I'm not sure how Jesus would feel about church committees (really! I'm not suggesting an alternative or to get rid of them, just...think about it!)
• Truth is, a lot of what we focus on and put our energy and money into doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and we neglect the things that do.
• Truth is, the world might really be different if we did indeed let no evil talk or slander or malice come out of our mouths but instead passed everything through a filter, asking ourselves before speaking if what we're about to say is useful for building up, if it will give grace to those who hear.
• Truth is, that idea is in the same paragraph as the one that says speak truth to our neighbors, so truth is they're probably connected.
• Truth is, I still haven't quite figured out the whole heaven/hell/salvation thing (and if you have, please feel free to share with me after church!)
• Truth is, I agree with Charlie Hamlin, who says every day we should do something to strengthen our minds, bodies, and spirits.
• Truth is, some parts of the Bible are really disturbing and almost impossible to consider holy.
• Truth is, I wonder what the apostles and other early Christians think about how we follow Christ and worship God and experience the Holy Spirit.
• Truth is, I wonder what God thinks, too.
• Truth is, if it's easy, it probably isn't truth (simple, maybe, but not easy)
• Truth is, I am not the fount of truth, because truth is, you all have your own truths, too, and I hope in the spirit (if not the intention) of this morning's text, you will share some of them with me and your other neighbors after worship at coffee hour and in the coming days and weeks. 

Let us pray: Holy God, you who are the ultimate Truth, loosen our tongues that we may speak truth to our neighbors, always in love, ever for your glory. Amen.

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Grace and All That

Wowza has it been a long time since I posted. I knew I was neglecting my blog, but I didn't realize that it was quite this bad! I'd like to promise to do better, and I think that promise would be as much for myself as any readers, but I don't make promises I'm not sure I can keep. So I'll try, but that's the best I can do.

So anyway, my thoughts this morning are on grace. I recently had a conversation with some folks about grace, and salvation, and hell, and faith. It was exhausting, as much of that part of my theology is still developing, but it was also exhilarating. I believe it's necessary to wrestle with these kinds of things. We didn't come to too many conclusions, but the wrestling has stuck with me over the last couple weeks. Just how big is God's grace? It's not earned, but aren't there some requirements? If there is no hell, then what is the point of salvation? What DOES Jesus mean when he says, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Light, and no one gets to the Father except through me?" If non-Christians receive God's grace too, then why did God send Jesus? Can you be a Christian if you don't believe Jesus was divine? If so, is there still a trinity?

Seriously, they are questions that can keep someone like me awake at night. And as I told those folks, my life would be infinitely easier if I were a black-and-white kind of person, if I could just accept pat answers, memorize them, and spit them back out as truth. Salvation from sin comes through atonement and the cross alone, and it means salvation from Hell. Good people who believe Jesus Christ is their Lord and Savior do not go to Hell. Being "good" means following what is written in the Bible, and what is found there is infallible.

However, I'm not that kind of person. I am much more aware of nuance and different perspectives. I struggle to figure out what place the really crappy stories and and instructions in the Bible have in our faith lives today.  I shudder to think that the beautiful, loving non-Christian people I know will go to Hell while vile, hate-spewing oppressor Christians get the Eternal Good Life. It's not all clear. The Bible contradicts itself. It was written by fallible humans, and as someone who frequently attempts to write and speak with the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, I know first hand that sometimes we get in the way or screw it up or spin the message to our liking.

Here's my mini-morsel of insight that has occurred to me on this hazy, hot and humid summer morning in Massachusetts: if God's grace looks like our human ideas of justice and fairness, we're probably not getting it right. I don't know exactly what God's justice looks like. I do know that I don't believe in an eternal separation from God in a fiery underworld. That being said, I think we must be accountable for our actions--or inaction--in this life. How that plays out, I just don't know. My human sense of justice is that of course Mother Theresa and Jerry Sandusky (making an assumption of guilt here, although of course he's still in court receiving his fair trial) would end up in different places. That's only fair. A life lived ministering to the poor vs. a life lived inflicting horrific abuse on children? Duh. 


And yet. I have no doubt that anyone who is a perpetrator of abuse--and particularly abuse against children-- will have to answer to her/his Creator. I have no doubt that God has little tolerance for such evil. And yet, something in my gut twists a little to create such an absolute, such a limit to God's grace. Where is the line? Is it rape, murder, abuse? What about stealing? What about not caring for "the least of these?" In Jesus' famous speech about feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and visiting the prisoners and in doing such, doing so for him and being blessed, we tend to stop reading before we get to the second part about the people who DON'T do those things facing damnation. Or there's that line in Mark about most sin being forgivable except blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, which is eternally unforgivable. 


I think God's grace is big. Bigger than we could ever imagine. And while we certainly must strive to live in obedience to God and God's commandments, I think we'd do well not to say for certain, "This thing is beyond God's grace." Somehow, I just picture God's response to such a limit to be something along the lines of, "Oh yeah? Watch me."

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What is Your Name? Genesis 32:22-31

Sermon preached Sunday, July 31, 2011.

What is your name?

A being--man or angel or other—asks Jacob this question after wrestling with him all night, and it is not a casual question. Naming is important in the Bible; a person’s name usually reflected some aspect of character, parents’ emotions or incidents surrounding the birth, or significant life experiences. We see this in many stories: Abram and Sarai being re-named Abraham and Sarah; Simon being called Peter (the Rock) by Jesus; in the story of Ruth and Naomi, when Naomi returns to her people she tells them, “Call me no longer Naomi, call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt bitterly with me.” Naomi means “pleasant”—Mara means “bitter.”

Jacob, born moments after his twin Esau, holding onto his older brother’s heel, is named accordingly: Jacob means “He takes by the heel” or “supplant”—meaning to overthrow or displace. And Jacob lives up to his name. He cons Esau out of his birthright, asking him to sell it to Jacob in order to get some stew after a long day working hard in the field. Jacob, with his mother Rebekah’s help, prepares a savory goat dish and wears goat skins and his brother’s clothes to trick his father Isaac into giving him the blessing meant for Esau. He seems to meet his match in his uncle Laban, who tricks Jacob into marrying both of Laban’s daughters, but in the end, with the use of some cunning breeding practices he succeeds in taking most of Laban’s flock with him as he heads back to his home country.

We don’t see that kind of thing much today, at least in our society. A person’s name may reflect something of the parents’ personalities (traditional, radical, likes to follow trends), or family history if named after an ancestor. Sometimes, you might get an idea of the time of their birth—Rain, Summer, and Dandelion or Bertha, Edna, and Mildred—their ethnic background, or their parents’ interests, such as the kids named “ESPN” (spelled E-S-P-N after the cable sports network). But generally the names by which we are called don’t define us as much as they seemed to in the ancient world.

At least, our official names don’t.

But we have other names for ourselves. And society often gives us names as well. At times we refer to them as “labels.” In some instances they were names bestowed upon us by someone else; in others, we named ourselves.

What is your name?

“Lazy,” we respond inside. “The Chubby One.” “Bad Singer.” “Terrible With Numbers.” “Best at Everything.” “Klutz.” “Daydreamer.” “Not Good Enough.” “Not Pretty Enough.”

What is your name?

“Criminal,” “Outsider,” “Deviant,” “Troublemaker,” “Goody-Two-Shoes,” “Successful,” society names us, based on our appearance, history, background, circumstances.

And sometimes—probably more often than we’d want to admit—we live into these names as Jacob lived into his. Called “lazy” once by one teacher, we make choices which enforce that, because, well, that’s who we are, right? Having named ourselves “not good enough,” we don’t take risks that might persuade us otherwise. Labeled “Outsider” by society because of our country of origin, we do everything we can to blend in. While some names we become, others are admissions, confessions of who we are and where we’ve been in life. But either way, we carry these names with us, heavy weights of bad decisions, weaknesses, unrealistic expectations, inadequacies, or even shame. These names follow us into relationships and experiences, continuing to influence who we are, our way of being in the world.

Let’s go back to the story for a moment.

We meet Jacob on the edge of home. He earlier sent messengers ahead to alert Esau to his return; the messengers say that Esau will come out to meet him—with 400 men. Jacob is terrified that his past actions are about to catch up to him at last. He divides everything and everyone with him into two groups, hoping that if Esau captures or destroys one, the other will survive. He sends gifts of herds of goats, cattle, camels, and donkeys, hoping to win back Esau’s favor. And finally, he sends his wives, maids, and children ahead of him as well, perhaps hoping to further soothe Esau’s anger or at least provoke his pity. He is now alone, save for the being with whom he wrestles until just before dawn. The being cannot overtake Jacob, so he dislocates Jacob’s hip and tells Jacob to release him because it is almost day break. But Jacob, still not subdued, demands a blessing before he’ll let go. So the being says, “What is your name?” And in the answer is all the name implies. Jacob: usurper, trickster, thief.

On the one hand, it might have come out as a confession: yes, these are the things I’ve done, this is who I have been. On the other, one could also imagine resignation in his voice. Here he has wrestled all night, on the eve of meeting his brother after fifteen years or so, of finally facing the music, and he had prevailed over this stranger…and he’s reminded of his name. Of his history. Of all the events leading up to that moment. He is his name.

But then. Then the being says, no, that is no longer your name. You are no longer someone who displaces another, but someone who has wrestled with God and with humans and prevailed. You are bigger than that name. Jacob realizes that the Wrestler is God. God responds to Jacob by saying, “No, that is not the end of the story. You are more than that.”

Can we listen closely, and hear God saying that to us too? It is not easy, to be sure, to let go of those names. It may require wrestling and struggle, maybe even some pain. We might end up with scars.

Let us take a few moments, silently or out loud as we feel moved, to confess and acknowledge these names that we call ourselves, the names we’ve been called, the names that haunt and pursue us.

And now listen. Hear God’s response. Hear Him telling you that these names are not the whole story. Names can cause and carry hurt and anguish, but they can also provide healing and mercy. God has names for us, too: Beloved. Child of God. Vessel of Spirit. Worthy. Created in God’s Image. Bearer of Light. Christ’s Own. Beautiful. Welcome at the Table. Seeker of Truth. Cherished. Known and Forgiven. Keeper of Faith. Deserving of Grace. Blessed and a Blessing.

Again, it probably won’t be easy to let go of our old names and claim who God names us to be. Especially if God starts calling us by a name we don’t think we’re ready for. Take it from one who heard God name her “Pastor” and thought God had lost Her sweet divine mind. Talk about a wrestling match. And hey, even Jacob didn’t get it the first time—God appears to Jacob again in chapter 35 to repeat the re-naming process. Just remember, if God’s names for us seem hard to accept or believe, and if those other names still find us and seem more true, remember that God knows us inside and out, knows our strengths and weaknesses, our disappointments and successes, better than we know ourselves. So listen closely to what God has to say when you’re asked, “What is your name?”

Let us pray. God of many names, who is and was and always will be, claim us, name us, and make us yours. Amen.

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Soccer, SAT prep, and Sunday School

I'm in the midst of reading Kendra Creasy Dean's book, Almost Christian: What the Faith of our Tennagers is Telling the American Church, and I just finished a short section about how "highly devoted" teenagers (according to the survey on which Dean bases her book), also tend to be happier, have greater success, are more compassionate, have closer relationships with their parents, and healthier lifestyle choices than their peers. She singles out Mormon teenagers as an example of this (most likely to be "highly devoted" in the survey), and also points out that they are required to go to seminary to learn about their faith every day before school, waking at dawn to do so.

Hm. I'm not sure the youth I work with would do that. It's sometimes tough to get them here for youth group on Sunday nights. They generally do not attend worship Sunday mornings, considering our meetings their "church." What if we told them they had to come here every morning before school to make sure they had a good theological education?

And yet I know some of them get up early to do sports (ahem, hockey). Or stay late for the same. Or add music lessons, SAT prep courses, and other commitments to their schedule for the purpose of being "well-rounded" and prepared for college.

Here I could go off on a tangent about sports. I will refrain, for the moment.

Instead, I wonder if parents aren't seeing that regular, devoted involvement with a faith community is one of the paths or tools to help raise a happy, healthy, successful individual. Maybe sports and music and clubs and SAT prep help too, sure. But I get the sense that those are seen as the steps to a goal, whereas church is a nice side item. Almost like classes in school vs. extracurricular activities.

And I'm not saying that church should be used simply as a tool to help reach an end goal (because Lord knows we'd never reach it), but that acknowledging the tangible influence such involvement can have on young people might nudge parents--and therefore their teenagers-- to move church a little higher up on the priority list.

Just a thought.

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What I'm Doing for Lent

I am not following my own advice. I told my congregation to take up ONE thing for Lent. And then I told them last night to maybe also think of something meaningful to give up. I'm doing both...and something else. In my defense, the practice added and the thing given up are both really specific and concrete, and the something else is more over-arching. But anyway.

I'm adding: giving thanks before I eat. Sitting in front of me is a 3/4 eaten grapefruit for which I forgot to give thanks. Doh. That's why I'm adding it--I tried and failed last year. I'm trying again.

I'm taking away: the snooze button. This may make for my most difficult Lent yet. It may sound frivolous, but I've gotten into the habit of hitting snooze for about 2 hours. Those are two hours I had other plans for--like reading the Bible and exercising--that get pushed aside when I press that button. So, in the interest of self-care, when the alarm goes off, the only button I can hit to stop it is "off," so I'd better get up if I don't want to oversleep.

And finally, I've signed up to participate in the Ecumenical Lenten Carbon Fast. My over-arching focus for Lent is giving up carbon--or at least giving up some. Today, I'm using the natural light let in by my window for as long as possible in my office. I've brought an extra sweater to avoid turning up the heat. I'm buying lunch, but I'll walk the mile or so to get it, rather than drive (which will also help burn off last night's Shrove Tuesday pancakes). I have an Ash Wednesday service tonight at church, so I'll stay at the office late to avoid another round trip home. Soon I should be able to ride my bike to work again.

Lent is about paying attention, becoming aware, lengthening (the root of Lent) the amount of time we focus on God.

So for the next six weeks, I will pay attention to how fortunate I am to be eating the bounty brought forth by God and the hard work of humans. I will lengthen the amount of time to do God's work by getting up when my alarm goes off. And I will become aware of how my actions and lifestyle affect God's creation.

How are you observing Lent?

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Razzle Dazzle: Sermon On Matthew 17:1-9

Here is the sermon I preached yesterday, Transfiguration Sunday 2011. It was well-received by the congregation. If I can figure out how to create a "podcast" of the audio recording, I will post that as well. If I can get the video recording, I'll also post that. But for now, here's the transcript!

Let us pray. Gracious God, in all that we say and do, may the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

The mountain. The dazzling white clothes. The appearance of Moses and Elijah. Peter’s misguided offer to build three dwelling places. The voice from the sky. For those of you who have been attending church for at least a few years, this story is probably starting to become pretty familiar. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration on the cusp of his journey to Jerusalem and the events that will ultimately lead to his death appears every year on the Sunday before Lent begins. In our church, the texts for each Sunday are chosen following the Revised Common Lectionary. It’s a three-year cycle through the Scriptures and generally each Sunday there is scheduled a reading from the Old Testament, a Psalm, a reading from the Epistles—which are the letters in the New Testament—and a selection from one of the four Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. John is kind of the oddball Gospel, so each year—labeled A, B, or C—works through a good chunk of one of the other three, which are called the Synoptic Gospels, and they include many of the same stories. This year, year A, which began with Advent, we’re working our way through Matthew. Now, in our worship services, we usually only read two pieces of scripture, so it’s possible that even if you’ve been coming to this church for quite a few years, you haven’t heard this text read every time, if the preacher hasn’t chosen it from the four scheduled texts. But it is scheduled, every year—it’s one of the stories that is included in all three of the Synoptic Gospels, so depending on the lectionary, we read either Mark’s, Matthew’s, or Luke’s version, which all vary slightly from each other, but basically share the same core story.

As a story that comes around every year, well, it can get a little stale. I’m still very early in my career, and I don’t preach every Sunday, so this hasn’t really happened to me yet, but at some point you can look at a text and wonder what else there is to preach. It’s all been said. In some ways, that’s always true. These texts are thousands of years old; odds are whatever spin or insight or interpretation we come up with, it’s been thought of before. But. God is still speaking, right? Of course, even that UCC catch phrase came from something someone else said: John Robinson, sending forth our spiritual forebears from Europe to the New World in 1620. He said, “There is yet more light and truth to break forth from God’s holy word.” God is still speaking.

Most sermons and studies and commentaries on the Transfiguration focus on one of two main areas. They’re either looking at what happened on the mountain—the transfiguration itself, Peter’s construction ideas, the voice from above, the appearance of the two men—or they focus on what happens after the mountain—where the Gospel story goes, or where we go and what we do after a “mountaintop” experience. All of these are perfectly valid, perfectly interesting, perfectly enriching to our spiritual lives and understanding of the Bible and how we read it today.

But. How do we get there? What comes before the razzle dazzle of transfiguration, before our journey down the mountain and back into life? How do we get up the mountain, how do we get to a point where we, too, can experience this overwhelmingly holy ecstatic moment that will leave us changed? The same way we get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

We know that we cannot pick up a cello one day and head to Carnegie Hall expecting to be able to play flawlessly. We know that we cannot pick up a French-English dictionary one morning and head to Paris that night speaking fluently. We know that we cannot reach for a basketball, computer, spatula, or car keys out of the blue and be able to hit the half-court shot, make a program do everything it’s supposed to, whip up a delicacy, or drive like Mario Andretti. We know that it takes time and effort and doing things over and over and over again to do it right and do it well. Yet, somehow we often think that the first time we talk to God in prayer or open a Bible, something big is supposed to happen. We want that mountaintop. We want to be transformed by God. And how many of us tried once and gave up? And then maybe a few months or years later, tried again. I’ll admit it. I’m often one of those people. I want to be able to pray to God and be transformed, have my whole outlook changed, be tempted by no sin. Poof! I want to open my Bible and see exactly the words I need to hear in that moment. Clear message from above! I want to walk into a worship space once and be profoundly and irrevocably moved by the Holy Spirit. Razzle dazzle me, God! Show me what you can do!

But. Praying is sometimes tedious, and my mind wanders. But. Reading the Bible is sometimes boring, and my mind wanders. But. Worship sometimes just doesn’t do it for me and I don’t like the hymns and the scripture readings are too complicated to understand and the sermon is ho-hum and why is this service so long, and my mind wanders.

Doesn’t work. No razzle dazzle transfiguration for me. I give up.

Why is it that we know that mastering pretty much anything else in our lives takes time, patience and lots and lots of practice? How many of us took piano lessons or had kids who took piano lessons and hated those boring exercises you start with? I wanted to sit down and play Für Elise! Teach me that! But good teachers know that there are steps to mastery, and that by doing over and over that which is sometimes tedious and boring and not at all what we’re hoping for, something happens.

I recently started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. This is a classic book based on a workshop that she taught on how to access our innate creativity. She brings a spiritual component to it, emphasizing that our Creator God, created us in God’s image, therefore created us as creators. It’s not just for artists. The book is set-up like a 12-week class with exercises and tasks to complete each week. The foundation of it all is the morning pages. Every morning, you are to get up and write—longhand, no computers—three pages. No matter the topic, three pages. Even if you complain about how you don’t want to write and have nothing to say over and over until you fill up three pages, three pages.

The point is that if you only write when you think you have something to say, you’ll hardly ever write. And if you expect that every time you write you’ll come to some major epiphany, you’ll never write because you’ll always be disappointed. But if you write every day, sometimes, you’ll get epiphanies. If you write every day you prepare a place to welcome any light to break through.

It’s like growing a garden. You don’t throw a seed into the grass and expect prize-winning tomatoes. You have to do the work to prepare the soil and nourish the plant and keep the weeds and bugs away. Most days, it’s boring and tedious and not at all uplifting. But then one day there’s a flower. And after some more weeding and watering and just plain staring at the plant every morning to see if something’s changed, a little green sphere appears, and over time, with mostly just unexciting work, the tomato grows and ripens and then, and only then, do you get that absolutely heavenly experience of biting into a sun-warmed fresh tomato that you’ve grown.

It’s the same with our faith. It takes practice and work. Praying every day, even when it’s tedious and our mind wanders and we have nothing to say. Reading the Bible regularly, even when it’s complicated and boring and makes no sense. Attending worship regularly, even when not every service speaks to you. Those spiritual practices are what build the foundation and prepare us for those holy, mountaintop, transfiguration moments of pure grace. If we haven’t done the preparation, we can’t expect anything to happen. If there’s no fertile ground, the tomatoes won’t grow. If we haven’t practiced our scales, we can’t play Für Elise.

Lent is the perfect opportunity to learn how to begin or improve our practices. It’s a time of preparation—a time to lay down a foundation to be ready for the razzle dazzle of Easter. Six weeks to practice the scales, refine the jump shots, and roto-till the ground of our faith. I encourage you to pick ONE thing to practice during Lent, whether it’s praying every morning, reading a chapter of the Bible, giving thanks before eating, following our “green” Lenten calendar, picking a new hymn to learn every week, giving $2 to a different charity every day…whatever. But ONE thing. Don’t overwhelm yourself trying to play Für Elise on Ash Wednesday, because you’ll never make it to Easter. And whatever that thing is, try to do it every day. If you miss one day, pick right back up where you left off. But the every day practice will allow that light and truth to break through, will create a habit, will step by step bring us up the mountain closer to God, the razzle dazzle of Christ’s resurrection on Easter, and beyond.

Let us pray: Razzle Dazzle God, teach us how to practice our faith, every day, and help us to keep going even when it’s tedious, boring, and we just plain don’t feel like it, so that we may better prepare our hearts to be moved by you. Amen.

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Monday Morning Meditation: A Different Approach to Prayer

I was reading today's entry in Oswald Chambers devotional My Utmost for His Highest when I ran across this line: "The purpose of prayer is that we get ahold of God, not of the answer."

This feels so counter-intuitive. Usually when we pray, we pray for something: for healing to occur, for action to be taken, for answer to be given. In the U.S., anyway, we're very results-oriented. So if we don't get what we want, what we prayed for--on our timetable, there's a sense of dejection, of being let down.

How many of us, when we pray, pray just to be in God's presence?

I'll be honest: I don't, very often. Usually when I pray, I've got a list of people, situations, problems, questions...it's like I've set up a meeting with God and am running through an agenda. And if we reviewed the minutes of that prayer time, there probably wasn't a lot of pausing to let God get a word in edgewise.

This makes me think of children. Many times, when they leave their activity and come to see an adult, it's because of a need or want. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm bored, etc. But have you ever had a child come hang out with you just to be near you? They're not looking for an answer, just your presence and company for a while.

I think I'm going to give this "get ahold of God, not of the answer" thing a try. I'll try and update you on how it goes. And if you try it out, let me know what happens.

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Yes God

In my duties as Associate Pastor in my congregation, I usually say the assurance of pardon after the unison prayer of confession in worship. Sometimes I'll use the one provided by the UCC's Worship Ways, especially if we're using that call to worship and prayer of confession. But often I just get up and say something. I usually don't have anything planned, and I usually feel anxious and then just glad it's over with. I wonder if I've sounded trite, or repetitive, or if I actually believe that it is because of Christ that we're offered such free forgiveness.

This was not the case yesterday. Yesterday's prayer of confession ended kind of oddly, with a question. Generally it goes from "we did all these things wrong" to an upswing of "help us to do better." Yesterday's prayer asked, "Can you forgive us once again?"

Stepping up to the lectern, still more worried about moving around the liturgist and deciding to relax and let Spirit take over, I simply started, "Yes." And then I repeated it. "Yes, and yes, and yes, God's answer is always yes. However many times we ask, 'Can you forgive us once again?' God's answer is yes. Amen."

However much I generally feel the need to push this congregation of privilege towards more action, more community-building, more taking on responsibility for caring for our neighbors, they also feel hurt and sorrow and regret and struggle with living God's love in their lives, and just as much as anyone else, need to hear about a God who says "Yes, you're forgiven. Yes, welcome back. Yes, we can begin again."

I think that was the first Sunday I've ever gotten a comment about my assurance of pardon.

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Interfaith Opening & Closing Blessings

Last night I was part of the "WinterFest" celebration at the women's college in the town where I pastor. Knowing that although it would probably be fairly Christmassy, the students are of a myriad of faiths and no faith, I wanted to keep my parts--the opening and closing blessings--fairly universal or even neutral. Below is what I came up with. Please feel free to use and adapt to your needs, just give me credit.

Opening blessing:

Let us gather.

Let us gather and be warmed, protected from the cold and wind.

Let us gather and be brightened, awash in light as the days grow ever shorter.

Let us gather and be still, free for a moment from the busyness of holidays, finals, and end-of-semester preparations.

Let us gather and be energized, allowing word and song to soothe and awaken our souls.

Let us gather and be present, here in this place and time, open to whatever may move us.

Let us gather, and may our gathering be blessed.

Closing blessing:

May we depart from this place having been blessed with warmth, light, stillness, energy, and presence, and may we go forth to bring the same blessings into the world.

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Unexpected Guidance

Last night, I went to Hartford, CT with a neighbor/clergy friend of mine to the premier of a documentary entitled, "The Calling" (scheduled to air on PBS around Dec. 20-21). The film follows seven Muslims, Catholics, Evangelical Christians and Jews on their journey to becoming clergy. Two former Hartford Seminary students--at least one of whom was featured in the film, and both of whom are now Muslim chaplains--were on hand to answer questions.

I went thinking it would be interesting to hear about others' sense of call, and especially from the perspective of other faiths. I did not expect the Holy Spirit to use the opportunity to offer me guidance.

See, I recently sent in an application for a part-time job at a local supermarket. Although I know it'd be a stretch time- and energy-wise, I could use the money, and I could handle it for a few months if it meant I could pay down some of my debt. Our church budget is not looking great for this year, which means no pay raise, and our health insurance premium is going up, so I'll actually be getting a pay decrease. I'm already stretched to my limit. I hadn't even heard anything from the store, but I was wrestling with my decision. Was I not trusting God to lead me through this? Was it really worth the loss of most of my free time--which I've been trying to dedicate to art?

My first clue that the Holy Spirit might be wanting to get my attention was in the film. A young socially-active rabbi quoted Lila Watson, an aboriginal activist--the same quote that is the focus of my next project. I thought it was an interesting coincidence.

At the very end of the evening, when most audience members had slipped out the door, the host asked the two panelists to give a closing reflection. He asked the woman to go first. She hesitated for quite a few seconds before picking up the microphone. "You've caught me very much off guard," she told him. She began by talking about how many of us are stuck at 9-5 jobs, or jobs we don't like, but maybe we do it for good reasons. This made me immediately think of my grocery store application--that's how I'd feel about it. I thought, "Ok, I'm with you."

Then she said, "But God has given us each talents."

Um, wait, what? My heart thudded. Was she talking to me? Was she giving me the message that I'm supposed to use my talent?

She spoke a little more about using the talents that God has given us, and said some things about being on the job.

And then the clincher: she ended by saying, "Each of us has the opportunity to be great."

My heart gave one last big thud. Just that afternoon, I'd posted some thoughts on greatness as the "status" of my shop's Facebook page.

It seemed very clear to me that the Holy Spirit had taken advantage of a woman with no prepared words. I went up to her afterwards and shared that I felt the Spirit had worked through her in her moment caught off guard to offer me guidance with a question in my life. She laughed and hugged me, and said she was only the vessel. I told her I well understood that feeling, and thanked her for being open to be such a vehicle.

I guess I won't be taking that supermarket job after all.

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The Collar Experiment

It's the first day of a new month, which I often use as a jump-start for trying to cultivate habits (like starting to run again) or trying something new. Today, I'm starting a week-long experiment which, depending on results, may stretch out to include the entire month: I'm wearing my clerical collar (for those readers who are not so churchy--it's the tab collar most often worn by priests).

I'm a pastor in the United Church of Christ, generally a fairly "low-church" denomination. You don't often see UCC pastors wearing clerical collars. I know a few who only tote them out when they want to clearly be designated as clergy--at protests, for instance.

I bought my clergy shirt and little white plastic tab insert a few months ago, and have yet to wear it. Reflecting on what I told my congregation in my sermon last week about being more active and present in the community, I wondered what it might be like to go about my day to day with this visible sign of my profession.

So far, I've been holed up in my office, so no one has seen it yet. I'll admit I'm more nervous about the reaction of church staff and congregation than I am about wearing it in public.

Stay tuned for updates as The Collar Experiment progresses...

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My First Home?

I am in love.

The sweetest house is for sale in my neighborhood. Right now, I'm a renter, and though I my landlord is great, and my apartment is cute (wood floors, fireplace, stained glass), it's not mine. I can paint, but not strip all the white paint off the wood doors. I can have a little garden in the backyard, but not fix the worn-down back porch. Of course, these are certainly small things. And I know that the responsibility that comes with home ownership is huge--no landlord to turn to when, say, the radiator is spurting water 2 1/2 feet up my dining room curtain.

But I LOVE this house. It's been on the market for a few months now, and I've been drooling since I first saw the sign in the front yard. Since I moved into my apartment, I've thought that if I did eventually buy, I'd want it to be in the same neighborhood--featured in This Old House magazine recently. It's full of old, beautiful houses, big old trees, right on a huge park, and friendly people. The house I want is actually located across the street and two houses over from the two neighbors I've become friends with (one of whom is also a single female UCC pastor who adopted--go figure!).

This house needs a little updating, but clearly has "good bones." I'm also not a person who likes a "move-in ready" house. I enjoy DIY projects and putting my own style and personality in things--and that can be done slowly, over time.

The biggest stumbling block between me and this house, however, is the down payment. I've got nothing, and with the market crash and reports of bad mortgages, banks are very wary of making those kinds of loans (as am I in requesting one). I've taken the first few steps--cut back on my monthly expenses ("bye bye" cable, home internet, and iPhone), getting intentional about paying down my debt (I paid off two credit cards this month!), and working to build my "liturgical lovely" shop on Etsy to earn extra money. However, that down payment is still pretty far away.

That's where you come in. More than one person, in response to my dilemma, has suggested fundraising or "taking an offering" to help me clear this hurdle. Being a big believer in community and helping each other out, I'm taking their suggestions. Below is a button you can click that will allow you to donate to "Beth's Down Payment Fund" through PayPal. I haven't figure out how yet, but I will thank each donor in some special way.

I woke up this morning with visions of car washes and lawn-raking dancing through my head. I'm willing to work hard towards my goals, but also willing to ask for help, knowing that I'll get the chance to do the same for others some day, and that many hands make light work. Or, as one friend said, "Every little bit helps."

Thank you, and God bless.

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Living the Good Life

Sermon preached on Sunday, September 26, 2010 based on 1 Timothy 6:6-19.

Dear Paul,

Thank you for your most recent note. I will be sure to forward it on to the other members of our community. It may also help to post it on Facebook so that it can reach as many people as possible. However, I have a feeling that there will be some strong reactions to your words, so I just want to clarify a few things. I want to be prepared with some responses when people share their questions and concerns with me.

So of course the biggest argument will be: what’s so bad about money? (This is not my question; I’m just stating what I think others will ask). I mean, as much as we may not like to admit it, it does make the world go around. You said we should be content if we have food and clothing, but it takes money to get those things, right? And let’s be honest, money can be a lot of fun: it can provide us all kinds of entertainment—sports games, theater, movies, books, concerts, television; it take us to different places all over the world; help us relax on vacation; makes life easier with gadgets, appliances or just getting to and from where we need to go in a timely and comfortable manner.

I also think people might not understand what you mean by “storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future,” by doing good and being generous. Isn’t that what 401(k)s, pension plans, and retirement portfolios are for—creating a good foundation for the future? I think some might argue that working hard in order to make a lot of money or investing in endowment funds also sets a good foundation for the future by helping to assure that the next generations of our families and communities are cared for. I don’t think that’s exactly what you mean, but I have a feeling others might be confused about that.

And lastly, I really love the phrase that follows your statement about the future: “so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.” It’s beautiful, but could you explain it in a bit more detail? What IS the life that really is life? How can we recognize it?

Yours in Christ,

Timothy

Dear Timothy,

I knew there was a reason I liked you—you ask great questions! I think you are right that there could be strong reactions to what I wrote before, but I wouldn’t worry about that. Truth and wisdom are often hard for people to accept, and let’s face it, Christ never said that following where he leads would be easy—just the opposite, in fact. Besides that, it’s hard for most people to break away from the status quo. There’s a sense of safety and security in going along with society’s established norms, and a feeling that contentment will come with achieving what our culture labels success.

But see, therein lies the problem. We are placing our hope for security and contentment in the wrong places.

In answer to your first question, there is nothing wrong with money itself. People who say, “money is the root of all evil” are misquoting me. If you read my letter closely, you’ll see that what I said was, “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” You are correct when you say that we need money to obtain necessities like food and clothing and shelter—and for some of life’s pleasures, as well. The problem starts when our focus is on being rich, when we make money or worldly goods the central hope or desire of our lives. One needs to look no further than reality television to see what craziness ensues when the potential for a large sum of money is on the line. People risk bodily harm, public embarrassment, the ruin of relationships—sometimes even their lives—to try and get rich. A book called The Day America Told the Truth states that in one survey, 25% of people asked would abandon their entire families in exchange for 10 million dollars. 16% would leave their spouses. 7% would kill a stranger. See, that, Tim, is a problem.

Even for those who wouldn’t go to such an extreme can struggle when the desire for money gets in the way of time spent with loved ones or prevents us from being in the world in the way Christ calls us to be. We believe all the books and the advertisements and the workshops that tell us that money will solve our problems. If we just had more money, we wouldn’t be as stressed, wouldn’t have to worry so much, would be so much happier. And it is somewhere along these lines where many who are already blessed with a bigger bank account falter, by “setting their hopes on the uncertainty of riches,” as I said in my last letter, instead of God. Actually, this is not limited to those who already have money. Many, many people have fallen into the trap of spending money they don’t have yet, putting themselves into debt with the presumption that the money to pay it back will be there in the future.

I hope that if we have learned anything in the last few years, it’s that the security of money can be gone in an instant. Many people found that 401(k)s and pensions are no guarantee when the market crashed right before they planned on retiring. Stable, secure jobs suddenly were uncertain or gone. A huge bank that “could not fail” was allowed to collapse. Houses bought as a secure investment were suddenly worth less than the money owed to the banks holding the mortgage.

All this is to say, Tim, that our focus should not be on making money but on serving God. Jesus tells us to strive first for the kin-dom, and all our needs will be given to us. I’m not saying that retirement portfolios or savings accounts or investments or even higher incomes are bad, per se; what I want to make clear is that we should not work so hard to lay the foundation of our future with them that we neglect generosity, compassion, the pursuit of justice and righteousness, godliness and good works, cultivating relationships, which lay the foundation for the future of God’s kin-dom and our eternal lives with God. Does that make sense?

And as for what I am suggesting with the phrase “the life that really is life,” I think in some ways that is up for each of us to answer, but be sure it has little to do with money. During his ministry, Jesus often took phrases or ideas which were common and turned them on their heads, so let me do likewise with the phrase, “living the good life.” Usually this brings to mind images of big houses, flashy cars, private jets, expensive toys, maybe a swaying hammock on a pristine beach somewhere. Actually, that last one doesn’t sound so bad! But what if living the good life—living the life that really is life—meant receiving an adoring smile from a child who trusts you because you’ve given him time and attention. Or holding an elderly woman’s hand while she dies to make sure she knows she’s not alone. Or using your God-given gifts and talents to make the world more beautiful, more peaceful, or simply ore interesting. Or taking a walk with someone you love on a crisp autumn day and listening to the sound of leaves crunching under your feet. Or pushing your body further than you ever thought possible. Or reciting the words of the 23^rd Psalm in a time of despair and knowing without a doubt that God is with you as your comforter and protector. Or being part of a church where you can be honest, and share, and step outside your comfort zone to take a risk in safety and love. Tim, I’m sure you and the members of your community could add more of your own, based on how each of you find joy and contentment and connection to each other and to God. It is not about being rich in money or possessions, but being rich in love, faith, godliness, endurance, gentleness, and righteousness. This is what it means to live the good life, the life that really is life.

I hope this makes things more clear.

Grace be with you,

Paul

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Gay is Not An Insult

This Monday we had our first middle school youth group meeting of the new program year. There were eight kids there, in grades 6-8. Due to some struggle with being heard over multiple conversations going on, I decided to quickly insert "Rules of Engagement" into our plan for the night. We looked over the youth covenant that hangs on the wall, and then tried to lay out some practical rules for how to follow the more general thoughts of confidentiality, support, respect, etc.

One I made sure was up there was "gay is not an insult." I've noticed through Facebook pages and overheard conversations that kids in this town--like many across the country--use the word "gay" to insult each other. It usually has very little to do with sexuality at all; it's just a generic way to tease someone, and it's often used among friends, usually as a synonym for "stupid." However, I absolutely refuse to have that occur in my youth groups, and I think it's especially appropriate to spell it out as our church begins the Open and Affirming process.

A couple minutes after I'd written that rule on the notepad, after we'd gone on to add another couple rules amidst much joking and horsing around, one of the kids (who clearly had not been paying attention) looked up and said, "But gay is an insult."

I paused a moment, and said conversationally, "No, we shouldn't be using that word to insult each other." He pushed a little harder, saying politely, "But it is." So I replied, "Not in here it's not." "He seemed a little confused, and said, "No, there's another meaning to it."

It finally dawned on me that he wasn't trying to argue values; he actually had heard the word used that way enough that he concluded there were just multiple meanings. One meaning refers to sexuality; the other means stupid.

This shouldn't have been news to me. I had a similar experience in middle school. The word we used was "queer"--but with the local accent, it sounded like "qwaih" (as in, "you're wicked qwaih"). It wasn't until I went to high school that I realized what we had been saying. On a break home, my sister used that word, and I called her on it. I asked her how to spell that word. (Let me just say that my sister is extremely intelligent). "Q-U-A-R-E," she replied. That was logical--that's what you'd assume if you took the accent away. I corrected her, we argued, she looked it up in the dictionary. Bingo. We'd been using a slur without even realizing it. As far as I know, she never used that word that way again.

I realized this was a great learning opportunity for these eight kids. I quieted the others down, and gave a short explanation as to the history of why that word was used as an insult, and why we shouldn't use it that way. They seemed to get it. I felt a little bad for putting that one kid on the spot, but I thanked him for saying what he had so that we could talk about it.

I plan on bringing the topic up again later this year, because I think it's a really important subject worthy of some quality time.

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Demands or Delights?

This sermon was preached on August 29, based on Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 and Luke 14:1, 7-14.

Trying to be a good Christian can seem exhausting sometimes. There are all the rules to follow: the ten commandments that Moses receives, plus that new commandment about loving one another that Jesus gives before he dies, among all the other lists of rules and laws and instructions. It’s tiring trying to learn them all, nevermind to try and not break any. Then there are all the people in the media who are telling us that most of the things we’re doing or thinking or may think soon are damning us all to hell. So if you believe them, you become exhausted from the fear of God’s—or a commentator’s—wrath and trying to make people change. If you disagree with them, you spend your energy being angry with them and on trying to make people see that they don’t speak for all Christians. Of course all of this gets paired up with exhaustion from guilt—whether its’ from breaking a rule or being sinful or not working hard enough to fight for justice, that guilt can be heavy.

Some of you may remember a sermon I preached not so long ago in which I spoke about the word “should.” I think this passage, if one is not careful, could easily lead us down the path paved with shoulds, the guilt-inducing feeling of “something should be happening, and it’s not” (or, in the case of injustice being done, things that should not be happening, but are). Now, this is not always a path to avoid. Too often we don’t want to feel the guilt so we ignore the problems around us altogether. Remember the bent-over woman from last week? Sometimes we need a little nudge to pay attention. Those guilt-inducing shoulds can often lead us into action

In my web browsing this week, as I visited multiple sites geared toward preachers, many were taking this angle with these two texts. Now, clearly these other preachers are all serving churches very un-like our dear First Church, because they were gearing up to preach about radical hospitality, and forgoing the love of money and being content with what we have, remembering those who are imprisoned, and inviting those on the margins to banquets instead of people with high societal standing—with, of course, the underlying message that those are the things that should be happening, and are not—or not enough. Obviously, that message doesn’t apply to our church, right? Ahem.

Anyway…I started taking notes about my thoughts for this sermon, heading in the same direction as these other preachers. This type of sermon generally gets me fired up. I feel like I am following in a great tradition of prophetic speech, from Isaiah and Jeremiah to Martin Luther King, Jr. and Marian Wright Edelman. I get fired up to do God’s work and light a fire under other people’s…seats to do the same. I get energized, and it’s generally not very positive energy. It’s usually more a righteous anger, a frustration with systems which keep people from being free to fulfill their full potential as God’s creation, a lamentation that even now, many millennia after prophets first began telling people that God’s wish for Her people is justice, and mercy, and righteousness, that we still allow and take part in the oppression of others…a burning desire to make things different. This is where I thought the Spirit was taking me, along with many other preachers around the world.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the pulpit. (Now, there’s a good idea for a musical!) I re-read the texts and my notes and I found myself really, really happy. Gleeful. Giddy. Excited. Because all a sudden, instead of seeing these words as a mandate of what we are supposed to doing or a scolding of how we should be practicing our faith, it became clear that these words are also a blessing. Instead of demands, I saw them as delights.

We get to practice a faith which tells us to continue in mutual love. Dr. King encouraged this when he said, “We are tied together in the single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality.” This is usually the part of the quote with which people are familiar, but he went on to say, “For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God’s universe is made; this is the way it is structured.”[1] Another person also explains this beautifully. She is an Australian Aboriginal woman named Lila Watson, and when meeting with mission workers, she told them, “If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” What an amazing idea, that our liberation is bound up with others’, and vice versa. We depend on each other. Yes, that means we have some responsibility towards others, but that also means others have responsibility towards us. Yes, it means putting energy into loving others, but mutual love means that we receive just as much love back.

We get the privilege of showing hospitality to strangers, and possibly even meeting angels! The writer of this letter is probably referring to Abraham, who welcomes three strange men to his home, feeds them and lets them wash, and they turn out to be messengers from God who bring the news that Sarah will have a baby. We could also stretch this a little, based on Matthew 25, to say “some may have entertained Christ without knowing it.” Even if we don’t meet angels, though, we get to meet someone new. Take a moment to look around the sanctuary at the people gathered here. Every single person in this church was at some point—and maybe still is—a stranger to someone else here. Our friends, our significant others, our brothers and sisters in this family of Christ, were once strangers to us. This is not just a “do this,” but also a “you shall receive.” We don’t need to know you to pray for you. This church has been praying for a 2-year-old girl named Rylie since January, and not one of us has met her. That’s Christian hospitality. Recently some members of the church who don’t come very often were ill and needed help with meals. Not many of those who cooked and delivered the meals knew the couple, but they were happy to do so. Think of all that has been done for total strangers in Louisiana and Mississippi in the five years since Hurricane Katrina hit. How amazing is it to know that these are things we get to do because our faith calls us to it?

Forget feeling guilty. While we certainly need to work on its implementation in this world, let’s celebrate the fact that at Christ’s banquet, all are welcome, and we as followers of Christ get the privilege of telling those who are on the margins, those who most need God’s love, those who feel most excluded, that they’re on the invitation list. In fact, they get VIP status. We get to be like Ed McMahon, except instead of going just to people’s homes, we go everywhere, but especially to homeless shelters and soup kitchens and afterschool programs and detention centers and prisons and hospitals. And instead of a big check, we present grace and a place at the table. How awesome is that?

Is this all easy? No! Of course not! But not much worthwhile is. Think of peace talks, getting people out of gangs, raising a child, accompanying someone at the end of life, sustaining a relationship, finding a cure for a disease, standing up for what’s right. Welcoming the stranger, remembering the prisoner, inviting the marginalized to the table, all that makes us vulnerable, and that’s scary. Ooh, but here’s where that happiness comes in again, because that writer of Hebrews reminds us of God’s promise: “I will never leave you or forsake you.” God will never leave us or forsake us. I think that’s worth repeating one more time: God will never—NEVER--abandon you. You are never left on your own. This promise then gives us the confidence to say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can anyone do to me?” Sounds an awful lot like Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

So not only do we get to do and say and be all these great things as Christians, but our faith also assures us that God accompanies us through it all. So, maybe trying to meet all the demands of being a good Christian is exhausting sometimes, but other times—many, many other times—it’s exhilarating and uplifting and inspiring—breathing life into us. We get to be a blessing to others, and in turn are richly blessed. Let us lift up our praise for such delights, and let the whole church say, “Amen!”

---

[1] Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, as quoted in John Meacham, American Gospel: God, the Founding Fathers, and the Making of a Nation, New York: Random House, Inc, 2007, p. 203.

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