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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Now Is The Time--Luke 13:10-17

Many have asked for it, so here is the sermon I preached Sunday, August 22 based on Luke's story of Jesus healing a bent-over woman on the sabbath.

I want to start this sermon with a practice used by faithful people for generations: confession. I want to confess to all of you…that I am a procrastinator. I have made an art of procrastinating, in fact. I’ve been doing it all my life. I sometimes joke that since I was born 11 days past when I was due to be born, I procrastinated even from the womb. I was that kid in elementary school who would wait until the day before a big project was due to tell my parents I needed to pick a topic, research it at the library and create a diorama to bring to class. In college, being a morning person, I’d often go to bed at a reasonable hour, wake up early the next morning when a paper was due, and write it the day of. Finding ways to avoid or put off doing what needs to be done is easy for me. Seminary paper to write? Perfect time to clean out the closet in the lounge. Sermon to write? You know, I think I’ll start this sewing project I’ve been meaning to get to for a few years. Research to do? Yes, I think I will bake bread! And on and on.

Oh, I know I’m not alone. In fact, I know very few people who are speaking honestly when they say they don’t procrastinate, people who never put things off until a “better” time, until they’re more prepared, until everything is just right. Psychologists will tell you that procrastination is often linked to perfectionism, which is why people who do it need deadlines—otherwise nothing would get done, as everything would be put off until the person is ready, the research is exhausted, the situation is perfect and there is no chance of failing. Not now, we protest, with any number of excuses; maybe tomorrow will be the right time. Let me do something else and try to ignore what I know needs to be done.

Now Jesus was teaching in a synagogue on the Sabbath. Now by this time, Jesus was probably getting pretty well known. He had declared Isaiah’s prophecy about being anointed with God’s Spirit to have been fulfilled in him. He had healed quite a few people, calmed a storm at sea, and told many parables to his disciples and gathered crowds. So we can imagine that if Jesus was teaching in a synagogue, there were probably a lot of people there to hear him. And maybe it wasn’t a service, like we have here, where everyone is gathered in the same place and listening to one person. Maybe they’d had their regular Sabbath service already, and Jesus was simply teaching something extra, so that while many were gathered around to hear him, others were simply going on about their business. And so perhaps that is why this woman just “appears” to Jesus. Certainly as bent over as Luke describes her, she probably wasn’t moving very quickly. But perhaps the crowds just happened to part the right way all of sudden, and there she is, bent over and “quite unable to stand up straight.”

Jesus could have ignored her. He was in the middle of teaching—maybe even right in the middle of a sentence. It was crowded; he could have simply pretended he hadn’t seen her. It would’ve been easy enough to do. As far as we can tell, she wasn’t seeking him out. He so easily could’ve acted like he never even knew she was there. Haven’t we all done that at one time or another? Averted our eyes away from what makes us uncomfortable or what we just don’t want to deal with? Another confession: there were many times on the subway in New York when I’d deliberately put on my earphones and pull out a book to avoid the person coming down the aisle asking for money. If I could pretend I didn’t see the person, I could continue the act and tell myself I hadn’t, actually. I’d been listening to my music, hadn’t heard the story of a lost job, apartment eviction, hungry kids and waiting for benefits. I’d been reading my book, hadn’t seen the outstretched hand. I had an excuse.

Jesus had plenty of excuses, but he didn’t use them. Instead, he stops what he’s doing when he sees the woman. Now Luke puts three actions in one sentence—he sees her, he calls her, he spoke to her—but we know in life things don’t happen quite that fast. He sees her. He calls her over. She, bent over as she was, makes her way slowly through the crowd, trying not to step on anyone, people shuffling to let her pass. Was there silence as they all watched her go to Jesus? Or were there murmurings, wondering what he was going to do? Did Jesus keep his eyes on her, or watch to see how others were reacting? She finally reaches Jesus and he tells her that she is healed. He lays his hands on her, and he immediately stood up straight and began praising God. We can imagine everyone is joyful.

But wait. The leader of the synagogue steps in. My guess is he was worried this would become a regular thing. Jesus heals one person on the Sabbath, now everyone’s going to want healing. “Hold on,” he says. “There are six other days meant for working. Come and get healed on those days; leave the Sabbath alone.” It seems like he was just trying to avoid, to put off, what he knew needed to be done. He was giving an excuse—it’s not the right time. There are rules, he says. He was telling the people to wait a little longer, come back later. Jesus retorts, basically, that it is always the right time for healing, and perhaps the Sabbath is particularly suited for being healed and set free. Immediately after this healing, Luke writes, “He said therefore, ‘What is the reign of God like?’” It is clear that Luke is connecting Jesus’ act of healing the bent-over woman to the God’s reign.

In John’s Gospel, the night before Jesus dies, he gives his disciples a new commandment. “Love one another,” he says. “Just as I have loved you, you should love one another.” If we are to love as Jesus loved, it’s clear that this story from Luke gives us clear example of how we as a church—as the Body of Christ—should act, as well as a model for each one of us. Kate Huey, part of the Local Church Ministries Team of the UCC, writes, “Every single one of us, in our daily lives, has the occasion to encounter the bent-over woman.”[1]

Who is she?

She is the teenager who endures day after day of ridicule and bullying for not keeping in her “place” at school. She is the middle-school student who is taunted relentlessly for being—or just seeming—gay. 15-year-old Phoebe Prince was new to South Hadley and the U.S., a freshman who apparently had dated a senior boy or two. After months of unrelenting torture by some school mates, she committed suicide in January. 11-year-old Carl Walker-Hoover of Springfield was told by his mother that he could do anything, and was on the honor roll, but in April of last year, he decided what he couldn’t do anymore was deal with the teasing at school, and he took his own life. Phoebe and Carl are gone, but there are many more like them. They are the bent-over woman, feeling so alone and so helpless, longing for acceptance in God’s reign.

The bent-over woman is a man who got laid off from his high-pay corporate job, couldn’t pay the bills, and lost his home. He and his family sleep in their car, and try to pretend everything’s ok, while he struggles to find work and figure out how to buy food. He is the bent-over woman, feeling hopeless and longing for mercy in the reign of God.

The bent-over woman is a mother whose 7^th grade son needed to see a dentist for an $80 tooth extraction, but couldn’t find one who would accept Medicaid. She took him to the ER, where he was given medicine for a headache, sinusitis, and a dental abscess and sent home. When he got much sicker, he was rushed into surgery where it was discovered that bacteria from his abscessed tooth had spread to his brain. Two major operations and eight weeks of hospital care later (costing about $250,000), Deamonte Driver died. His mother is the bent-over woman, grief-stricken and longing for justice in God’s reign.

Where else do we encounter the bent over woman? Who is she in your lives, in this community, around the world? Tell me. The bent-over woman is… [suggestions included the people affected by the floods in Pakistan, the Vietnam vet asking for money on the corner, the person sitting next to us in church who never says a word].

These are some of the ways people are bent over and pressed down. But they're not the only ones. There are people who are weighed down and bent over by loneliness, grief, worry, anxiety, doubt, and addiction. There are people whose mental illness or physical ailments or business struggles or family conflicts feel like burdens that bend them over and weigh them down.[2] And we, ministers to the world each one of us, are called to love them as Jesus loved the bent-over woman.

It is tempting to put it off our work of healing until the “right” time. Sundays are bad for me, I’m struggling with my own stuff right now, let me wait until I do some research into helpful programs, etc, etc, etc. It is tempting to turn away and pretend we don’t see the bent-over woman at all, isn’t it.

Kate Huey writes these moving words: “It is God who brings the reign of God in God's own time. Sure, today we proclaim it, we witness to its beginning in Jesus Christ and to its coming fullness. But we're called to do more than to proclaim that word, we are called to enflesh it, to become a word of hope for all those who appear before us, bearing burdens, pressed down. Jesus is calling you this day to engage yourself in the great dream of freeing all of God's children, all of the daughters of Abraham and the sons of Sarah from everything that holds them in bondage. We're invited to see our lives, our world, as they can be, for God has given us, according to the prophet Jeremiah, ‘a future, and a hope.’ As Dr. Martin Luther King once said, ‘Let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter – but beautiful – struggle for a new world. This is the calling of the children of God.’

Let us not delay any longer. The time for proclaiming, embodying, and struggling for God’s healing and freedom is not tomorrow, or the next day. The time is now.

Let us pray: Holy God, Great Healer, inspire, motivate, and strengthen us to do the work of your reign to which you call us, and help us to see, acknowledge and act towards healing the bent-over women in this world. Amen.

---

[1] http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/august-22-2010.html

[2] Ibid.

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Summer's End (But Let's Not Rush Things)

Our modern calendar places the beginning of Summer on June 21, but, as that is on or near the summer solstice, that is actually the mid-point of Summer (hence the celebration of Midsummer and Midsummer's Eve). The Celts traditionally believe summer begins on May 1, and ends on August 1. And I have to say, I think they got it right.

Without knowing about the Celtic tradition, the last few years I have found myself first noticing the waning of summer sometime around the beginning of August. While we struggle to squeeze in the last bits of vacation and reading lists before fall "officially" begins, nature is already telling us it's a losing battle.

The nights have already started to become longer and cooler. The first few leaves are starting to change color and fall. We have a lot of old trees in my neighborhood, and as I walked around tonight, I actually crunched through some fallen leaves. One ancient tree has already completely changed color and lost most of its leaves! I noticed that recently I've been wanting to wear jeans, and love the cool mornings when I put on a sweatshirt, and a friend of mine said the same thing. We who have grown up in this type of climate have the rhythm of the seasons flowing through our bodies, and they know even if the calendar doesn't. It's time. Summer has ended, and autumn is beginning.

HOWEVER. This all being said does NOT excuse the grocery stores having candy corn on the shelves in July. I mean, seriously? If you buy it now, you know you're going to eat it way before Halloween. And if not, ew. Do stores really going to think they're going to sell Halloween-specific candy when people haven't even wrapped their brains around back-to-school (which, by the way, I saw signs for in May. Before the kids had actually finished their previous school year.)?

The earth, and our lives, move in cycles and rhythms, but there's no need to rush from one to the next. Summer's ending, but there's a special atmosphere this time of year that happens no other time. The really hot days set off by the increasingly cooler nights. The way the sun slants in late afternoon. The abundance of harvest.

It's the beginning of August. How about we enjoy some fresh corn on the cob, and leave the candy corn for October?

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Mid-Week Mini Sermon: It's Not Fair

Hear these words from the Gospel according to Matthew, chapter 20, verses 1-16:

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o”clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o”clock, he did the same. And about five o”clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o”clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

There was a familiar refrain in my house growing up. Whether it was because my sister got a bigger piece of cake, or extra play time, or I got to go somewhere the other two didn’t, or the youngest got away with something we two older girls were never allowed to do, it was the same: “It’s not fair!” This was usually followed up by the just-as-familiar response from one of my parents: “Life is not fair.”

And while this is certainly true, we like to think of God as just and…fair, right? Well, not according to this parable. I don’t know about you, but I can definitely understand the point of view of the early laborers. I’d be pretty annoyed too, if I’d worked hard a full day for what I thought was a fair sum, only to turn around and have that same sum given to people who’d shown up an hour before closing time. That’s not fair! Why should they get the same?

I think it’s not too much of a stretch to assume many feel the same way about deathbed requests for forgiveness or expressions of belief—especially if it’s coming from someone who hasn’t led the best life up until that point. It doesn’t seem fair that we who try our best to be good people, get the same amount of forgiveness and grace as the ones who proclaim their faith just before they die. We protest just like the early laborers: “Now, wait just a second! I was baptized as a baby, went to church my whole life, followed the ten commandments, did good things in my community and be nice, and this guy, who lied, cheated, stole, hurt other people, wreaked havoc around him, never set foot in a church, was just plain mean, prays five minutes before he dies and he gets the same amount of grace I will?? That’s so not fair!!”

No, it’s not fair. That’s the point. Jesus was trying once again to explain how different the world is when God reigns. Those who arrive late, who don’t get the first chance, still get just as much as those who are first on the scene. As the landowner explains to the complainers, this takes nothing from those who work hard. We get just as much grace as we expect from living good lives, from being people who have held life-long faith. We don’t lose anything by God being generous. So if we’re not a person who had faith from the get-go, if we found Christ as teenagers or adults or are just settling into our faith now, we still get all that grace. The kingdom of heaven is not competitive, like the world—or at least the United States—is, where everyone needs to fight to be first, to get the best things, to do the most and receive the most recognition or money or status. The last shall be first in God’s reign. No, it’s not fair…it’s grace.

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