Sermon from 3/8/26 First UMC East Greenbush

 

 John 4:5-42

          I’m not very good at small talk. I have to remind myself to engage in some light “how about that weather” talk before asking someone about their hopes, dreams, fears, beliefs. Because I realize I may come off a bit strong if I jump right into “what’s your life story?” It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking about the weather, especially this week when we finally are starting to thaw. It’s just that I am really curious about people and I love making connections with others. I love those moments of genuine connection where walls come down and hearts are seen. This is one of many reasons why I love this passage from the Gospel of John.

          It’s a long one, and for folks who like to ingest Bible passages in smaller doses, you may not have been excited to see that it goes all the way to verse 42, but when I looked ahead at the lectionary and saw that this was the reading for today, I audibly said “yes!” It’s my favorite passage. Many of you have noticed the green stole I wear during what the church calls “ordinary time” which basically means the time when it is not Lent, Advent, Pentecost, Epiphany or other big days. The stole is custom made and was an ordination gift from my friends and family. The artist who made it incorporates meaningful symbols from my life, and next time I wear it, you will see her- the figure next to the well … the woman at the well. She has been my favorite for a long time now and so she has accompanied me on my ministry journey on my stole and in the way I understand Jesus.

          She is bold, courageous, open-hearted and not really good at small talk and polite conversation. The first thing she says to Jesus is a challenge. He tells her to give him a drink and she questions him saying “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” There is no “hi, how are you?” or “boy what a hot day today” she goes straight to the question. And her question isn’t just a simple question about one person asking another for a drink. It is about historical divisions between two groups of people, religious differences and social norms. So right from the beginning, we know this isn’t going to be any ordinary conversation. Just as the bucket stretches deep into the well until it reaches the water, this passage takes us into a deep dive about: differences, judgment, gender, history, God and the meaning of life. Which I am pretty sure is outside what one might consider light-hearted small talk.

          I really began to love this passage when I began to really read it for myself, and not just accept traditional interpretations of it. For example, typically people present this passage as a story about a poor and desperate condemned woman, sort of crawling through the shame of who she is to get to this well in the hot mid-day sun. But is that really what the text says?

          She engages Jesus with courage and knowledge. She challenges him when she asks “are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us this well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” I think sometimes when people talk about this passage they talk about this woman as an outcast, as someone to be pitied, as someone who has lived what others may call a “sinful life.” But what I encounter in this passage is someone who is confident, and not afraid to be direct with a Jewish man talking to her alone in the middle of the day. Samaritans and Jewish people were not supposed to get along and had a long history of issues. And a man and a woman who were strangers weren’t supposed to be talking to each other alone. In fact, we read that when the disciples found him they were “astonished that he was speaking with a woman.” The text goes on to say, “but no one said, what do you want or, why are you speaking with her.” I wish they would have; I would love to hear Jesus explain to the disciples why it was important for him to talk to this woman that they were so astonished by.

 I think people often pity this woman because of what we learn about her.  Jesus says that she has had five husbands and that the guy she is currently with is not her husband. Because of this, she is often cast as sad or shameful or desperate. But what I find interesting is that the text doesn’t say that. Jesus describes her situation matter-of-factly and never pairs it with any judgment. And then reveals to her the truth of who he is and the nature of God.

 In her book, Abuelita Faith, Kat Armas says, “Jesus doesn’t just talk to an otherwise despised woman- as many theologians have pointed out to be radical- but he assumes her agency and engages her in mutuality. Jesus welcomes the    Samaritan woman’s challenge, participating with her in teologia en conjunto, the act of theologizing together in collaboration. And through their back-and-forth exchange, the mujer at the well encounters the Living Water- our sacred water who himself heals, gives life, and restores.” It’s not that Jesus is celebrating her past or that she is either, but he also isn’t letting it get in the way of having a meaningful conversation and bringing her to the living water.

          This is a conversation that goes deeper than the surface. She is fully seen by Jesus and with an open heart seeks the living water he speaks of. Jesus tells her that he is the Messiah and invites her to “worship in spirit and truth.” And we the reader, along with the whole community who she will go and tell this message to, hear that God is spirit. God is a living, moving, truth that is accessible for all, and we are called to dive deep into the heart of God. Beyond polite prayers and tacit acknowledgement and into the spirit of God which seeks to enfold us.

          And because of the testimony of this woman, this woman who asked questions, who opened her heart and who felt truly seen- many came to believe. And at the end of the passage read it says “They said to the woman, it is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the World.” They encounter the “living water” of Christ and know that the divisions do not matter, that Jesus has not come just for one group of people, but for the whole world. Living waters unleashed upon the whole world from this encounter at a well between a sassy woman and Jesus.

          And our world needs these living waters. There is so much pain and hurting and war and fear and death and destruction. It can begin to feel like hearts have run dry, wells of hope are empty and faith is far away. But Jesus invites us to dive deeper. To worship the God who is spirit and truth. To find the deep well inside ourselves where the Holy Spirit dwells. Beyond our short comings and failings, beyond our divisions and hatred, beyond what we show on the surface. 

          Maybe part of why I love this passage is because I see myself in the woman at the well. Not that I have had five husbands or plan to and not just because I like to ask a lot of questions, but because I feel it in my soul when she says “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty.” I feel that longing for something deeper. Something deeper than being distracted by social media, engaging in polite conversation, and the daily work of being human. She wants something deeper, something life-giving, her soul is thirsty.

          And day after day I see thirsty souls. I know the statistics about declining churches and increasing apathy, but I see that less as a pronouncement about the increasing irrelevancy of church and more as a challenge to spread love, spread the hope of Jesus, and be willing to encounter people as they are. To truly see them, hear them and take the time to know them. To see the thirsts of their souls and in our interactions to find that the Holy Spirit is moving sometimes as a rushing river and sometimes as a gentle stream, guiding us to the living waters of God’s love.

          The woman at the well finds these waters, it fills her so deeply that it overflows onto everyone she meets. She finds it in this man called Jesus, the Messiah standing at her well, asking for a drink from her. Who sees her and knows her and accepts her. Who tells her that yes there is more, God is spirit and truth. God is a well that is deep and never runs dry. 

***Thank you to the Rev. Rosie Veal Eby for the photo of her awesome tattoo of the Woman at the Well*

Sermon from 1st UMC East Greenbush 2/22/26

 

Matthew 4:1-11, Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

          Many of you know that I work as a hospital chaplain and this past Wednesday was a busy day. I arrived at work at 6:45 am and helped set up a table in the area referred to as “main street” at the hospital. It’s the main hallway where almost everyone walks through on their way to the various units of the hospital. The table had printed out signs on it that said “Lenten Ashes” and cards with Lenten prayers on them. To set up, I helped carry out the little plastic cups of ashes that had been prepared and the long individually wrapped Q-tips that the hospital said we need to use to dispense ashes in a sanitary way. And then I stood there as the shifts changed and said “good morning, we have ashes for Ash Wednesday if you would like to receive them.” And over and over again I smeared dust on foreheads and said “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

 

          At times I felt a bit like those people at the mall with the perfume kiosks trying to get passersby to stop and sample their product. Because sometimes I could see people were hoping I wouldn’t make eye contact and that they could just hurry on by. But instead of selling fragrances, I was offering dirt.

 

Honestly, I’ve never been into the whole “ashes to go” thing as I feel like just getting ashes without the beautiful liturgy of repentance and scripture readings is a bit disjointed. But, mostly, dispensing ashes at the hospital was a really meaningful experience for people. Some people stopped and asked what it meant and I got to tell them why we do it and what it means. Some people let tears out as I looked them in the eye and reminded them they are dust. Some people stopped and shared their stories with me. Some people asked me to pray for the loved one they were visiting in the hospital.

 

          We gave ashes to over 200 people in that main street hallway, and, in addition to that, we went to the floors and offered ashes to staff and patients there. The staff were so appreciative, even if it wasn’t part of their faith tradition and they did not take them. As I swiped my badge and walked through the doors of the Emergency Department, it struck me what a unique opportunity it was to invite people to pause in the midst of their busy jobs of keeping people alive to be reminded that we are all going to die.  It’s a bit of a juxtaposition really.

 

          I thought of this kind of juxtaposition as I read the scriptures for today. We read two examples of people being tested. The first is Adam and Eve in the garden. God tells them there is only one tree to avoid and then after being tempted, they eat from that tree. And then in the Gospel reading, Jesus goes out into the wilderness and is tested three times. The first is with bread when he is starving, the second is to jump from the pinnacle of the temple and the third is with power. Jesus resists every temptation.

 

          It’s interesting to look at what happens before and after this. Before this reading in Matthew Jesus is baptized and then goes right into the wilderness where our reading from today takes place. As soon as he comes out he learns that John the Baptist has been arrested and he gets right to work, he starts calling his disciples and begins his ministry of preaching, teaching and healing. This order shows us how Jesus chose to begin his ministry. Before he began surrounding himself with crowds and travelling around, he went to the wilderness to be tested. He looked inward and wrestled with temptation and when he came out, it’s as if he is fully connected with God’s will. Like he emerged with a special kind of closeness and reliance on God that would enable him to face all the suffering, pain, temptation and struggle that lies ahead.

 

          For Adam and Eve, it’s a bit of a different story. Before the passage that was read, they roam freely and without shame, they enjoy closeness with God, even a physical closeness with God. But after this passage, after they disobey God and give in to temptation, they are sent out. And then the pages of the Bible after that tell the story of God and humanity trying to keep that closeness again and again as humans move away from God, God calls them back and it happens over and over again. For Adam and Eve, this experience of temptation was a move away from connection with God, for Jesus, it was a deepening of connection with God. Both went through temptation and struggle, but there were two different choices made and two different outcomes.

 

          I don’t know about you, but I wish we didn’t have to go through the struggle part. I wish we could just become closer to God, wiser and more connected through just being comfortable and everything going well. I wish it so much that I often find that I am holding tension in my body as I worry and fear and try to control uncontrollable things. I’m not one to say that God causes our struggles in order to prove something about us. I hear that often as people wrestle with why something bad is happening to them. They wonder if God is causing their suffering to try to teach them something. I believe that God wants love and joy and peace for us and that God suffers with us when we suffer, but that life is full of choices and scary things and uncontrollable things that there is no rhyme or reason for. And Jesus models for us how to walk through all of that and stay connected to God. How to weather the storms and find that God’s love and peace was actually there with us all along and has not left us.

 

          Beginning last Wednesday with Ash Wednesday, we are invited to follow Christ on a journey through the wilderness. To face the tests, the temptations, the scary things of this world and hold on to our faith, stay connected to God and trust that God has not left us. I’d rather skip to Easter baskets and candy than face the discomfort and pain, and yet … I do believe that there is much to be gained from the valleys of life, from the wilderness wrestling.

Often people think that a chaplain’s job is to encourage people, make them feel better and provide reassurance. That’s actually not true. What we do is sit with people in the struggle, in the pain, in the uncertainty. Part of our training is to practice again and again not trying to fix people. If a patient tells me what they are struggling with and I tell them “everything will be ok, don’t worry, you will be fine.” I am not honoring their story, their pain, their struggle, I am not honoring the ways their spirit is growing through that experience of suffering- I am only trying to fix them so that I can feel more comfortable. And so we practice again and again sitting in the suffering, and trusting that God is present. We don’t have to turn off the hard things or make them look away from the struggle, we can accompany them as they face the pain, trusting God will hold them in God’s eternal and unconditional love … without our empty reassurances or shallow attempts at fixing.

          It is a strange thing to walk around a hospital where everyone is focused on saving lives- and remind everyone that we will all die as I wipe dust on their foreheads. When I walked into that Emergency Department last Wednesday with my sanitized Q-tip and plastic cup of ashes, it did feel like a strange juxtaposition. Everyone is busy and I am asking them to pause. Everyone is doing their best to not show emotion and I am looking them in the eye to see their humanity. Everyone is working against death and I am inviting them to face it.

 

          But it’s also really beautiful. In the midst of medicines and diagnoses and machines and a constant rush, we remember that we are humans, all of us. The nurse, the doctor, the custodian, the patient. All of us are made of dust and to dust we shall return. And it’s ok. We are all connected in that shared humanity, we are all in it together. None of us is unique in having to face the truth of our own mortality. There is a connection in that. It’s also a reminder that there is so much we can’t control. And that’s ok. We are called to trust in God, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the one who molds us from the dust and the one who invites us into a new life beyond this one. We are connected in that reliance on God. No matter what we do, we are all dust and to dust we shall return. A reminder that we can release the tension, the weight of the world, the attempts at controlling or understanding what is not controllable, because it’s all in God’s hands. 

          This week I had a birthday, I turned 45. When I was 25 I became a pastor and in all that time I have longed for wisdom. I have studied and prayed and accepted new challenges and learned and taken classes and trainings and thought and thought and thought and asked questions and worked hard to find wisdom, the kind of wisdom I always though a pastor should have. I have heard people talk about how there is a certain kind of wisdom that comes with age and I think I am starting to understand that more and more. In all this time of being determined to be wise, in trying to figure everything out, in trying to remember to loosen the tension in my jaw and let my shoulders release the weight of the world, wisdom kept coming, through every tear and laugh, every moment of awe and moment of pain. Through the tests and temptations that I failed and the ones I passed. It has been lesson after lesson in trust. In knowing that God is with me and that no matter what I do, God is the beginning and the end. That I am dust and to dust I shall return.

Sermon from 2/8/26 “The Fast I Choose”

 

Isaiah 58:1-2

          We have this Sunday plus one more before Ash Wednesday. If you look at your bulletin, you see it says “5^th Sunday After the Epiphany.” That means we are still basking in the light of that big bright star in the sky that brought the wise men to see the baby Jesus. We are still celebrating that the birth of Christ is good news for the whole world, it is an epiphany of God’s love for all the ends of the earth. So … why are we talking about fasting? Why are we reading this passage from Isaiah that is all about fasting? We still have the Shrove Tuesday feasts and Mardi Gras celebrations to look forward to. We have Super Bowl parties to go to and indulge in junk food and endless snacks while watching million dollar commercials. Why would we want to start talking about fasting before we need to?

 

          During the week I work at a hospital and I encounter people all the time who are fasting … not because they want to. Patients will tell me with exhaustion in their faces “I haven’t eaten anything in days” as they wait for surgeries and procedures or the all clear notification from their doctor. And I feel for them. Some mornings I can barely make it to noon before my stomach is growling and I am thinking about the lunch that awaits me.

 

          I used to fast every Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, but then I got pregnant and then I was nursing a baby and then another one and … 14 years later I am still trying my best to hold on to the excuse of having to care for children. But I have done what many Christians do, and that is to pick something to fast from. Usually I pick something like sweets or time scrolling on my phone or some other habit that I know is not healthy for my mind, body or soul. And that’s important and a way to focus on nourishing what is best for us.

 

          But that does require some thought … right? Thought about what is best for us. What is actually feeding us, mind, body and soul versus what we are just filling ourselves with. What focuses our attention on what God wants for us rather than taking our attention through distraction. It takes some discernment to know what to fast from, how to fast and why we are doing it. Otherwise, we are just giving something up for a while, and what good is that? Like when one of my kids says they are giving up chores for Lent.

 

          So I suppose there is some reason to be talking about fasting before Ash Wednesday, some time to reflect and consider before we are faced with the decision of how we will make our Lenten journey meaningful, what we will do to use those 40 days as a times of focus on Christ. And the reading from Isaiah today has some guidance on this. Actually, some very strong words about fasting.

 

          The passage begins with a problem. There is a breakdown in the relationship between God and the people. The people are mad and say “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” They are doing what they think they should be doing, they are worshiping and fasting but it isn’t getting them what they want from God. They want to be noticed, they want to be taken care of, and so they fast but … God isn’t responding the way they think God should.

          The prophet points out that, yes, they are fasting but as they do it they fight with each other and treat each other terribly. And the response to their upset feelings is, “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”

 

          In other words, the people are being challenged to fast from injustices, cruelty and a lack of kindness. Suddenly, giving up food for a bit doesn’t seem so hard … because in comparison with working to bring human dignity, justice and freedom to those who are oppressed and hurting … it seems much more doable.

 

          In his commentary on this passage, Walter Brueggemann writes, “[God] is not a God who likes to be flattered in a more or less passive routine of worship; this God is out working the neighborhood and wants all adherents doing the same.” In other words, God is not asking for empty ritual or grand acts to show religiosity, but rather, the way to get God’s attention is to be out there in the world loving God’s people.

 

          What is required for fasting is not simply the act of giving something up, but the commitment to turn from self-indulgence, the nurturing of a deep care for others, the practice of denying one’s comfort to show mercy to another. It is not simply about giving up, but also of giving.

          This past week in the Spiritual Care Department at the hospital where I work, we were preparing to make videos about the upcoming holy seasons of Lent and Ramadan. I told the Imam who was there to talk about Ramadan, that I think it is important as interfaith chaplains to be mindful of Ramadan so that we can be aware of the pain Muslim patients are experiencing when they are in the hospital and medically unable to fast and are also separated from the communal experience of Ramadan. He said that is something that Imams often address, how to care for people who are physically unable to fast. He used the example of new moms who are breastfeeding their babies. He said the act of feeding takes the place of the fast for them. I thought about that as I read this passage from Isaiah. The act of feeding another in need, is the fast. Like with the call from Isaiah to bend your heart toward others as an act of fast, as an act of devotion to God.

 

          Is that an easy way out? An excuse to not give something up as an act of sacrifice? Do we just say “I’ll make a donation to the needy” and go along our way as we blur the line between the Mardi Gras indulgences and the somber days of Lent? I don’t think so. Because, I don’t see how you can have one without the other. This passage calls us to share our bread, our house, our clothing. This requires a sacrifice of something that we have while also being with others, being part of a community, knowing, hearing and loving our neighbors. Because when we keep them at arm’s length, we don’t know them, we don’t see them, we don’t know their needs or the struggles they face.

 

 

          After these words about sharing food and your house and your clothing, the prophet says, “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” So … this is how to get God’s attention. The passage begins as the people are mad that they aren’t getting from God what they want, and here we learn that by caring for one another, by sacrificing self-indulgence and seeing your neighbor … that is how to lift the darkness and “you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.” You will be nourished. This is the nourishment they seek, but it comes not from continually filling oneself, but from pouring oneself out through love.

 

          I think the “pointing of the finger” thing is interesting. In my New Oxford Annotated Bible, it says the pointing of the finger is “a gesture of contempt.” Which goes along with the “speaking of evil.” So … the call is not just to physically be with the neighbor and care for them but to remove contempt for them. Which … is hard because, let’s face it … people can be really annoying and mean and condescending and infuriating. And sometimes it feels like people need a good finger pointing.

 

          But I know that for me, when I feel the most annoyed or upset by another person, I am the least willing to truly see them, to see their struggles, their heart, their perspective. And when I am mad or annoyed or upset by another, the last thing I want is someone telling me to go be with them, to go be a good neighbor. Instead I want to close that door, walk away and never have to deal with them again.

 

          But here is our God, out there in the world, in the community, in the neighbor. God incarnate, God with us, God loving all of creation, each person made in God’s image. And I wonder … is it possible to know that God, with a heart closed off to God’s beloved? Perhaps, the call to fast is also a call to clear our hearts from all of the closed doors, from all of the hardened paths, from all of the walls we have put in place.

 

          It’s not an easy calling. I think I would rather just avoid ice cream for 40 days than have to feed others, clothe others, house others … love others. But this is where God says our souls are watered, this is where all of us in community are restored, by caring about the other and risking love.

 

          So as you see the calendar pages turning and the days of Lent approaching, think of what fast you choose and who you choose it for.

Sermon from 1/4/26 "In the Beginning"

 John 1:1-18

As I sat on the couch watching the ball drop in Times Square I thought about a few things. First, I thought about how convenient it was when we lived in Colorado to watch the ball drop at 10 pm our time and then send the kids to bed. Then, I thought about what the experience must be like for the over 1 million people packed into Times Square. I googled “what time do you have to arrive for New Year’s Eve at Times Square” and found a set of tips. It said that gates open at 3pm but you need to arrive much earlier, like 10 am if you want a good spot. It also says “You’ll be standing for many hours in the cold, so bring layers, snacks, water and patience.” Furthermore, “There are virtually no public restrooms, so many people wear diapers …” oh and no chairs allowed. Also, it said with wind chill, the temperature felt like it was in the teens. I felt grateful for my warm couch.

          It is an interesting thing to think about. Millions of people standing with no chairs for about 14 hours in the freezing cold … likely in wet diapers. And all to watch an occasional famous or once famous performer if you are close enough to the front and a few scattered hosts making jokes and then a giant ball descend in the last 10 seconds. And then … that’s it. It’s a new year.

          The promise of a new year is a lovely thing and I would say worth getting excited about (like silly hats and noise makers excited if not wet diaper excited). There is something alluring and promising about throwing away the old calendar and having a fresh start. It’s all about looking forward, imagining what can be and saying good bye to the past. Picturing a newer, fitter, healthier, wealthier, happier version of ourselves and with determination, deciding on a resolution or two that will get you there. It is a time of optimism, hope and the courage to commit to new things.

          One of my favorite New Year’s practices is to pray John Wesley’s Covenant Prayer which we prayed today and is in your bulletin if you want to look at the words again. I love this prayer. I love the drama of it, the strong words of commitment and determination but also of relinquishing control. These words of newly handing over all that we are to God and trusting in God’s will for us, God’s story for our new year. It is like an offering of our plans, our will, our thoughts on what is best. An offering to God, to be blessed, accepted and transformed. It is a prayer that can be said at any time, but I love saying it at the start of the new year when hearts are a bit more open to possibility and new direction.

          It is also a fitting response to an epiphany. When one realizes that all that we are comes from God and that God loves us and wants what is best for us, then one wants to respond to that epiphany with an act of devotion, like a covenant prayer. And today is when we celebrate Epiphany Sunday. The Epiphany we celebrate is the arrival of the wise men at the sight of the star over where Christ is born. While we often add the wise men to our Christmas nativity scenes, it isn’t until later, on Epiphany that we celebrate their arrival.

 

          The arrival of the wise men takes it from an intimate birth scene to an international event. The wise men represent all of us who live far from that place, all of us who come from different backgrounds, but are called to follow the star, the light of God’s love present to us in Jesus Christ. And it comes with a calling, to continue to spread the news, spread the word, tell others that God has come to earth in the form of a baby and his name is Jesus. Like New Year’s resolutions and the covenant prayer, it is marking a new start, it is forward focused, looking ahead at the new calendar and committing ourselves to a new path. In this case, a path with Christ, illuminated by the bright star of God’s love.

          It is interesting that with all of this future-focus with all of the determination to follow a new path, with all of the fresh calendars being hung, the Christmas trees on the curb for the garbage collection, the decorations being put away and the promise of a fresh new start … today’s Gospel reading has us looking not forward, but back … way back … as far back as you can get … all the way to “In the Beginning.”

          You see, the beginning of the Christmas story has different starting points in the four different Gospels (of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) in the Bible. Luke begins his story with a telling of what happened to Zechariah and his realization that he and his wife Elizabeth would birth John the Baptist and then we hear about Mary’s encounter with the angel Gabriel and then the birth of Christ. Matthew starts his telling of the story with the lineage of Christ, showing the family line from Abraham to David to Jesus and then he tells the story of Christ’s birth. And Mark, who tends to be in much more of a hurry with his storytelling, skips all of the birth explanation and begins right with John the Baptist baptizing and Jesus coming out of the wilderness, getting baptized and getting right to work. Those are the beginnings of three of the Gospels. The other one is John, which we read today.

          John begins his telling of the story of Jesus way back to the very beginning of all of creation. Even starting with the words “In the beginning” which is meant to call the reader back to those words in Genesis and the beginning of all of creation. John explains that the Word was with God all the way at the beginning. The creation of the universe poured out from a divine intimacy between the Word and God. Creation born out of love. From the beginning, God intended to be in relationship with creation, that the Word would become flesh and dwell among us. The salvation story was always a part of it. All the way back in the beginning.

 

          I think there is something really lovely and important in taking a look back. Yes, New Year’s is a time of new beginnings and future plans and looking ahead, but also, what if we take a moment and look back. Not to see our flaws and our mistakes, but to acknowledge who we are, where we have come from, all of the brave things we have done and all the ways God has walked this journey with us.

          I thought about this as I worshipped with you all here on Christmas Eve. Sometime before the worship service I realized it had been a long time since I preached on Christmas Eve. When I decided to have my second son, I took family leave from full time ministry. For several years I stayed home with my two kids and worked as a supply pastor, filling in for clergy on vacation. I got involved at the church where my husband was serving and helped teach Sunday School and start a Vacation Bible School. And then we moved to Colorado and I worked part time on staff where my husband was the senior pastor. And when you are on staff, you don’t typically preach Christmas Eve, clergy often jokingly call the Sunday after Christmas “associate pastor’s Sunday” because the senior pastor typically covers Christmas Eve. So I realized the last time I preached a Christmas Eve service was 13 years ago.

          I remember it well. I remember taking my baby to my husband’s 4pm service and then leaving the baby with a church member as I left early to get to my service. I remember driving in the cold and dark and thinking about all the families gathering together in the pews and around dinner tables and wishing I could be with mine. But I also remember that moment, that beautiful moment when the lights were turned off, the candles lit, and the voices singing Silent Night in the dark. I remember standing in front and feeling so full of love. Looking out at the packed church and seeing the faces of college students home for Christmas, babies I had baptized, couples I had wed, families of those I had buried and I remember feeling so much love, love for them and love from them.

          As I stood up here Christmas Eve and looked up in the darkness of Silent Night to see the packed church with faces illuminated by candle light, I felt a flood of emotion. I could see all of these faces that are new to me and are so full of love and welcome and hope and I could also feel the love of all of those I have shared that moment with before, ones I follow on social media, ones I receive Christmas cards from and ones I have loved and lost. And I felt so overwhelmed with love that my breath caught and my eyes filled. It was beautiful and a moment I will cherish.

          Sometimes it is good to look back. To look back and see the faces of those who have loved us and those we have loved. To see all the twists and turns on the journey that we have weathered and to look way back, way, way back, all the way back to the very beginning and know we were always loved, from the very beginning.

Christmas Eve Sermon at First UMC East Greenbush

 

Luke 2:1-20, 12/24/25 “A Great Light”

          I’ve been thinking about Trick or Treating … wait … do I have the wrong holiday?  Actually, I have been thinking about when I took my son trick or treating and when it got dark, I reminded him that the way to tell which house you could go to was whether or not their front porch light was on. The light on meant you were welcome there and a light off meant, don’t go that way. But it isn’t just trick or treating, we use lights to signify welcome in a lot of different ways. If the vacancy sign is lit that means there is room at the hotel, if the lights are on at the store it means it is still open and a lit walkway says “welcome … here is the path.” A light in the dark says a lot. The bright beams breaking through the darkness to illuminate the path before you, the warm soft glow on a dark cold night to say “here is a place of comfort and care.”

 

          The reading from Isaiah talks about light: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light …” And then in the reading from Luke, we see that great light. It comes upon shepherds in the night. It says an angel comes and “the glory of the Lord shone around them.” The glory of the Lord is a light shining. And soon there is “a multitude of the heavenly host.” That’s a lot of light way out in those dark fields with those shepherds. It says the shepherds were “keeping watch over their flock by night” these are people who know the dangers that come in the darkness. These are people who know the darkness well. When the world sleeps, they remain awake, vigilant, waiting for dawn to reveal the safety of their flocks. This is where the glory of the Lord shines … around those watching for danger, those sitting in the dark. A warm and brilliant light shining welcome, here is the path, here is safety.

          What’s so amazing about this light is that it is like an illuminated “open” sign, showing that the door between heaven and earth is open. The light shines upon an opening into heaven, where God is poured out here onto earth. Later, Jesus will ascend back on that same path, and here we see the light is on, the heavens have opened and here is the way.

 

          Some people call these thin places. Those times, moments or locations where the veil between heaven and earth feels thin, or maybe even nonexistent. As a hospital chaplain, I am honored to be able to sit in these thin spaces with people. Sometimes when someone takes their last breath and then falls into the arms of God and sometimes when a new life takes their first breath in the arms of their mother.

          About once a week I make the rounds through the post-partum unit. Unlike most others at the hospital, the people I meet here are not sick, but rather standing at the edge of a brand new chapter of their lives. And it is beautiful, and joyful and amazing, but also … terrifying. When the angel comes to the shepherds it says they are “terrified” and the first thing the angel says is “do not be afraid.” These thin places, these in-breakings of the Holy Spirit can be terrifying. And I often see that on the faces of brand new parents. They just had an overwhelming experience and now are sitting there with a new life that wasn’t there before. They are figuring out feeding schedules and paperwork and phone calls right after this unbelievable life-changing event. I remember, after I had my first son, when people would say he was beautiful, I would widen my eyes and say “I know right!” Saying thank you felt strange as I held that little miracle, I was in awe of this new tiny person. It felt like a gift from God and something amazing to behold and not something I would take credit for.

          When I see all those tiny new lives in the post partum unit on the day of their birth, I feel like I am walking along a thin space. There is a light and a beauty that shines around their tender skin and wrinkled toes and I often find myself wiping a tear as I pray for them, it is a moving experience to be in that place.

 

          But it can also be a hard experience. As I go from room to room it is abundantly and starkly clear that not every baby gets the same starting point in life. Some start their lives with loving parents putting so much thought and care into getting everything just right for them- with a home stocked with fresh diapers, new onesies and photo frames just waiting to be filled with happy memories. But that isn’t the story for all of them. Some are born into different circumstances and that is hard to see.

 

          Jesus was one of those babies born into different circumstances. He was born to a young couple without a roof over their heads. He was born sharing space with stinky animals. Biblical scholar Luke Timothy Johnson writes, “However we construe the manger and the lodge and the wrapping bands put on the baby and the visit by shepherds, there is no doubt concerning Luke’s portrayal of the economic or social level of Jesus’ first companions … [the shepherds] are certainly among the lowest-esteemed laborers. Mary and Joseph, in turn, are transients … people who lack adequate shelter.” It’s quite the scene … a wild scene really … and entirely unexpected. Who would imagine that here, in these circumstances, God chooses to dwell with humanity? That here in this darkness, in these circumstances, comes a great light.

          The vacancy light shines through a bright star saying, “here is room,” even though the inn may be full, here we find abundance and a message of love shining bright enough for the whole world to bask in.

           I have this really clear memory from when I was little. We lived down the street from the high school and we were walking home after my older sister’s band concert. It was cold and snowy in northeast Ohio and I must have been no older than 8 years old and yet I can see it so vividly. There in the cold, dark ordinary night I looked up and saw the big bright multi-colored bulbs hanging on the front porch of our house and I remember feeling so warm inside. There was home and it was Christmas time, and the joy was intense and warm and filled my heart and the lights were so bright against the dark sky.

          I think of that every year at Christmas, that way in which a child’s heart can truly capture the joy of Christmas. The indescribable, warm and welcoming joy knowing that God is with us, God has come. Just as promised.

           This is the great light Isaiah spoke of.  The great light of God’s love shining here on earth to say, “here is the path, this is the way, you are welcome here” the same light that warmed the shepherds flows into the soft candlelight that will soon fill this space. A welcome light.

Wherever you are on your journey, whatever darkness you may find yourself in, see this light on, see this welcome and know that God is here, with a light that can never be extinguished. Merry Christmas.

Sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent, First UMC East Greenbush

 

Sermon from 12/21/25 Matthew 1:18-25

          It was a cold, dark winter’s night, the day was drawing to an end as clothes were traded for pajamas and the promise of sleep was near … and in that cozy stillness I heard these words, “mom, I need help with my math homework!” I took a deep breath, gently moved the cuddly dog from my lap and dove in to the great unknown … that is middle school math. My son had been absent so he missed the lesson. I looked at the worksheet and everything I ever knew seemed to run out of my mind. It looked nonsensical. I said “are you sure about this whole advanced math thing, maybe try regular math.” But there was no laugh from him, only the look of distress that comes when you are stuck. We started looking over the sample problems, reading the problem over and over again, trying different numbers in different places. I knew that somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain these lessons were buried from learning them years ago, but things have changed and the formulas the teacher used in the example looked completely unknown. As I sat there writing numbers and trying my best to tap into my inner middle-school student, my son said “I got it!” and he started spouting off numbers and writing quickly and then had a big smile. I looked at his work and nodded and said “oh, ok!” clearly not knowing what the heck he was talking about. But he really wanted me to stay with him in this, so he explained it a few times and eventually it kind of made sense. And man did I feel proud of myself. As I tucked him into bed he said “that math homework took SO long” and I said “yeah, but it was kind of fun” and he said “yeah, it was.”

          We got there. What started out as utter confusion eventually moved to trust as I watched his brain put the pieces together and then ended with enlightenment as we both felt so satisfied in having figured it out.

          This journey from confusion to trust to enlightenment is not one confined only to the complications of middle-school math. It is a familiar journey for anyone who has lived and breathed. And it is an ancient one, as we heard in the Gospel reading today.

         Today’s reading opens a door into the mind of Joseph. It starts with confusion. He was engaged to Mary. This meant that there was likely a ceremony of engagement after which she would stay living at her father’s house for what could have been a year or a few years and then he would come and take her to their new home together. And during this time of not living together, she becomes pregnant. Joseph is confused and wants to follow the rules but also does not want to publicly shame her, so he decides to quietly end things. But, as he is still thinking this over, one translation says “as he was considering this” [1] he has a dream. Imagine what this was like for Joseph. He was likely quite young and here he is dealing with this unexpected shock and trying to figure out what he will do. The stakes are high, the life of the woman he loves may be at stake, and yet, he wants to do what he believes to be right.

           It is in this state that Joseph has a dream. In the dream he sees an “angel of the Lord” who lays it out very clearly and directly: don’t be afraid, take her as your wife and name the baby Jesus. And that’s enough for Joseph. He has trust, complete and total trust, all confusion and contemplation is over and he does what the angel told him to do in the dream.

         It’s interesting if you think of this in the context of an origin story. In movies and comics, every hero has some sort of origin story that defines their life and their mission. For Batman, it was watching his parents get killed by a criminal as a young boy and vowing to avenge their deaths by devoting his life to fighting crime. For Superman, it was surviving the destruction of his home planet, getting adopted and discovering his superpowers. Spider-Man too has lost his parents and when he is bitten by a spider as a teenager he has to sort out his powers and his capabilities as a young man. All of these are very dramatic and heart breaking.

          And here we have the origin story of Jesus. Two young people with plans, thrust into a divine salvation story by appearances from an angel. And both of them, both Mary and Joseph quickly move from confusion to trust. The origin story of the life of Jesus begins with two confused people who decided to trust.

         Trust is a tricky thing. It can be easy like when you know and love someone who has proven themselves, or it can be really hard like when you are afraid and a relationship feels shaky. Trust can break your heart, but often we are forced into it. Every day we trust that the other people driving cars on the road will follow the laws. We trust that our bodies will do what they need to so we can keep going, we trust that the sun will rise and set, we trust that we will get a paycheck, the heat will work and the house will stay standing. And we have to see horrible stories on the news of frightened people fleeing and trust that we can still gather, send our kids to school and maintain hope in humanity. It can be hard.

          And yet, here we are, trusting each other with our prayers, our concerns, our hearts and our stories. Praying to God from the depths of our hearts and trusting that God hears our prayers. Daring to open our hearts in worship to beauty, to hope, to peace and to love, knowing that this world can break your heart.

          But this decision, this wild, bold, maybe foolish, vulnerable decision to trust … this is the origin story of our Savior. This trust is how God breaks into the world, takes on flesh and saves us. Matthew tells us that Jesus did not drop out of thin air, he did not triumphantly descend from the clouds on a throne, he did not fly in from a spaceship …. He was born of trust. God chose to work through human hearts, to quiet fears and invite trust. The origin story of the one we worship, the one we give our hearts to, involves a young couple holding onto a dream, trusting a vision.

          I wonder, where God is calling your heart to trust? Maybe to trust in God’s presence, the love of another, the possibility of peace or that word that we often keep trying to grab but keeps slipping through our fingers … hope.

          Remember, the story doesn’t end with a young couple trusting a vision. There is more to come. Joseph’s journey goes from confusion to trust to enlightenment. There is a star coming, a light to shine in the darkness, the angels are not done speaking. This story will go from one man’s dream, one women’s vision to enlightenment for the world and for ages to come. Trust opened the door for enlightenment.

 

          Our Advent journey is nearing its end. Maybe that brings nervousness, worry about unfinished shopping lists, unbaked cookies, unsent cards and unanswered emails to get to before everything closes. Or maybe it means a heart bursting with excitement like a child who thinks 4 days until Christmas is an impossibly long time to wait. Either way, I invite you to use these final days of Advent to look into your heart and see where God may be inviting you to trust. To reflect on how that word trust makes you feel, and gather the courage to keep the door open to God’s calling.

 

          It’s really all pretty wild. A young man finds out that the one he is engaged to is pregnant and in his confusion an angel tells him exactly what to do and then … he does it. He trusts. Mary too, trusts and together they embark on a journey. A journey that would result in a light like no one had ever seen. I wonder if after the confusion, the fear, the trust, the enlightenment, I wonder if Mary and Joseph looked at each other and said “that was wild … but it was also kind of fun.” Like my son and I did after he finished his math homework. And sure, middle-school math isn’t exactly ushering in the birth of Christ … but over and over again in life we are invited to open the door to trust and even though it may not go as we planned and our hearts may even get broken … God still enters that door, God still shows up … with a light that can never be extinguished so … stay tuned … because we are about to witness that light together and celebrate the next part of a wild story.

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[1][1] Harrington, Daniel. Sacra Pagina: Gospel of Matthew. Liturgical Press 2007. Pp. 34

Isaiah 11:1-10 “Waiting”

 

Sermon from First UMC East Greenbush 12/7/25 

          When I was 18 I got my own apartment. I was excited to live on my own, but it was lonelier than I expected. Preparing and eating dinner by myself was not as exciting as I had pictured. One of my dear friends who had moved away for college got me a plant. It was a tiny little thing in a tiny little pot. She assured me it was easy to take care of. I was grateful for another living thing in my apartment and enjoyed watching it grow. When I graduated college and moved to New Jersey for Seminary I took my plant with me, it had moved to a medium-sized pot and fit nicely in front of the window. After Seminary, when I got married and moved into the parsonage of my first church, it came along. It was much bigger and now in a much larger pot. It stood in front of the sliding glass door and kindly let out a slight droop to remind me when I had waited a bit too long to water it. It came along when I moved to my next church and eventually shared its pot with a bright plastic flower that my son stuck next to it. Eventually it became time for our next move, and this time we were moving from Ohio to Colorado. What would I do with my big plant in its big pot? It wouldn’t fit between the car seats and the movers said they didn’t take plants. I asked again and the movers said they would put it in the truck but since this was in January and the truck was not heated, they couldn’t guarantee it would make it.

 

When the truck arrived there was the plant and it was looking very sad. I tried my best to help it as it became more and more shriveled but eventually it cracked and fell and there was nothing I could do but put it in the compost. There the empty pot sat, for some reason I didn’t immediately clean the soil out of it. And after a few days or so, I saw something. Something small and green right in the spot where the roots were left. I excitedly said to my husband “a shoot from the stump!” (these are the kinds of references two clergy make with each other). And sure enough, new life emerged. There was still life in that pot, even after the death and decay, a fresh new sprout burst forth.

 

          A “shoot from the stump” is a phrase from the Isaiah reading that we read today. In order to fully understand it, we have to back up a bit and look at the verses before it. In Isaiah chapter 10 verse 34 it says, “He will hack down the thickets of the forest with an ax, and Lebanon with its majestic trees will fall.” This is referring to the dynasty of David. King David came from the line of Jesse. He was the much anticipated, much longed for king chosen by God. And now, that line of David was but a stump. A stump is a dead plant from which nothing can grow and represents what Biblical Scholar Walter Brueggemann calls the “deep failure of the Davidic dynasty.”[i] As Pastor Mary Beth shared in her sermon last week, Isaiah is writing during a time of increasing power and destruction by the Assyrian army and the decline of Israel. It was a scary and uncertain time marked by lack of faith, injustice, corruption and oppression. The days of David’s rule seemed but a long dead stump.

          And then … we get this passage today. A beautiful poem about hope and possibility. It starts with a shoot from a stump. Life out of what was dead. A seemingly impossible situation, new life from death. A new reality in which righteousness and faithfulness are the basis of rule. Where the poor and oppressed are cared for. The vulnerable protected. And where “The wolf shall live with the lamb; the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion will feed together, and a little child shall lead them.”

          Impossible ... You might say. A lion and a lamb together in peace? It goes against everything we know about the animal kingdom and animal instincts. Impossible … there is no way a little child could bring about a peace which has eluded wise and aged rulers for all time. Impossible … new life coming from a stump, from hopelessness and despair.

 

          How could this be? We are told in this poem that it is “the spirit of the Lord.” It says, “the spirit of the Lord shall rest on him.” Brueggemann says “The  Spirit of the Lord has the capacity to do what the world believes is impossible.” The lion and the lamb together would mean a world not dominated by threat and hostility. A world where the vulnerable are cared for. Where there is courage to trust. Where rage and violence, revenge and hatred give way to love and care, bridge-building and hope. Where safety, health and security are not only for those who can earn enough, inherit enough, perform enough, but for everyone. True peace … for even the vulnerable lambs. Can you imagine?

          Isaiah asks us to. Imagine what the Spirit of the Lord can do. What seems impossible. A child leading the way.

 

          For us Christians, we believe that Jesus is the one who comes. He comes from the line of Jesse, a shoot from the stump. One who rules with the Spirit of the Lord. Who cares for the least, the lost and the lonely and makes possible this impossible vision of a world ruled by love and peace.

          It would be a long, long, long time between these words of Isaiah and the birth of Christ. A long time of waiting.

          I hate waiting. My husband teases me that I would rather risk breaking my back to carry something heavy than wait for him to come help me. I am always the one in my family of four sitting in the car waiting for everyone else to get ready to go. And when I have to wait like in the long lines at Disney World, or for the thermometer on the turkey to pop or repair man to finally come or for even harder things like medical test results or word that a friend or family member struggling is ok or for pain to end … it’s agonizing. Waiting is hard. Sitting with uncertainty is hard. Trusting that everything will work out is hard.

 

          Eckhart Tolle writes, “Waiting is a state of mind. Basically it means that you want the future; you don’t want the present.” And if you think about it, it is true- the awareness that you are waiting is really a state of mind. We may be in agony waiting for the plane to arrive and board at the airport but then realize that even if we were at home we would be doing the same thing- sitting there staring at our phone. Waiting takes us out of the present moment and leaves us focused only on what will, could or might be. It leaves us building an imagined future in our minds rather than receiving what comes with openness.

 

          And … if you think about it … we are actually living in the long awaited present of those who have gone before us. We are their hopes, their anticipated futures, their dreams. We are living after Jesus has come, we know that God has made possible what was impossible. God has come, to be with us, to bring love, peace and hope.

 

          But the world is not perfect. We live in that space between the birth of Christ and the day when all shall be made well and Christ will come again. And we may find ourselves looking around at dashed hopes, cut down trees, dead stumps and despair.

 

          But Isaiah reminds us that the Spirit of the Lord has more in store. This Advent, let us wait with trust, knowing that God makes all things new. And that we can be the shoot, bringing all that we hope for into the world. Living lives with righteousness and faithfulness, bringing care to the lonely, bringing peace to those in fear and justice to the oppressed. We can be a people who believe in stumps, even when it looks like there is no life left in them.

 

          Before Thanksgiving, I was able to join the youth group as they went to Hawthorne Ridge and spent time with residents there. These young people spent their day off of school sitting and talking with people they didn’t know. They talked about what they are grateful for and listened as the residents told their stories of gratitude. They prayed together and made crafts and spent time in genuine connection. Young people leading the way with care and love. Bringing shoots of a future hoped for to others.

 

          But before I finish, I don’t want to leave you wondering … how is my plant today. The one I got when I was 18 that has traveled all over the country with me. Well, when it was time to make the trip to New York from Colorado, the movers wouldn’t take it. After packing two kids a dog and everything we needed for a 29-hour cross country drive into our Subaru, it didn’t fit in the car. So I gave it to my friend Tanya. When I moved to Colorado I knew I was going to be far from family and I prayed that I would make friends in that new place. Tanya is one of those friends. One of those friends who loves whole-heartedly and isn’t afraid to be the first to cry at beautiful moments. She attended my kids’ preschool graduations and sporting events and loved them as they grew. The kids often asked if they could sit with “Miss Tanya” in church.  She supported my volunteer projects and always showed up for us with flowers (she is a florist). She was one of the first people we told that we would be moving. And through her tears and broken heart she hugged us and meant it when she said she was happy for us. She was a shoot from the stump. When I moved to a new place where I knew no one and felt alone, she brought love, warmth and a new possibility of feeling at home. And so I am happy to know that my plant is there with her, in that place of love. It reminds me to always trust, that the Spirit of the Lord is bringing new life, and it’s worth waiting for.

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[i] Brueggemann, Walter. Isaiah 1-39. Westminster John Knox Press, 1998, pp 103.