I've always known that my four year old has some of my traits, but our recent move across the country really put it in plain view. Before the move we would talk about it as I tucked him in. Tears would roll down his cheek as he said "I'm not going to make any friends there." I would tell him that he is wonderful and of course he will make friends. I would tell him that we could make friends together, but he insisted "I will never make friends!" I would be thinking how I wished he would be more rational about it and see how silly it is to worry. Then I would hear those same words coming from my own mouth. My friend was planning a trip to come see us and asked me if a certain weekend would work. I said, "Of course it will work. I have literally nothing on my calendar after the move. I will just be sitting around lonely and friendless." Then she played the part of the rational reassuring one telling me that of course I would make friends and look at all the friends I made in Toledo. I heard her but I still had my doubts. And now here we are; loving our new home and already making wonderful lifelong friends.
When it was time to drive away from our home of seven years I said "woo-hoo road trip!" and turned around to see my four year old's chin quivering as he wiped a tear from his eye and said, "Mommy, I'm sad." I told him I was sad too and we held hands and let tears fall as we drove out of our beloved city. It was hard, but by Indiana we had joined the other two in singing along to the music.
Yesterday was his first day at his new preschool on his own. Before school was an epic meltdown. He was nervous and did not want to go. I reassured him, told him things he could do there, told him how much he liked it when we went together, and stayed firm that he was going. But inside I felt awful because I totally got it. I was nervous too. We have been spending so much time together, I was sad to be away from him all morning. Besides that, I had been there. I freaked when I had to go to preschool ... and first grade ... and youth club at church. I remembered how that felt. But I also know the rewards of doing things that are difficult. I don't know how I learned it but somewhere along the way I decided that I would force myself to do things that were hard. I remember clearly that moment as a 14 year old when I walked to the front of the room at my first speech tournament. All I could think was "why am I doing this?" After four years of speech team, two years of coaching and ten years of preaching I sure am glad I did it anyway. I hope my son learns that same thing. In the meantime I guess I have to keep compassionately pushing him but also keep knowing when not to push.
I struggle with that for myself. I love my current situation. I love being home with the boys, I love being involved at my husband's church and my son's school. I love volunteering and exploring. But I also wonder if I should be pushing myself more. Every time I did supply work (when you fill in for a pastor on a Sunday morning) I was like that 14 year old speech competitor. As I packed the kids up, took them to a sitter, programmed the church address in my phone and drove to a place where I did not know anyone and was completely unfamiliar with their usual worship routines, I thought "why am I doing this?" But every single time I was glad I did it. I felt renewed spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally. I connected with people and kept working on the things I love like preaching and leading worship.
So what now? I
don't know. Moving here was right for my husband's career and a great
place for all of us to live, but what do I do next? I have no idea.
And this is coming from someone who decided her career at age 13. I
have always mapped out my life and followed it completely. Now I have
no plan. Maybe that's ok? Maybe after years of pushing past the worry I
am ready to live in a way that is less planned and more spontaneous?
... sounds too uncertain. A wise friend told me that God's calling is
less of a direct road map and more like the next stone across a foggy
lake. Sounds great, but hard for a person who over prepares and thinks everything out to the point of worry and reluctance. Maybe I
just keep hopping and surround myself with people who will push me to
the next rock ... and keep holding my son's hand as we jump together.
Every year many of us Christians struggle to find a way to be in a state of “not yet” while the world seems to be in a state of “now.” During a time of celebrations, feasts, gifts and extravagance, Advent calls us to be patient, still and reflective. Many of us cling to the image of Mary during this time of waiting. She had no choice but to wait. Her wait was physical, emotional and visible as her belly expanded with the days. Baby kicks and stretch marks were the words of prophecy and promise for her. Pregnancy is a waiting game. On the good days you embrace and enjoy the moment you are in- cherishing every feeling and the anticipation. On harder days you wince as you look at a calendar, wondering “how many more days of discomfort, worry, stretching and back pain?” The wait is physical, emotional and visible to everyone (and they like to comment on it). Waiting, preparing, making more and more room for new life.
The interesting thing about counting down the days of pregnancy is that you are actually anxiously awaiting something incredibly difficult and painful. When I went to the hospital having contractions with my second son Isaiah, I was hoping that the nurse would tell me it was indeed time. Even though he was a bit early, I felt ready. I did not want to be pregnant anymore and I wanted to meet my little man. I insisted on no drugs of any kind and no epidural. I calmly watched the clock tick through the night and the snow fall outside the hospital window. I helped Jeremiah figure out who would lead worship since it was a Sunday morning. I took deep breaths and repeated things like “faith over fear, mind over matter.” And then it got real. The nurse came in and looked shocked, she remarked on my change in demeanor. My calm, cool and collected face was replaced with discomfort, fear and dread. I remembered what it was like as the contractions got closer and closer together. I forgot about my mantras as my body contorted. The peace and calm was pushed out by a writhing pain that took over my entire body. Doubt replaced confidence. And then just when I announced to the doctor that she would need to do a c-section because I could not do it any longer, just when I had completely given up … new life. And within minutes I was blissfully holding a tiny baby with a perfect round face and asking my husband to please get me another Rice Krispie treat.
I found myself thinking about that memory in an unlikely place. I was sitting there in a dimly lit hospice room holding the hand of my dear friend. I was whispering encouragement in her ear and watching her husband encourage her by her bedside. There were so many physical reminders of childbirth. She was laying on her back as the painful cancer took over her body. Up to this point, during the months since she found out the cancer was back and it was terminal, she had prepared. She prepared her young children, her friends and family. She wrote letters, bought gifts, said what needed to be said. And I watched as the time came. It was hard. And then just when we started to settle in for the night, just after the hospice nurse left talking about increasing dosages … her last breath. I went home in a daze. I collected my kids from our neighbor and put them to bed very late. Jeremiah was at General Convention in Utah. I was worn out, hanging on the edge, about to fall into the depths of despair and just when I thought I could not do it, that I could not handle it, that the darkness would overcome … I laid down next to my then three year old and he asked me where I had been. I told him my friend died, he smiled and said “that’s good mommy because now she is with Jesus.”
Yes, new life. We wait with hope, we prepare, we make room, we count down, we try to say “not yet” to everything around us that says “now.” We look for hope and peace in a chaotic world that is full of fear and pain. Just when we think we can’t wait anymore, when this world needs a savior, needs hope … new life. A new life that changes everything, a new life that challenges us, that challenges the world we live in, that challenges our wish lists and plans and agendas and desires and relationships. It can be painful … but it is new life. A beautiful new reality ushered in with a tiny body. And just like my baby boys, just like resurrection … it is worth waiting for.
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Seven years ago I was a name to many of you. A name as part of a
paragraph, a paragraph as part of an introduction that probably went
something like this, “The Vestry and the Search Committee are happy to
announce that Jeremiah Williamson will be our new rector beginning in
April. He comes with his wife, Jennifer who is a United Methodist
pastor.” For many you I stayed a name for a while since I was busy
being the pastor of Woodville United Methodist until 2013 when I became a
stay at home mom and started coming here. But now … well I’d like to
think I’m more than a name, or maybe my name means something more, more
fully a name. Now that we have celebrated the birth of children
together, we have mourned together, laughed together and prayed together
week after week. Now we are more. But at first we were names to each
other.
Names carry so much weight. When we named our children we
took it very seriously. We read and researched and reflected. In the
end we cheated, we went with names that had already become great. We
took two amazing stories, Oscar Romero and the prophet Isaiah and
attached them to our children in the hopes of bringing them roots and
inspiration. Names are a big deal, the first thing we learn to write,
the first question we are asked, the word we sometimes dread and
sometimes long to hear from others.
In the Gospel reading today
Jesus is identified. Sure, we already knew what he would be called,
but it’s here in this scene on the beach that Jesus is identified: God’s
son, the Beloved. This is who Jesus is, without this, before this he
may have been a name as part of an introduction, Jesus of Nazareth,
another name in the pages of history. But now he is God’s Son, the
Beloved. This is who he is, identified by the voice of God after he
emerges from the waters of baptism. Now it can begin, now his work of
saving and preaching and restoring can begin.
But more than just
Jesus is identified in this passage. This simple story of a group of
people by the river is an amazing revelation of who God is. It is a
complete understanding of the Trinity in one moment, one sentence, one
action. It’s not very often that we get a mention of all three members
of the Trinity in the same instance. But here we do. Jesus is praying,
the Holy Spirit comes down like a dove and God speaks. All three,
right there. What a sight.
This depiction might resonate
perfectly with your understanding of the Trinity. Jesus down here on
the ground, God way up there with a booming voice bestowing things upon
the earth and the Holy Spirit coming down. Like a divine hierarchy.
But let’s open up the picture for a minute, see if maybe there is
something more going on here.
Every now and then one is fortunate
enough to read a book that speaks directly to one’s soul and
revolutionizes one’s worldview. For me, that happened my first year of
seminary when I had to read a book called “She Who Is” by a Roman
Catholic nun named Elizabeth Johnson. The way she talked about the
power of symbols for God, God’s relationship to humanity and the Trinity
blew my mind, even in and maybe for it’s simplicity. She suggests that
the Trinity is more than a hierarchy or God looking down and giving
gifts to Jesus and the Holy Spirit running around doing the work.
Instead she sees the Trinity as active, alive, moving, circular. Less
about the parts and more about the connections, the relationships. God
the Creator giving God’s self to Jesus the Son, loving and moving in
him, all three bound together by love, equality and divinity. Elizabeth
Johnson explains what is sometimes referred to as a “social trinity” as
she says:
“At its most basic the symbol of the Trinity evokes a
livingness in God, a dynamic coming and going with the world that points
to an inner divine circling around an unimaginable relation … Not an
isolated, static ruling monarch, but a relational, dynamic, tripersonal
mystery of love.” “The threes keep circling round. Whatever the
categories used, there is reflected a livingness in God; a beyond, a
within, and a within to the world and its history; a sense of God as
from whom, by whom, and in whom all things exist, thrive, struggle
toward freedom, and are gathered in. To use one more model, this time
from the eleventh-century theologian Hildegard of Bingen, there is a
brightness, a flashing forth, and a fire, and these three are one,
connecting all creation together in compassion. All these metaphors
express the Trinitarian structure of Christian belief in God.”
What I believe Elizabeth is saying is that the Trinity is about
relationship, and we are invited to be part of that relationship. God
as Father, Son and Holy Ghost, all parts engaged in self-giving. God
says “this is my Son, the Beloved.” It is about the relationship. The
Holy Spirit comes down and then Jesus goes about his work in the love
and embrace of the Creator and Sustainer. They are more than motionless
figures, names in a book, images to be worshiped. They are not three
isolated separate Gods, but rather a relationship.
And so here
we are gathering together, experiencing God through relationship. We
come face to face, we join our voices in prayer because we are more than
just names, we are relationship. We are God’s beloved, saved by
Christ, experiencing the presence of the Holy Spirit and holding one
another’s hands.
We are invited to be part of this dynamic
relationship between God and creation. God gives God’s self to us in
love, mercy and compassion and we are called to give ourselves to God
and one another, keeping the relationship active.
When we
baptize we enter into this act of self-giving. The Holy Spirit is alive
and moving in the water, God is calling the baptized, and then the
newest Christian is sealed with the sign of the cross. In baptism we do
not use last names because we are part of this family, this
relationship where those distinctions do not matter because we are
called beloved.
But here’s the down side of relationships.
They can hurt. I take that back. They will hurt. We don’t get to
stay in this moment forever. We have to say good-bye at some point.
Whether it’s relocation or death or rejection or any kind of change …
and it hurts. When we open our hearts and give of ourselves to
another, through shared faith or shared pain or shared experience or
compassion or love or friendship, we open ourselves to immeasurable joy
and deep pain. Sometimes isolation is tempting, it might seem less
risky, more reasonable. But God calls us to love. Love God and love
neighbor. Give of yourself. This is our calling. This is what we are
baptized into, a relationship with a God who gives. So we keep at it,
cherishing the rewards and weathering the losses. We keep our place in
the divine dance, in our relationship with a living and moving God.
Seven years ago I packed up our stuff and headed west from Youngstown
to Toledo. I cried the whole way as I thought of all the wonderful
people I loved and that loved me that I was leaving. You were names to
me and I was a name to you. And then we knelt and took bread and wine
together. We said goodbye to beloved members and friends, we ate
donuts and chili, we sang Bible School songs, taught Sunday School, did
Bible study together. We sang and worshiped, we cried and prayed. We
grew, we welcomed more people into this place. And now our names mean
so much more to each other.
In a few weeks I will once again
pack up our stuff (a lot more stuff this time and twice as many people)
and head west, very west from Toledo to Colorado Springs. I will cry as
I think of all of the wonderful people I love and have loved me. I
will cry when I think of your names and what they mean … the
relationships. And then I will go to a place where I am right now just a
name, a name as part of an introduction that goes something like, “The
Vestry and the Search Committee are happy to announce that Jeremiah
Williamson will be our new rector beginning in February. He comes with
his wife, Jennifer who is a United Methodist pastor and their two
children.” And you will become a name and accept names as you look for
your next rector.
And then something will happen. God alive
and active, the names will become more. Relationships will blossom,
holy moments emerge, bonds form and the names will mean so much more.
This is life. A circle, a dance, always moving. This is how we be the
people God is calling us to be, engaging in loving relationship,
opening our hearts and experiencing Christ in one another.
I
will never forget watching my children get baptized here in this place.
Their wet baby heads and wide eyes as they watched the candle. I’ll
never forget the loving faces that greeted them as they were brought
down the aisle with the other newly baptized. I’ll never forget because
the Holy Spirit was in this place, making it more than a simple group
of people in a building, making it holy. Today Oliver will have this
experience. His wet head and wide eyes will be welcomed with love and
joy by people who will be so much more than names to him. The Holy
Spirit is moving in this place today. Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
active, alive, giving, receiving, loving. Right here. And we are a
part of it. Each of us with our own identities, stories and names, each
of us together, called Beloved.
As I stood there in the preschool pick-up line I watched as the
teachers carefully checked the names on the little paper plates under
the Play-Doh pumpkins and then handed them to each child as they were
dismissed. I stepped up to get my four-year-old and the teacher said
“We know which one is Oscar’s.” She then selected a flat pumpkin
sitting next to all of the nice round ones. He smiled as he took it and
proudly showed me what he made. I asked him why his was flat and I
have to confess my unspoken thoughts were “he didn’t follow directions
or he smashed it because he was being aggressive or he lacked some sort
of fine motor skill needed to make a round Play-Doh pumpkin.” It’s not
that I don’t think he is wonderful, I do, but I was just doing what so
many of us parents do and putting my own criticisms and insecurities on
my child. In a very matter of fact way he answered, “I didn’t want it
to look like all the other ones. I wanted mine to be different.” I was
embarrassed of my first assumptions and proud of him. A few days
later when he came home with a sparkly pumpkin with eyes spread as far
apart as possible I immediately congratulated him for his originality.
The
world in which my son will grow will only become more and more
populated with people more and more connected and also more and more
aware of standards, norms and “shoulds.” So, I’m happy that he can see
the value in being different. After all, you don’t name your child
after a Salvadoran Archbishop made famous by a radio broadcast that
boldly preached against violence and stood with the severely oppressed
poor people, a man who stood against what his religious authorities,
friends and government demanded, unless you are prepared for a child who
can go against the grain.
I thought about this as my mom and
I were having a conversation later. I was explaining to her that I
wanted to turn our basement into a play room because right now the play
room is the first room people walk into. I told her, “it looks crazy
and cluttered walking into a room of toys.” She looked at me with
surprise and said, “you’ve never cared about that.” It’s true. We have
a purple living room, a “Florida mango” nursery, a bright red living
room with a chalk board wall and a bright blue fireplace. Our house is
decorated with bright colors and things that we have picked up on our
travels or been gifted, things that have meaning for us. Lately though
as I found myself in other people’s homes for parties and play dates I
have looked at their carefully coordinated walls, uncluttered and
impossibly clean surfaces and found myself rethinking our decorating
strategy. But my mom is right … that’s not me.
I remember
nine years ago when I began my first appointment in ministry trying to
figure out who I was as a pastor. I worked with a wonderful senior
pastor who had his own way of doing things but never pushed that on me,
he encouraged and supported his associates as they expressed their own
pastoral voice. That was great, but I needed to find that voice. There
are so many decisions to make in ministry. I would find myself
wondering how other pastors I knew would respond to situations. It was
stressful and uncomfortable. Eventually, I gained confidence and began
to find my own way. It became a balance of learning from others while
also being the unique person God called.
All these years
later and I’m still in that process. Figuring out how to be who I am as
a mom, spouse, friend, preacher, someone who can learn from others
without losing my unique voice. Lately I especially find myself
wondering what is next for me in life. How do I balance the strong
sense of calling I feel for ministry with the rhythms we have
established as a family. As I look for models to follow or expectations
from others, I have to remind myself to be who I am and find my own
way.
So I have decided to embrace the chaos a bit.
Yesterday we decorated the outside of our house for Christmas and I
decided to bring up all the decorations, even the weird light up snowman
we bought years ago and never figured out what to do with. I even
brought up the wooden Mr. and Mrs. Claus figures that were left in our
house by the previous owners. I knew my one year old would love that
they were the same size as him. I hung up the snowman, stuck the wooden
figures in the ground and put every working string of lights on our
bushes. I laughed when I looked at it and told my husband to feel free
to edit. He did. He went into the house and came out with a big
plastic candy cane stick and stuck it right between the yellowed wooden
Santa Claus and the Mrs. Claus who for some reason has aged much
better. It was finished. The kids loved it.
I remember as a
kid being completely baffled by plain white lights, it seemed like a
wasted opportunity. Now I think white lights are very pretty and look
lovely, but it’s not me. I’m the house with the lights with big bulbs
because they remind me of the house I grew up in. The one with the
bright blue fireplace that matches the knickknacks from Mexico and India
we got during our travels. The one with the gel clings on the front
window that don’t make any sense because I promised the kids I would let
them be in charge of that part of the decorating. I’m the house with
the flattened Play-Doh pumpkin inside, where we are all trying to figure
out what it means to live in community, build relationships, learn from
others and still use our unique voices.
Preached at Bethlehem in Pemberville Exodus 1:8-2:15, 3:1-15 (Narrative Lectionary)
The days of Joseph were over … a distant memory. The days of feasting
upon the stored up grain in a time of famine were nothing but a passed
down story. The days of Joseph’s heroics, the people of Israel’s favor
with Pharaoh were no more. Maybe a story they told over campfires as
they bandaged their wounds and rested their worn down bones. Maybe a
song sung softly to mothers as they watched their babies taken from them
and thrown into the river. Maybe a dream imagined before the breaking
of dawn and the breaking of backs. As they laid the bricks for
structures that were not theirs, carried out orders for a people not
their own, cried out in agony from a foreign land, maybe it was
somewhere stored in their collective memory. A story of identity, a
glimmer of hope, a possibility of a different life. Maybe they told
each other the story so that their spirit would not be crushed along
with their will. Somehow, somewhere, some way they had hope enough to
cry out. Under the weight of Pharaoh’s oppression- the people of
Israel, enslaved, unheard by all earthly powers, cried out to their God.
The God of their ancestors, the God of the stories they told to one
another, the stories that lived on in their collective memory. The God
of Abraham and Sarah, Jacob … Joseph. They cried out for the next
chapter of their story. The story of God and God’s people. Come now,
save us, help us, continue in your relationship with us.
And God
hears them. It may not have looked like it at first. When Pharaoh
ordered all of the male babies born of Hebrew women to be thrown into
the river. God’s will may not have been clear when the midwives
protected new lives, or when a baby was rescued from a basket and given a
chance at life. Fear and confusion may have blurred out hope and
direction when the bush was in flames. But God hears them.
This story is so epic, so well-known, so true to human experience and
played out over and over again in human history. The Exodus was as real
for the slaves fleeing to the north in our own country as it was for
the slaves fleeing from Pharaoh in Egypt. A fight for freedom, a fight
for survival, a plea to God … the Exodus has happened many times in our
history.
As I watch the images of Syrian refuges fleeing war I
think of the Exodus. As I saw that image of a small boy washed up on
the beach, drowned when his family attempted to leave the fighting in
Syria, I thought of the Exodus. The baby boys thrown into the river.
The cruelty of oppression, the violence of the world, the human cost of
power games. I wonder what it looks like as those many, many Syrian
refugees desperately look for safety. As they leave their land and hope
to find impassible barriers parted for their safe passage. The story
of the Exodus did not end when the people of Israel left Egypt.
It is a story that we cling to any time we find ourselves up against
something that is just too big to change. When we find ourselves
without a way forward, desperate, beat down, afraid, unsure of where to
go. When the task ahead is impossible, too painful, too difficult, too
unjust. When we are up against a force much bigger than ourselves.
Like when someone in a position of authority makes decisions that hurt
us and there is nothing we can do about it. Or when we are the victims
of an injustice.
Maybe we find ourselves clinging to the story
of the Exodus when we feel crushed and all we can do is cry out to our
God. A close friend of mine recently went through a really difficult
time, a painful, impossible, devastating experience. She was a church
member in Woodville when I was the pastor there and some of you know
her. She was diagnosed with breast cancer and then after treatment it
quickly spread across her body. She was very beloved, especially by her
husband and three young children. She was a wonderful writer and so
many many people felt like they were part of her journey with her. When
she was waiting for test results or receiving news or having to tell
her children bad news she would put out a request for big, loud, noisy
prayers. And people prayed them. We prayed those big, loud, noisy
prayers. Prayers from a place of desperation and pain. Prayers from
broken hearts unable to see a way out. Prayers that sounded like those
desperate cries to God from the people of Israel. The ones from their
broken hearts. The ones they were praying when Moses was picked up from
that basket, when the bush was on fire. The ones they prayed that God
heard.
The story of the Exodus- the suffering, the crying out,
the response by God. It is epic. It is pivotal to the Bible. Over and
over again throughout the Bible it is referred to. It is taught, told,
celebrated, sung, prayed and remembered over and over again. Over and
over again the Bible says “this is who we are. Do not forget. We were
oppressed, we suffered, we were foreigners. We cried out to God. God
heard us and delivered us. Teach this to your children, write it down,
never forget.” This story is a story of survival, relationship, hope
and triumph.
This story is about the people and God. They both
act. And that is important. First the people cry out. They ask for
help. When we ask for help we admit that we are dependent. We can not
do it on our own, we are in desperate need of God’s grace and mercy. We
accept our humanness, our brokenness. In acknowledging that we are not
God we can reach out to God, open our hearts to God. We can fall on
our knees before God and take comfort in knowing that we are not alone.
It is ok if we can not carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.
We are weak, we suffer, we hurt, we fail, we are human. We are on our
knees crying out to God.
And God acts. God hears and when the
people call out, God calls back. “Moses, Moses …” In the middle of the
ordinary, in the leaves of a bush, God becomes known. The God of
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. God reveals Gods self right here in human
existence, and calls out. This is an amazing thing about the God we
pray to- God works with us. God calls back, invites us to be part of
God’s saving work, to journey with God.
Moses is the connection
between God and the people. The way in which God responds to their
cries. That baby floating down the river becomes a bridge between
heaven and earth. In his address to Congress last week, Pope Francis
said this about Moses: “On the one hand, the patriarch and
lawgiver of the people of Israel symbolizes the need of peoples to keep
alive their sense of unity by means of just legislation. On the other,
the figure of Moses leads us directly to God and thus to the
transcendent dignity of the human being. Moses provides us with a good
synthesis of your work: you are asked to protect, by means of the law,
the image and likeness fashioned by God on every human face.”
A
powerful way of understanding the work of Moses- leading us directly to
God. Witnessing to the transcendent dignity of the human being, the
human ability to transcend our earthly existence, our mortal bodies and
communicate with God. In the flames of a bush, Moses transcends the
God/ human divide, he communicates directly with God. And over time is
given the task of protecting the image stamped by God onto every human.
Moses becomes the connection between a desperate people and their God.
The path between their struggles and the God who journeyed with their
ancestors, who made them who they are, who created the world.
Their
broken backs, tired hearts and desperate pleas are met with a baby
thrown into a river and a bush on fire. God hears their cries, God is
at work, calling out. Even when the task ahead is as insurmountable as
mighty Pharaoh, God is at work. There is a way forward.
Sometimes
it’s hard to believe. I know that on that journey with Moses sometimes
the people had a hard time believing. As mothers feared for their
babies lives, wept for the ones not plucked from the river, the way
forward must have been hard to see. It can be hard to see anything when
your eyes are swollen from tears. For the Syrian refugees the way
forward is unknown, invisible and far off.
This week as I
heard the news of another school shooting, saw pictures of another group
of students huddled together, shaking, crying in front of police
vans-it felt like too much. It felt like too much some years ago when
the students huddled together were five years old. Too many shootings,
too much violence, too much pain, too many children killed, too much
politics, too much disagreement, fighting, hatred, no way forward. No
exit from our current situation. No balm for the broken hearts.
Insurmountable.
Don’t forget. Our story. What God did.
The God we believe in. Write it down, sing it, say it, teach it to the
children. The people cried out and God heard their cries. Moses lead
the people out. A way forward, a land of promise and hope. God walked
with them.
And what about my friend I mentioned who asked for
the big, noisy prayers during her cancer treatment? There were times
and are times when the way forward is hard to see. The night she died
it was hard to see much with swollen eyes from crying. We fell on our
knees, we prayed, loud, hard, passionately. Where is the way forward?
Don’t forget. Our story. What God did. The God we believe in. Write
it down, sing it, say it, teach it to the children. God does not
abandon us, God hears our cry. I tell myself that when I learn from her
memory, when I see her children smile, when I see the difference she
made on so many lives, when I think of her faith, when I believe in hope
beyond the grave. A way forward, somehow. A path for the refugees, a
hope for the hopeless, a possibility for the peace of the world, the
peace of the children in our schools, healing for grieving hearts.
Remember our story, hold on to it and keep walking forward, but don’t
forget to remove your sandals.
It’s
been over two months now since Laura died. Her name is no longer on my
“recently messaged” for text messages. I no longer instinctively pick
up my phone to text her after I put the boys to bed to tell her
something funny or see about getting together or ask how she is or vent
about something. I’ve started referring to her house as Aaron’s house
now. And yet in many ways it still feels like it just happened.
I
knew the funeral would be hard, but I also knew it was something we had
together. We worked on it together and I felt her presence so
strongly. I got to meet all these people I had heard about or had seen
on facebook. I got to see pictures of her and hear stories about her,
stories from long before our five years of friendship. I knew the hard
part would be when it ended. As I walked down that long aisle when the
service ended I looked straight ahead and there was that picture of her,
like she was looking right at me. I went in the sacristy and cried the
tears I almost kept back during the funeral.
I miss her. I
feel like I can barely breathe when Sarah comes on the radio. I wish
her supportive and attentive eyes were still in the congregations I
preach to. I wish she was still one of the first “likes” when I share
pictures of my babies on facebook. I miss the way she understood me.
Whether it was deep talks about belief and theology or figuring out
parenting, I miss the nods. The nods that said “yes, I get you.”
I sent her this text eight days before she died: “You
sang my song. Do you remember when you sang the song I wrote in
church? I was nervous and felt really vulnerable sharing words I wrote
like that, but you sang it with confidence and love. And in so many
other ways you sang my song, supported me, talked me up to people, got
on board with projects, Bible studies, etc. And you sang my song and
still sing my song because you get me. You get my sermons, you connect
with the deepest sharing of my heart and that gives me courage to dig
deeper. When I was having a hard time figuring out how to preach at
all these strange churches with people I don’t know, I figured out that
if I pretended you were in the congregation it was so much easier and I
did much better. Thank you for singing my song. I will try my best to
sing yours.” She texted back “I have no doubt you will sing my song beautifully Jen. I love you and trust you.”
I’ve
been debating with myself what I should share about that night that
Laura died. Even though she shared so openly through her blog and
facebook posts, there were many things she kept private. Plus, her
final moments were such a profound gift to me that I want to hold them
close and keep them for myself and forever have that intimate moment in
my heart. Yet I also know that Laura shared this journey and she did
not hold back whether it was about foobs or her anger at cancer or
grieving her loved ones. She even shared with us that moment that I
know many of us will never forget reading- when she told her children
she would soon die.
And I know that she wanted good to come
from this. As Tammy and I talked outside the Hospice room she told me
that Laura told her to make sure that good came from this. She wanted
others to be strengthened in their faith through her sharing. She
wanted to bring others closer to God and help people find joy and peace
in what she called a “brutiful” world.
So in an effort to keep singing her song, I want to share the way she courageously and with faith and love left this world.
When
I got there the room was full of people. I just started talking in her
ear because … it was a hard situation. Aaron was always by her side,
encouraging her, telling her he loved her, holding her hand. She just
got there around 12:30pm, it was only around 7pm when I got there but
the end was very close. She was still talking and in many ways herself
the day before. It all just seemed to happen so quickly. She didn’t
want to linger in a way that would prolong the pain for her family. Her
closest friends and family bravely and sincerely said goodbye with open
hearts and deep love. The crowd grew much smaller and the Hospice
nurse said they would clean her and make her more comfortable. We went
in the hallway. Who knows what we talked about, it was a strange blur.
It was getting late and I knew that her brother and Aaron were staying
by her side through the night. I saw that the nurses were finished and
I asked Aaron if I could go in and say goodbye. I held her hand and
talked to her. I told the Hospice Nurse about her, how we actually met
there at that same Hospice when I was visiting her father. I told her
all the many, many people who love Laura, all the lives she touched. I
noticed that Laura’s eyes were open, they had been closed since I
arrived hours before. I commented on this to the nurse and she told me
that when the nurses were cleaning her they saw the picture of her
children and told her how beautiful her children were and they saw tears
come down Laura’s cheek. I immediately started telling Laura about how
well her kids did when they said goodbye. I told her everything Aaron
told me about their strength, resilience and understanding. Laura’s
eyes were looking around the room but not at anything I could see. Her
breathing slowed and that’s when the nurse ran to get Aaron. In that
time of just the two of us I sang in her ear “I believe in the sun, I
believe in the sun, even when, even when it’s not shining …” Her
brother and her husband quickly came and each held a hand. I sat at her
feet and smiled through my tears. She looked around, her breathing
slow, calm and steady and she took two last breaths and then was gone.
This
is what I mean when I say she went peacefully. The scars on her body,
the swollen liver, the pain in her bones was not peaceful. The agony
she felt in saying goodbye to her children was not peaceful. The
tear-stained faces on her best friends as they could barely breathe
their goodbyes were not peaceful. But somehow, by what I believe to be
the power of the Holy Spirit the end was. She never wavered in her
faith. She knew she would be ok. So she did it bravely, she faced it,
she fought as hard as she could for every day she could watch her
children grow but when it was time she faced it with honesty, courage
and faith. I know that for me, it has and will always have a big impact
on my faith. I will hold on to the memory of that forever and it will
fight against all of my fears of death. The peace in that room, the
courage in her soul, the faith in her words throughout her final days.
I will never forget.
When I was ordained my husband invited
my friends and family to contribute to a custom made journey stole. A
stole is the scarf that ordained clergy wear when they lead worship and a
woman in New Jersey (Colleen Hintz, Fruit of the Vine Vestments)
hand makes custom stoles that tell a story about the person. So she
incorporates symbols and images from your journey onto the stole. My
stole has an image of the woman at the well because it is my favorite
scripture. It was Laura’s favorite too and the one she chose for me to
preach on at her funeral. Six years ago when I was given the stole I
would have never imagined how powerful that symbol would become. Now
she represents Laura. A part of my journey, a part of my soul, a part
of my voice as I preach. And in all the congregations I preach to, in
all of the new places, those times when I need to prove myself, or help
people understand what I am saying or bare my soul to pews full of
people … she will be there.
“If I know only one thing, it’s that everything that I see Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak Yeah I’m tongue-tied and dizzy and I can’t keep it to myself What good is it to sing helplessness blues, why should I wait for anyone else?” -Fleet Foxes
I realize this may sound weird for a preacher to say, but sometimes I
find words really boring. I know, here I am bombarding you with an
onslaught of words and I am confessing that I sometimes get bored with
words. The emphasis on sometimes, hopefully you won’t this time. But
so many times words are empty or people talk just to talk. So many
times people just want you to buy something or think like them and the
words are not sincere. They are slanted, empty, repetitive and …
boring.
Perhaps no more so than during the political season.
People hire speech writers and those who are trained in how to use
words to persuade people. Most politicians, not all, are quite careful
with their words knowing the things that will get people to trust them
and believe them. And so we hear debates, speeches, commercials,
interviews, attacks … all words.
Whether it’s a politician, a
teacher, a preacher or even a friend, when I feel like it is insincere,
like the words are empty, the motives are slanted, the message overly
repetitive, I get bored. Blah, blah, blah. No thank you. In an age
where we have millions of things to entertain us right in the palm of
our hand, I’ll skip the empty words and scan my twitter feed for
something amusing instead … like a baby Panda climbing out of a crib.
But then, there are times when words are precious. When they are
valuable, life-changing, and powerful. And sometimes we miss them
because we are too quick to tune out. Sometimes in the midst of empty
speeches, advertisements and blah blah blah there is something precious.
Sometimes words can change everything. In the Gospel reading today
Jesus shows us that words can change everything.
This story about
the Syrophoenician woman is a tricky one. You see the problem is, what
Jesus says is very upsetting. Jesus is in foreign territory, among
people that are historically enemies of the Jews. So in this
conversation with the woman there are a lot of reasons for separation
between the two: Jesus is Jewish, she is Gentile, Jesus is an itinerant
preacher she is a Greek land owner, and she is a female and he is a male
at a time when men are to be dominant and women submissive. But here
they are talking, maybe even debating in this foreign land, alone. She
wants healing for her daughter. Jesus makes reference to a meal to say
that healing is for the Jews first and then compares her daughter to a
dog. Here’s the problem, to call someone a dog is a big insult. It
sounds mean, harsh, racist and upsetting. So how do we make sense of
this coming from Jesus?
I have heard preachers tackle it from a
variety of different angles. Some will say that what Jesus says is
wrong and the woman beats him in the argument, he learns and is changed.
Some will say Jesus says this to test her. Others might say Jesus is
flawed here and shows that he is fully human. Still others might find
ways to show that what he says isn’t all that bad. Either way, what
Jesus says is what we have to work with. And it’s what she had to work
with. Her daughter needed healing, she is a woman, a Gentile, asking
this Jewish preacher for help and being called a dog. So … what now?
Well, she speaks. She uses what she has- her words. She challenges
what Jesus says and asks for even the crumbs. And Jesus says “because
of what you said, go home; the demon has already left your daughter.”
The message is clear, what Jesus brings is not just for the Jews, it is
even for this woman, this foreigner, formerly thought of as an enemy.
This takes place just after Jesus flips over the understanding of what
is clean and unclean and before he feeds 4,000 people (including
Gentiles). So whatever the reason for how Jesus does it, what he says
and why he says it- the message is clear, he is here for everyone.
There is enough to eat for everyone no matter what label others may put
on you. The woman receives what she came for, her daughter is healed
because of her words. She came to understand what Jesus offers, who he
is through her words. And Jesus heals her daughter not by touching her
or visiting her or offering her anything, just words. Sometimes words
are life-changing.
Then we go from that place to another foreign
place where he meets a suffering man. A man who is deaf and can barely
speak and the people beg for him to be healed. The way in which Jesus
heals this man is dramatically different from the way he just healed the
Syrophoenician woman’s daughter. Then he simply said, “go home, she’s
healed.” But now it is much more dramatic. Jesus takes the man in
private, sticks his fingers in his ears, spits, touches his tongue,
looks up, sighs and says “be opened.” Perhaps as strange for our modern
day ears as the last story but for different reasons. It crosses many
boundaries most of us like to maintain- spit, ear touching, shouting,
all a little uncomfortable. But even with all of the differences
between this healing story and the story before it of the Syrophoenician
woman, there is something that is the same. Jesus announces healing
with his words. Imagine how powerful it was for that deaf man to hear
the words “be opened.” Two words, life-changing and forever kept in
time by this book we read from and proclaim.
This book of words that
bring us these stories of healing, new life, salvation.
The
Bible is after all just words. More words in a sea of speeches,
advertisements, jingles, shouting and blah blah blah. Words in a world
of endless chatter. But, the truth is, words are all we have. We
don’t get to run up to Jesus walking through our town and beg for
healing. We don’t get to feel his fingers open our ears and loosen our
tongues. But we have these words. Life-changing words. After Jesus
heals that deaf man one of the translations I read says that the people
say, “he even has made the deaf to hear and given a voice to the
voiceless.” These words can help us to hear and give us a voice, even
all these years later.
I have a one and a half year old son
who right now is trying to learn words. Even though his 4 year old
brother has taught him the words that he feels are important like
“blast” “roar” “poop” and “hot dog” my youngest often gets frustrated
because it’s hard to communicate when you don’t have the right words.
I’ve read a lot of articles about temper tantrums over the last four
years and many people believe they come from an inability to communicate
one’s needs. So, the child wants something but can’t get that message
across and so he gets frustrated and again not having the right words to
say how he feels, he short-circuits which looks like a screaming,
crying, flailing mess. With my youngest this often happens when I won’t
give him something he wants like a snack or his pacifier or a tiny
object he could choke on. I explain this to him in my most rational
way, but not having the words to argue back or state his case, he freaks
instead. Usually it doesn’t work unless of course it’s in a public
place like church in the middle of the sermon and I just want him to be
quiet.
I feel for him. Words are important. I get frustrated
when I can’t find the right words. Maybe because I can’t remember
something or I’m too upset or surprised or just don’t know what to say.
So I try to be mindful of that as I undergo this crazy parenting task
of equipping my children with the right words. I try to teach them how
to use words to say how they feel. I try to teach them how to use words
to build other people up and stay away from words that hurt others. I
try to teach them words for praying, worship and faith. I try to teach
them the words they will need for their lives, give them the proper
equipment for their journey.
Throughout their lives they will
encounter so many things, probably things I can’t even imagine. They
will learn new information, meet new people and have adventures. They
will get their hearts broken, contemplate the pain of life, make
important decisions and maybe even raise their own children. As a
parent you just want them to do all of this the best they can, be as
prepared as they can be and every second remember that they are loved.
So we teach them. We start with nursery rhymes and “mama” “dada.”
Then we move to colors, numbers and animal sounds. Eventually we teach
them words like internet and technology and math. And eventually we
teach them words like peace, hope, life, death, future and faith. All
the while hoping the right ones stick.
Here we are, a people
who carry around this book we call the Bible. Full of words. Words of
healing, words of peace, prophecy, love, hope, faith, resurrection. We
study it, reflect on it and pray from it using the best words we can
find. Then we pass it on to the next generation. This is what God has
given us. Life-changing words. Leaving us as prepared as we can be and
teaching us that every second we are loved.
The people said
that Jesus “makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak” or gives a
“voice to the voiceless.” We are invited to open our hearts to these
words, unclog our ears to what Jesus teaches and use our words, our
voices for God’s purposes. How will we use our words? Will we bring
about healing? Will we cross boundaries and dare to proclaim God’s love
to all? Even those who live in foreign places? Those that may be called
names or rejected or live on the fringes of society or have nowhere
else to go? Will we use our voice, our words to bring peace and comfort
to those who suffer, to share life-changing words about hope and
resurrection?
You and I are here because we believe in words.
We have felt the power of Christ’s words. I know that next week you
are beginning a preaching series on the Ten Commandments called “The
Words of God.” Words have power, they can be life-changing. How can we
tune out the empty words, the noise, the shouting, the blah blah blah
and open our ears to these life-changing words? How can we stop the
chatter, the words of judgment, the words of anger, the words of self
doubt, the empty words coming from our own mouths and speak from the
voice Christ has brought us? Maybe we can start by hearing those
life-changing words Christ utters with his finger on the deaf man’s
tongue, “be opened.” And be opened to the one who “makes the deaf to
hear and the mute to speak.”
So when I emailed Pastor Matt asking for the scriptures I was to preach
on today I did not expect him to reply with “the hard sayings of
Jesus.” Something more along the lines of “peace, love, butterflies and
joy” would have sounded easier than “anger.” But, here I am, on the
first Sunday of a new preaching series tackling a “hard saying of Jesus”
and the topic of anger. And the truth is, diving into this difficult
topic, digging into this seemingly harsh passage has been a gift for me
this week and I hope that as you reflect, meditate and think on this
passage you too will find it a gift … an insight into your soul … a way
forward in a precarious situation.
So before this passage Jesus
delivers the Beatitudes or the “blessed are the poor in spirit, those
who mourn, the pure in heart, etc.” A very popular, powerful and
beautiful sermon from Jesus. And then he talks about salt and light,
how his followers are the salt of the earth and light of the world …
important and needed. So you get the sense that what Jesus is saying is
pivotal, meaningful. He really wants people to pay attention,
understand and truly live out his words. I would imagine him
impassioned, pouring his heart into each word.
So it may not be a
surprise then that the passage we read from today is so strongly
worded. From what he says, it sounds like there were people who thought
he had come to do away with the law, erase everything the Old Testament
teaches and lay out a new, maybe even easier plan. But he explains
that this is not the case. He has come “not to abolish but to fulfill.”
And he is calling on his followers to carry out the law too. To be
devoted, righteous, even more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees
he says.
I think that all of this is important for us to
understand what Jesus says next about anger. It sounds as though he is
trying to really convey the seriousness of his message, the commitment
required and the higher calling it entails.
And that’s when he
brings up the commandment “You shall not murder.” Jesus basically says
“let’s take this a step further.” It’s not just about murder, it’s
about anger. He says anger, insults, name-calling are all included in
this- even someone having something against you. He explains that if
you “remember that your brother or sister has something against you,
leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to
your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.” Basically,
go and make it right, and then make your offering.
Does this make
you cringe a little? Maybe you notice yourself slumping down in your
seat a little lower? Perhaps it makes your stomach hurt or brings out a
nervous tic? If it does, you aren’t alone because … we all get angry.
Whether it’s a long-lasting family feud that consumes you or
frustration at the guy who took your parking spot, we have all felt
anger. And I’m going to go ahead and guess that many, maybe all of us
have someone out there who has something against us. People we have
made angry, people that have made us angry, people we avoid, or get
upset when we think about. I’m also going to go ahead and guess that we
have all insulted another, I think it would be generous to say we have
called someone a “fool” and probably more realistic to use much harsher
and less appropriate words. We have all been there, we have all done
it. This passage is talking to us, to our hearts. It hits home.
Anger is natural, it is human, it’s part of the fight or flight
instinct, right? Part of my training to become a pastor was to learn
how to let people feel. Help people identify and express their
feelings, talk through their hurts and feel safe and loved. So I have
said to people “it’s ok to be angry.” It is a feeling. My 3 year old
son has said to me “I’m angry mommy!” And I say “well that’s ok, I
understand that you are angry.”
But something about anger also
feels scary, painful and dark. Maybe it’s because we have all seen
anger manifest itself in ways that are unhealthy, violent, dark and
hurtful. Anyone who has ever been on the receiving end of an insult can
tell you it does not feel good. Being called a fool hurts. And those
aren’t the worst ways we have felt anger. Everyday we see anger turn
into terrible acts on the news. Sometimes we are around people who are
hurting and use their anger to make others hurt. Some people will say
the meanest thing they can, try to cut deep, leave a scar … with words.
And some people get stuck in the anger. It consumes them. Anger
clouds their vision so that the world looks like an angry and hostile
place. Every interaction just brings out more anger, and the person
sinks deeper into the darkness of despair, loneliness and pain. Anger
can hurt.
Jesus addresses this. This feeling that is common to
us all, this emotion that can lead to so much more. Jesus explains
that it’s not about a checklist of actions. It’s not about avoiding the
really bad behaviors or doing a, b and c. Rather, it’s deeper. The
way of Christ is deeper, soul deep. It’s about the roots. Jesus cares
not just about our avoidance of crime, but he cares about what is in our
hearts. He is calling us to follow a God who cares deeply, so deeply
that God wants us to be in right relationship with one another. God
wants us to go and make it right with our brothers and sisters. To
purify our hearts and our world. And so Jesus explains that yes we are
not to murder one another, but there is more to it than that. We need
to be in relationship. We need to love one another. We need to check
that anger, before it leads to the dark places.
Anger has a way
of leading us to do things we might not normally do. We might say awful
things or put ourselves into dangerous situations or burn bridges. We
might really hurt people. And I’m sure we all have. Jesus believes in
our ability to be more. To control our emotions rather than letting
them control us. Jesus teaches us that relationships are serious, the
way we treat one another is serious, and it is important to God.
Just recently I had an interaction that made me really angry. A
conversation in which someone said things that were meant to hurt me and
insult me. I felt my blood boil after. I thought of all of the mean
and nasty and hurtful things I could have said. It felt awful to be in
that place. The anger stayed with me for a while and even though I
prayed about it and looked for answers, it just felt like I couldn’t
shake it. And then I was reminded of the pain this other person is
going through, the situations they are dealing with that caused the
emotions I bore the brunt of. And I felt compassion and it was a
relief. Compassion is a much easier place to live in than anger.
But I get it. I get the struggle. And Jesus does too. Jesus
overturned tables and was disappointed by people again and again. The
pharisees and scribes tried again and again to provoke him. The Bible
tells us that God expresses anger with God’s people several times in the
Old Testament. Anger is real. It is something we all experience. But
it’s not stronger than the peace of God. In fact, when we let the Holy
Spirit in on our anger then it can become a force for good. A force
for justice, peace and love in the world. A voice for the voiceless, a
heart for the oppressed, courage for the vulnerable.
On October
10, 2013 Malala Yousafzai was interviewed by Jon Stewart of the Daily
Show. The Daily Show is typically a satirical, comedy show, but her
interview was powerful and she said some very serious things. Malala is
Pakistani teenager. At the time of the interview she was 16. She had
been hunted and shot by the Taliban because she was fighting for
education. She was watching as the Taliban closed down her school and
many other schools, as she and others like her were told that education
was wrong and that it was no longer a possibility for them. And she
knew in her heart that education was important and so she fought for it.
Imagine that, a teenager fighting to be able to go to school. When
she found out that the Taliban wanted to kill her she thought about what
she would do if they came for her. She said at first she thought “I’ll
throw a shoe at them” and then she realized that would make her like
them. Lashing out and hurting another in anger. She would have been
acting out of hatred just as they were. So she decided that she would
tell them the importance of education and that it is something she wants
for herself and even for the children of her attackers as well. That
she wanted something good, even for them. She would repay anger with
goodness. And then she would say “now do what you want.”
It
was powerful to hear a young girl who had been shot, who was simply
fighting for the right to go to school, speak about overcoming hate with
love, violence with peace, uncontrolled anger with intelligence and a
call for justice.
Life is unfair and there is much to anger us.
I get angry when I see terrorists doing the unthinkable to innocent
people in Syria and Iraq. I get angry when I hear of the injustices in
our own country against those who are poor or black or labeled as
different. I get angry when I see people hurting each other. I get
angry when people try to hurt me. I get angry when life seems unfair.
When good people are hurting. When people I care about are struggling.
I felt angry when my close friend lost her life to cancer. And
sometimes it feels good to go with the anger, to brew, to go to the dark
place, to say the nasty thing we think of, to bully or lash out. But
Jesus cares about what is in our hearts. Jesus is calling is to
something more, something deeper. Jesus is telling us to go and make it
right. Love one another, make our relationships a priority. Don’t let
the anger push out the love in our hearts.
In the end, I’m glad
that Pastor Matt entrusted me with this passage and this topic. I would
say it took me on somewhat of a journey. When I first read the passage
I thought “come on! Don’t even be angry?? this is a little much.” I
felt defensive and called out for the feelings of anger in my own
heart. And then I started digging, into the passage, into my heart,
into the world around me and it didn’t seem so difficult. It actually
seemed incredibly gracious and hopeful. We serve a God who loves us so
deeply and cares for us so intimately that God looks into our hearts.
That God offers a better way than life with darkness, bitterness and
isolation. Our God calls us to love one another with the kind of love
that is so pure and so powerful that even our deepest darkest anger can
not drive it out.
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
What
does desperation look like? Perhaps a mob of hopeful deal-seekers
running through the Walmart doors at 6am on Black Friday, desperately
grabbing toasters and tablets? Or maybe that doesn’t sound like true
desperation to you, but when I see the footage of black Friday mobs on
the news, their faces look desperate. But maybe we can be more
sympathetic to the times we have seen desperation in more dire
situations. Like after the Haiti earthquake when people who had just
lost everything crowded around distribution trucks desperately hoping
for something that would quench their thirst and fill their bellies just
to get through another day. Or after the earthquake in Nepal as
rescuers desperately sorted through rubble hoping to make it to
survivors in time.
While most of us have probably never been in
an earthquake like that or pushed and shoved our way toward a black
Friday discount, we still can probably think of times we have witnessed
desperation. Times when we have seen a loved one in pain, or maybe
watched someone give an apology with true regret and shame.
The
scenes described in the Gospel reading for today sound desperate.
People running by foot from distant towns. And in the section not read
today, 5,000 hungry people with only five loaves and two fish. People
carrying the sick on mats …begging to touch the cloak of Jesus. Sheep
without a shepherd. When I picture these scenes I see that desperation,
the look of despair I have seen on the faces of those in pain- in need …
teetering on the edge of hopelessness.
When we see that
hopelessness and despair in another we have to make a decision about
what we will do. We may chose to ignore it, which might sound callous
and cold but sometimes it’s also just reality. If we agonize over every
desperate situation we see on the news or our hearts break over every
person who asks us for help then we will live in a constant state of
sadness and pain. So sometimes we change the channel, continue on to
check our email or politely nod and carry on. Some days we go through
life as survivors, putting one foot in front of the other, carrying on,
trudging through even when those around us are falling. So yeah, we
might ignore the desperation of others from time to time, but we are
human, we can only take so much. Maybe we’ve become desensitized,
overwhelmed or too blinded by our own hurts, whatever the reason, I just
don’t think we can be everything that everyone needs.
There
are other times though when the hopelessness of others causes us to feel
guilty, or maybe even angry. How can there be hungry people in the
world while we throw away leftovers? How does the way we live
contribute to the hunger of others? Maybe we think of all the things we
should do, or the things others should do. How can the world be so
unjust? So painful?
And then there are times when we join in.
When our hearts break with the brokenhearted, when our resources or
talents can help relieve the pain of others. When we can be helpful and
maybe even change a situation. Those are the times we remember, when
we feel like a hero, when we feel useful and needed.
It is hard
to figure out what to do when others are in pain or desperate. And
unfortunately we will see so much of it in our lives. Sometimes we make
the right decision, sometimes we make the wrong one and sometimes we
just keep surviving. But we do know how Jesus reacted when he saw those
scenes of desperation. We know that when he sees the weary and hungry
disciples he invites them to take a break, come and rest. When he sees
the hungry crowds he breaks the bread and feeds them. When he sees
people carrying the sick on mats, begging to touch his cloak he heals
them. And when he sees the people on the shore like “sheep without a
shepherd” he has compassion for them. Jesus acts with compassion.
This is a model that we can follow. When I think of my best moments in
parenting, pastoring, being a friend and being a spouse, they are all
motivated by compassion. When my three year old is refusing to listen,
freaking out over what I say, pushing the limits or just being
difficult- if I can have compassion for him I know our day will go much
better. When I let frustration get the best of me then I yell or become
mean or spend my day exhausted and disconnected. When I look at him
and see the tiny, helpless person he is with a great heart, a desire to
please me and the best hugs in the world I can act with compassion.
Which doesn’t mean letting him get his way or never disciplining, but
rather doing so with love and compassion rather than frustration and
anger. It always goes much better that way. We spend the day more in
tune with each other, more connected and happier.
The same was
true when I was pastoring a church. People can be difficult. When
someone’s harsh words, resistance to change or unwillingness to grow
made me angry I tried my best to look at them with compassion. Remember
they are loved by God, I am called to love them, they are hurting, they
want to feel loved … Otherwise I would act too quickly, too harshly
and spend my day feeling frustrated, exhausted and quickly burn out.
I believe that compassion is a huge part of any successful
relationship. When we lose it we turn the other person into an enemy,
an emotionless opponent or a frustrating obstacle. When we are
compassionate we can see God at work in them, find ways they are calling
us to growth and love and allow our hearts to be widened.
Jesus has compassion and that is a model for us to live by, something
for us to strive for. If we can reflect back compassion when we see
desperation in the faces of others then we can minister to them, be the
face of Christ for them and live our lives with more love, more peace
and feeling more connected to others. But beyond a model for us to
follow, the fact that Jesus has compassion for the people tells us
something about God that I think is really important. Jesus is
compassionate and God revealed to us in Jesus Christ is compassionate.
This is who God is. No matter what others try to tell us about God, no
matter the state of the world or the state of the hearts around us …
God is compassionate. And that is something we can hold on to.
I’ve got to tell you, it’s been a rough summer for me. A couple of
weeks ago a close friend of mine died from cancer. She was my age, had
three wonderful little children and a loving husband. She was an
amazing person, incredibly well-loved, popular and I loved her. I met
her when I was the pastor of Woodville United Methodist Church. She was
diagnosed with breast cancer right before I left to go on family leave.
We stayed in touch and became friends, had play dates and continued to
deepen our bond. We connected spiritually and always seemed to
understand each other. After treatment and surgeries ended and all
seemed to be well again … the cancer came back. She knew it was
terminal. Our visits changed in tone a bit. We planned her funeral
together, cried together, talked about death. About a month ago her
liver died from the chemo. The end was near.
The journey over
the past month was hard. Somehow her faith was rock solid which somehow
kept mine rock solid. On June 29 she took a turn. She was moved to
Hospice and I got there as fast as I could. I held her hand as she
breathed her last breath. I went home, put the kids to bed and sat in
the dark …my head spinning. Emotions, questions, images running through
me. I felt mad, I felt alone, I felt incredibly sad. I didn’t want to
pray. I didn’t want to attempt sleep. A friend offered comforting
words … “lean into God” she said. I didn’t want to, but I also didn’t
feel like I had a choice. Where was God? Who was God? Why did this
happen? What next? And I remembered… God is compassionate. I would
never understand the rest. I would never figure out the meaning of
life. I would never fully know what happens after this life, but I
could wrap my mind around compassion. Because that is what I felt when I
looked at her friends and family as they grieved. That is what God was
feeling. That brought me comfort. It made sense to me. It brought me
rest.
A week later I stood in front of 600 plus people at her
funeral and proclaimed the Gospel. I said the familiar words of the
funeral liturgy announcing resurrection, hope and peace. Words of
comfort, words of promise. I fought the lump in my throat and warm
tears behind my eyes and preached my heart out. Because as I stood
there in front of that big crowd of people, I saw desperation in their
faces. There was pain, there was hurt, some teetering on the edge of
hopelessness. And I had compassion for them. We could have been like
sheep without a shepherd, but as our quivering voices sang together the
words of the hymns Laura chose for us, we proclaimed things like amazing
grace, resurrection joy and hope into eternity. We proclaimed a God
who is present even in the darkness.
What got me through and
what continues to get me through …and what will get me through this
crazy life we lead, this life of ups and downs, joy and despair …is
knowing that God is compassionate. God has compassion for us. That is a
truth that I will proclaim and that I will hold onto with a clenched
fist until I too enter into the big compassionate heart of God for all
of eternity.
It
was about two and a half years ago, a cold January morning …a Sunday
morning. I was the pastor of Woodville United Methodist Church and
invited the congregation to share any joys or concerns before the time
of prayer. After some people shared health concerns or milestone joys I
saw Laura’s hand go up and she had that little smile on her face. She
stood up and said, “You better be good today because we have new
visitors and I told them you were good!” With her usual sass, wit and
honesty Laura actually paid me a very nice compliment, but being right
before the sermon she put the pressure on. As I prepared this sermon I
found myself remembering that day and today can hear Laura saying “this
better be good!” It’s a lot of pressure to try to find the words for
this occasion, to try to find the words for a woman who was so good with
words, who had so many words and who was able to share so beautifully,
profoundly and deeply with so many people. So, yeah it better be good,
especially since I am the only person speaking, not because no one else
here can, but because so many of you can. Laura knew that so many of
you could share so beautifully your personal stories and memories,
perhaps too many. But she also wanted this service to be about hope,
joy and resurrection. And so I too will share my personal stories of
her friendship another time and instead point to where God is …where
hope remains and where joy might be found …eventually.
Laura knew
exactly which Gospel reading she wanted for this service. When she
told me my face lit up. It’s my favorite Bible story and her’s too- the
woman at the well. I know, I know, it’s a bit of an odd favorite
passage. It’s not as poetic or quotable as the beautiful Psalms, it’s
perhaps not as memorable as the advice Paul gives in his letters or the
amazing accounts of an empty tomb. It’s an interesting story about a
woman going to get water and meeting Jesus. We know that it takes place
at noon, the middle of the day. The only people who went to the well
at noon were the ones who probably weren’t welcome to hang with the big
crowds in the cooler parts of the day. Going to the well at noon,
alone, this woman stood out, and from what Jesus says about her, it
sounds like she may have been living in a questionable situation and
perhaps had a checkered past. So she walks to the well, bearing it all-
her past, her situation, all out in the open.
And she meets
Jesus. He asks for a drink and this Samaritan woman questions him,
challenges him, she demonstrates deep knowledge and quick wit … maybe
even sass. She basically says “don’t you see we are different? Where
is your bucket if you want water? Who do you think you are?” Jesus took
a chance on this interaction, his disciples were not happy about it.
It was not socially acceptable to chat with a woman alone out in front
of everyone, a Samaritan woman never the less. He took a chance on her
and it paid off. She asks for the water he speaks of the water that
will become a “spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” And after
they talk the woman drops her jar and goes and tells others. She is
filled with the living water and goes to share it with others. Later in
the passage it says “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him
because of the woman’s testimony.”
Do you see now why it was
her favorite? A sassy, clever, quick-witted woman, not afraid to bear
it all in public, not intimidated, intelligent, questioning, pushing,
seeking. And the moment she finds something good, when she learns of
life-giving waters, she goes out to tell others, she shares it.
I don’t need to tell you that Laura shared what she had, that she loved
so many, so deeply. I’ve heard many of you say “she made everyone feel
like they were the most important person.” Her sharing, her words, her
way was so authentic, so honest that it drew others in. On one of my
recent visits with Laura I told her that she had a way of making people
honest and authentic and then when they were, she still loved them.
People never forget that …I know I never will.
I don’t need to
tell you a lot of things about Laura because you already know. She
reached out to so many people, did so many generous things for others,
shared openly about her faith, her wisdom and her heart. And yet there
was also a part of her that was very private. She held her children and
Aaron close, cherished the time they had together and thought the world
of them. Even when she joked about “the bearded man” as she referred
to him on social media, it was always with such love and respect. She
told me that she knew he would be great taking care of the kids because
when she was so sick and tired after the intense chemo, she witnessed
it. She saw him taking care of the kids, doing all of it and being
great at it.
And so much of who Laura was and what her legacy
is, is her three monsters. She reminded all of us to squeeze our
monsters every chance we get. Camille said her favorite thing to do
with mommy was cuddles. They all said that she cared for them even when
she was sick. And that love and care will be a part of who they are
forever. Even though she was tired and in pain, Laura wanted to do what
she could to care for her children during the important moments of
their lives. Aaron shared with me a letter that she wrote for their
first day of school. It is neatly written in crayon, each line a
different color, with a peace sign, heart and star on the side. It
says, “We hope you are having a great first day! We wanted to remind
you of a couple things … 1. We love you! Even if you don’t get all
A’s. Even if you forget your homework. Even if you aren’t picked first
in gym. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS! 2. Listen to your heart. If you
notice someone sitting by themselves- go sit with them. If people are
picking on someone- stand up for them. God speaks to your heart- LISTEN
TO YOUR HEART. 3. Listen to your teachers. Respect them always …
Love, Mom and Dad”
Even when she breathed her last, her
children were her biggest concern. It was that love for them that
fueled her strength through this disease and treatment. It was her love
and devotion for them that kept her from falling into despair or
hopelessness. That moved her to stay strong throughout it all.
God
it’s hard. This life we live, it requires strength. I’m not going to
stand here and give you some reason why all of this happened. I’m not
going to say it’s because she loved so much or God needed her or that
there is some purpose to this. There are a lot of really great reasons
and purposes for her to still be here. And Laura and I talked about
this stuff and I gotta tell you the God I love and know and worship and
see in the faces of her loved ones did not want this to happen. God
suffers with us, grieves with us, holds us compassionately in our
darkest moments. As Christians we are never told that life will be
easy. Christianity is not a get out of pain free pass. Look what
happened to Jesus, look what happened to the apostles. Pain, loss,
suffering is part of what it means to be human. If we are honest and
bold then we can find our hope beyond it and beyond false explanations
or fear or hiding or trying to control it. We can find our hope in this
beautiful, earth-shattering, eternally powerful thing we call
resurrection.
In Jesus Christ God conquers death, God shows
us that death is not the end, that nothing can separate us from the love
of God, that hope, peace and joy live on into eternity. The
resurrection is our hope even in the depth of sadness. Out of the pains
of birth comes new life and out of the pain of death comes new life
that we can not now understand but are called to embrace with faith.
Laura’s
faith was so strong. We had some deep, long talks these past few weeks
and I can tell you 100 percent that she was unwavering in her faith. I
will forever be influenced and inspired by her faith. She never
believed that faith meant she would never suffer. And so when the
suffering came, her faith never left. She knew she would be at peace,
she knew she would be ok- she just wanted to make sure everyone else
was. Always taking care of others. She worried about her friends, her
family, her mom, her husband and kids. She loved so deeply. I remember
that Christmas Eve service, the first one after her dad died. With
tear-soaked cheeks she walked out of church with a smile on her face and
a shirt that her mom got her that brightly said “Love” across it. Love
in pain, faith over fear, hope in the darkness, faith is greater than
worry …these are the things I believe she would say to us today.
A
couple of years ago a well-known musician in The United Methodist
Church from my seminary in New Jersey came to Woodville and put on a
workshop. Laura wrote in her blog: “I enjoyed the music, the wisdom,
the honesty, the fellowship…everything. Yet, I can also state without
hesitation, that this song was the most powerful part of the weekend for
me.
Believing even during the “why’s”. Believing when it would
be easier to turn away. Believing in the sun even when it’s not shining.
Believing in love even when there’s no one there. Believing in God
even when he’s silent. Can you imagine being a prisoner at a
concentration camp and still believing; witnessing and suffering and
fighting to stay alive and still believing? Even when. Believe.”
And
then she quoted the original poem the song is based on , “written
during World War II, on the wall of a cellar, by a Jew scratched on a
wall in a concentration camp “I believe in the sun even when it is not shining And I believe in love, even when there’s no one there. And I believe in God, even when he is silent.
I believe through any trial, there is always a way But sometimes in this suffering and hopeless despair My heart cries for shelter, to know someone’s there But a voice rises within me, saying hold on my child, I’ll give you strength, I’ll give you hope. Just stay a little while.
I believe in the sun even when it is not shining And I believe in love even when there’s no one there But I believe in God even when he is silent
I believe through any trial there is always a way. May there someday be sunshine May there someday be happiness May there someday be love May there someday be peace….” - Unknown
And this is the song that Laura wanted sung today. She planned it all
out, invited people to sing and assigned solos. For a while the verses
were her cover photo on facebook. It speaks of her unwavering faith,
her ability to see good, to see hope and give love even in the pain,
even when her body was shutting down.
And so as I stood next to
Laura, holding her warm hand as she lay in the Hospice bed, I saw that
her breathing dramatically slowed and as the nurse ran to get Aaron who
had only momentarily left her side and was right there again, I searched
for the right words for someone who gave so many of us the right words.
I could hear Laura saying “this better be good” and I leaned down and
with my voice quivering I softly sang in her ear, “I believe in the
sun, I believe in the sun, even when, even when it’s not shining…”
I’m not what you might call a “huge sports fan” but any time a
Cleveland team makes the playoffs I suddenly become very into sports. I
watch the games, I sit in suspense, cheer like crazy, talk about it the
next day and even start paying a little bit of attention when my
husband has Sports Center on tv. If you know much about Cleveland
sports, then you know this doesn’t happen too often, but it is happening
right now. The Cleveland Cavaliers basketball team just made it into
the NBA finals. So after the kids go to bed my husband and I have been
marveling at Lebron James, hoping Kyrie can stay healthy enough to play
and celebrating at the unexpected success of Dellavedova.
I
enjoy watching the game and seeing the incredible talent and skill of
the players, but I also realize that we are merely talking about guys
playing a game, bouncing a ball and throwing it into a basket… seems
pretty simple. So why do I get emotional, hopeful and excited? Why
does that commercial with the entire city putting their hands in with
Lebron move so many people? Why do I feel like so much is riding on
this simple game of catch and shoot? Because it is about more.
I grew up in a working-class suburb of Youngstown, Ohio. Perhaps you
don’t know much about Youngstown, but I think you may find some
similarities between Youngstown and Toledo. It is a great place with
great people where things like family, hard work and faith are valued.
But it’s economically depressed and has been since the steel mills shut
down. It’s a place that has lost a lot of people. A “shrinking city”
as they call it, where people leave to find jobs. It’s a place that for
a long time was considered the “murder capital of the world” and always
is at the top of the “worst place to live” lists. The winters are
hard, the houses are cheap and the sports teams don’t win. Being so
close to Cleveland, many of us consider Cleveland teams to be our teams
and they don’t win. The last time Cleveland won a championship was with
the Cleveland Browns in the 60s, before they had superbowls. The Cavs
have never won.
It feels like the land of the underdogs, a place
others mock. A place where some believe in new life and possibility,
but many are hardened and pessimistic about the future. A place where
many are searching for hope. So when Lebron James returned to Cleveland
after playing for the Miami Heat it was exciting. Someone was choosing
this place. Someone believed in the possibilities, was investing in
the rust belt and the nation was watching with excitement rather than
pity.
So when the men in Cavs uniforms take the court in the
NBA finals there is this whole other level besides just guys bouncing a
ball back and forth. It feels like there is pride, hope, renewal and
new life on the line. Sure, it’s just a game, but some of us see
something more going on.
In the Gospel reading today Nicodemus
would be like the people who only see a simple game, who miss the other
level happening. Nicodemus is a bit literal-minded. He sees Jesus as
the man in front of him. He sees a guy who can do great things. He
uses his logic- Jesus is doing things other people can’t do so he must
come from God. But when Jesus tries to take things beyond logic, to
show him a whole other level, he gets lost. Jesus explains that one
must be born from above to experience the Kingdom of God, and Nicodemus
can’t get past a literal understanding of birth. Of course it is
ridiculous to think that someone can go back in the womb and be born
again …but Jesus is talking on a different level, he is talking Spirit
stuff. To some he may just seem like a man with a magic touch, a nice
guy who can do good things but talks about strange things. But there is
this whole other level happening, the Holy Spirit at work.
One
time when I was teaching a confirmation class one of the young women
who had been wrestling with some faith questions excitedly came to tell
me about a break through she had. She said she was watching a ballet
and she was moved by the talent, the music, and the beautiful movements.
Then something in her connected the beauty she saw with the work of
the Holy Spirit. She saw God at work on earth through beauty and it
moved her very deeply. She felt that she was now able to understand
where God is in the world. The things she had previously experienced
at face-value, now seemed like something more, a different level. What
seemed simple and matter of fact suddenly had much more meaning for her.
Perhaps this is a way of understanding that elusive,
mysterious concept of the Holy Spirit. That part of the Holy Trinity
that is hard to explain because we do not see it with our eyes. As
Jesus says, it is like the wind, it blows where it chooses. We don’t
know where it comes from or where it goes. It is unpredictable, unable
to be pinned down and yet somehow all around us.
In the Church
we have a lot of words for talking about this Spirit stuff. We have the
Holy Trinity, Holy Mystery, 3 in 1 and 1 in 3. In the Church we use
words all the time that require us to look past what is merely around us
and explore a deeper level. Words like grace, mercy, sacrament,
conversion, faith and belief. Words that to others may sound strange or
lacking in logic, but to many of us speak to a different kind of
reality that while not as visible as the person next to you, is just as
real and felt.
The Holy Spirit moves us, compels us, challenges
us, comforts us, names us and yet it is not something I can define.
It’s more than what we see around us. And this is what Jesus is
talking to Nicodemus about. Where he sees acts and physical birth,
Jesus sees the work of God and spiritual birth.
At the end of
the passage today we come to that very famous verse “For God so loved
the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in
him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send
the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world
might be saved through him.” So maybe this is why Jesus is trying to
help Nicodemus understand this Spirit stuff. Maybe this is why the
Church uses such mysterious Spirit language. Maybe this is why the Holy
Spirit moves and works among us … to save the world.
The doors
of our churches, the language we use, the beliefs we hold, the
Scriptures we attest to are not so that we can sit in comfort and
condemn others around us, but rather to save the world. “God did not
send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the
world might be saved through him.” Perhaps this is why the Spirit does
not merely comfort and console us but also inspires and stirs us,
compels us to action. Shows us this whole other level.
When we
are born of the Spirit we have eyes to see the Spirit at work all around
us. We see and are moved by the pains of the world. We see war,
drought, flooding, tragedy, illness and despair. We hear about ISIS and
children starving in Africa and we also see the pain on the faces of
those around us. We watch loved ones decay and see children cry. But
at the same time we know of this other work happening. We know there is
more to it than just what we can see or explain with logic. The Spirit
is at work. We know about hope, beauty, resurrection, eternal life,
peace and unconditional love. That God our Creator does not leave us
alone but moves in our lives, in our hearts and in our world.
We see and are moved by the joy of the world. We see peaceful
reconciliations, rainbows, sunny days, babies born, healing and love
expressed. We close our eyes to try to take in all the joy around us-
the laughter of children, the sound of the birds, the goodness of those
near. And we know that there is something going on here besides just
the earth spinning, there is Spirit stuff.
You know when I was
young I used to say that I wanted to save the world. People would laugh
and remark on the innocence of youth or say things about how they felt
the same way until they aged and became more aware of reality. It just
made me feel more strongly. I wanted to make a difference, to make
things better, to bring light to dark places and hope to desperation. I
wanted to do things bigger than the economically depressed area I was
in, be more than I was. And while I still desperately want to make a
positive impact on the world and hope that my life is lived for good, my
understanding of saving the world has changed.
I have realized
that I don’t need to save the world because God already is. Spirit
stuff is happening all around us, ushering in the Kingdom of God, on
earth as it is in heaven. There is more happening beyond what we can
see. In all of the places of the world, even the cities that top the
lists of worst places to live … and maybe even in Cleveland sports
teams.
So let us be compelled by the Spirit, moved to join in
God’s saving work in the world. Let use see beyond what is around us,
let us see the mysterious, unpredictable and beautiful work of the Holy
Spirit.
