Light in the Dark

Sermon from Grace and St Stephen's 12/25/2017 John 1:1-14 Christmas

When I was in college I remember complaining to a friend that every class had to start with some sort of historical survey. I was a psychology major and I loved learning about human behaviors, relationships and how the mind works, but before we ever got into that we always had to read about the history of that particular branch of psychology. The same with all my electives. I had to read chapters about the history of theater, astronomy, and every major world religion … I couldn't believe it when I arrived for my first day of my summer step aerobics class and was directed to a desk and a book where we had to learn about the development of aerobics before we began. As I would read about names, dates and locations, wars, brutal regimes and plagues (those last three not as much in step aerobics) my eyelids would suddenly gain too much weight to hold up and my mind would drift. Naturally seminary brought with it a whole lot of history. I was fortunate to have some great professors not just for the two semesters of straight up church history but also all the theological and Biblical history in my other classes who taught it in really interesting and relevant ways.

But when I sat down to dinner after the McJimsey lecture with our own Dr. Carol Neel and asked her the topics of her published works I have to confess that I prepared myself for more polite nodding than genuine fascination. But as she started to explain a book she wrote some years ago I was totally intrigued. Carol wrote an introduction and a translation for a ninth century book that a mother wrote to her son. This medieval book challenges not just the prior held understanding of women's literacy, education and influence of that time but also it challenges the ways in which we tend to look at relationships of the past. When we read of wars, famines, brutal rulers, names and dates we see only a society so very different from ours, circumstances unimaginable for our comfortable selves to live in and we make assumptions about how they related to one another, perhaps assuming that with so much death and despair and child mortality, there was a certain kind of emotional distance even within families. So I was very curious about this woman, Dhuoda's, love letter and parental guidance for her son so long ago.

The book was written during a particularly bloody era. Dhuoda's husband worked closely with Louis the Pious until Louis's sons rebelled which resulted in terrible wars and also her husband making a deal to prove his loyalty to Charles the Bald and offering his young son as part of that. To this son, who eventually is killed avenging his father's death, she writes this book of love, wisdom and instruction. In the introduction to her book Carol offers background on Dhuoda and life in the ninth century, pointing out that during such bloodshed and fighting there was also such devotion to religious life- endowing churches, establishing abbeys, studying the scriptures. And all of this is what I found myself thinking about as I read these words from John about the Word that was there even in the chaos, shining in the darkness, never overcome by darkness. This Word here in humanity, among us. A mother's letter of love, abbeys, churches, religious devotion present in such dark times of despair and enduring longer than any of the emperors or borders or weeping.

Light in the darkness. At the beginning, in medieval times, today … again and again, never letting the darkness win the day. Even in the beginning, before all of us, before time and space- was the Word … with God. A relationship. Love. A Word is something that is revealed. In the beginning the Word was with God. A revelation always intended even before creation.

Even though we no longer live in medieval times and can look back at those stories of war and pain with shock and distance, we still have darkness in our world. Sometimes the pain of the world feels so deep, so pervasive and so inescapable. Some days it feels like the darkness is overcoming the light.

And it's not just out there. The darkness of the world is not just in the newspaper headlines, twitter feeds and political rants. It's in here. It's in us. As scary and painful as outside forces like war, disease and injustice may be to confront I believe that the darkness within can be the scariest to face.

The inner demons we carry with us, the self doubt that manifests as insecurity and pushing others away, the prejudice we try to cover with words but comes out in actions, the fears that eat away at us at night and tell us to protect, defend, close off. And the sadness that threatens our joy, that casts a shadow on our worldview and tries to convince us that it will never get better. The darkness that starts to choke out the light in our souls.

The Gospel of John dives right into these dark places. It does not begin with a beautiful image of a baby born in a manger, it does not preface the narrative with historical background or important names and dates. It goes right to the point, right to the heart. It starts at the beginning, in the darkness.

This is the accepted reality of life. There is darkness. And this story of Jesus is here to confront that. God's revelation, God's Word, God's redemption, incarnate love has been there since the beginning, it was always part of the plan, part of the human condition. We were born through it. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.” We are born through the Word. We exist in the revelation of God. The light in the darkness has been shining since before we can fathom and nothing- no dictator, no war, no famine, no sadness, no pain has extinguished it.

This light is with us. It is incarnate, in flesh. And through this we are called children of God. We live in the light and the light lives in us. This is our reality. This is our Christmas story. The Christmas story in John is not the stuff of Christmas pageants and bed time stories. Instead of a nativity scene there is a simple light in the dark. Instead of a manger there is a mirror. Held up in front of us. We have come into being through the Word. We are benefactors of God's revelation. The Word is here, with us, in us, pushing against the darkness.

Christmas is an emotional time. The music, the colorful lights, the warm fireplace are all meant to elicit emotion. And sometimes that can be sadness. Sometimes I get a little sad around the holidays. The marking of the passage of time, the nostalgia, the sense of longing can be sad. I was feeling this last year at Christmas Eve. It was my first Christmas ever not spent in Ohio. When I was growing up Christmas Eve was always spent at my aunt's house. Grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins, mom, dad, sisters, brother all together with beautifully wrapped presents, delicious food, sounds of laughter and sleepy hugs good bye. I was thinking of this as I drove my two little boys home after the 4:30pm service last year. My husband wouldn't be home until very late, after the 11pm service and we don't have any family here so it was just us. I decided to take the boys to McDonald's, a rare treat in our house. They were thrilled. We walked in with our church clothes on and they hurried over to the high stools that spin and giggled in excitement. I brought them their food and they were blown away to find a toy with their food! It was a pig that repeatedly said things like “Oh yeah, piggy power!” I sat on the stool and continually reminded them to eat the food I felt guilty for feeding them.

I looked around and I have to tell you that McDonald's on Christmas Eve night is kind of a sad place. There was a security guard at the door, tired employees and just a few people eating alone. The boys didn't care, they were having the time of their lives- a new toy mixed with salty food and the magic of Christmas morning almost here. Then … I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find a young couple standing behind me. They looked familiar as I think I had seen them on the streets downtown. They had some bags of belongings around them and looked homeless. Honest confession … I looked over to make sure my purse was still by me and glanced at the security guard as I was sure they were going to ask me for money. They reached into one of their bags and handed me something without a word. It was two toys, one for each of my boys. The boys' eyes lit up and they jumped up and down. I reminded them to say thank you.

In my heart I felt a light burning down some of my darkness- my prejudice, my self-preservation, my self-centeredness in thinking that Christmas could only be truly experienced in the comfortable and familiar places of my childhood. I was a recipient of kindness and generosity in a dark and lonely McDonald's. The light in the darkness. And I realized something else, just as they were the Word incarnate for me there in that place, we were for them too. Perhaps the giggles and excitement of children is something that brought them joy. Perhaps the smiles and thank yous is what they were hoping for when they put those toys into their bag. The Word is in us from our birth. We are children of God.

When the story of my life is written it might say the year I was born, the year I died, some significant historical occurrences during my life span, the names of my parents and children, the location of my birth and death. Some basic facts, recorded somewhere for no one to read and if they do then I am sure it will add weight to their eyelids and make their minds wander. But beyond that, beyond the basic facts lies a truth that we who are gathered for worship on Christmas day all know. A truth that makes all of our lives so much more interesting and bright and hopeful and meaningful. I am born through the Word, I am part of God's revelation through Jesus Christ. We all are children of God. God chose to pour God's self into flesh and dwell among us. And God has been here with us, dwelling in the hearts of mothers caring for their children in the midst of medieval war and dwelling in the hearts of those seeking a break from the street at a McDonald's on Christmas Eve. This was the plan, all the way from the beginning and through the end. This is the light the darkness has never and will never overcome. This is Emmanuel. God with us.  

Hello Goodbye

There is a countdown happening in our house.  It is not "days until Christmas" or "days until vacation" or "school days until break" instead it is "days until Shasha arrives.  Shasha is what my kids call my mom.  When my oldest was little I tried to teach him to say Grandma but what came out was "Shasha," so I tried Tita which is what I called my Lebanese grandma and again "Shasha" I even tried some other versions but he was pretty happy and insistent about Shasha so my mom happily took to it and now he is six and it's still stuck. 

As I was putting my oldest, Oscar, to bed we were talking about Shasha coming for Thanksgiving.  He asked when she would arrive, what we will do and when she will leave.  I told him her plane will leave early Saturday morning while he is still sleeping.  His face changed, he did that hard swallow thing that he does when he is holding back tears and his round cheeks reddened.  He could barely make out the words "I'm going to be sad when she leaves."  I reminded him that the visit hasn't even started yet, that Shasha and I will be sad too but we shouldn't let that ruin our fun time with her.  It was enough to get him to sleep.  He has a hard time with things ending and saying goodbye.  Before he started kindergarten he was worried about the long days apart and was excited when I told him his brother and I could come and have lunch with him.  We did that one time.  He was so upset about having to say goodbye that he could barely eat because he was holding in tears the whole time.  He asked me to please not come for lunch again. 

I feel for him.  I have the same struggle though in a less dramatic way.  The lessening of the emotions due only to the unwilling practice of them over and over again for thirty six years. 

And now, after a teary drive away from our last home we find ourselves living in a city that is far more transient than any place I have ever lived.  Me, the woman with the same two best friends I met in preschool and a whole group of close friends picked up during grade school that I keep in touch with almost every day (thank you group text), the woman who still gets emotional when I see a rerun of a favorite show's series finale and the boy who gets sad about endings before beginnings are living in a military town where good friends will be gone in a couple of years.

And not just the military friends.  When we came here for the interview the search committee had so thoughtfully planned a dinner for me with a group of ladies they thought I would enjoy.  I did enjoy them very much.  They were wonderful and I was thrilled when I realized that the pregnant woman with little kids who made me laugh with her self-deprecating humor and honest sharing was in fact the church musician's (organist, choirmaster, etc) wife.  I was relieved to know that I got along so well with someone whose path I would inevitably cross many times as my husband was interviewing for the job of rector (senior pastor).  We became fast friends and our families soon found in each other a place to be ourselves, to speak without fear of offense and find ears of understanding through similar positions.  When they told us they are moving all we could do was understand.  We have been there, we just said goodbye to a wonderful community and congregation not too long ago.  We get it.  We are there for you.  But it sucks. 

I was talking to my good friend about this some days later.  This good friend is an Army wife so as I am spilling my guts to her and bonding with her I am also acutely aware that her's is the next goodbye.  She has moved many times and so she shared her wisdom.  She told me about finding ways to enjoy the present even if it will end.  To dive in and give of yourself even when you know you will have to one day peel yourself away.  The acceptance of impermanence.  Very Buddhist and also very Christian (all those hard passages when Jesus is reminding us of the impermanence of life and the permanence of God). 

This is life.  Human beings are uniquely aware of our end.  We all know how it goes.  Death.  No exceptions.  And yet we are taught and perhaps instinctively told to fight for our lives and the lives of others, hold on to each moment, dive in wholeheartedly and embrace life.  It is a battle of not letting the end ruin the beginning.  Especially when, from everything I have experienced and learned, the end isn't actually so bad. 

The last time we said goodbye to my mom was at the Cleveland airport.  It was outside of the entrance and Oscar sobbed into her arms.  She hid her tears but cried along with the woman smoking a cigarette by the trashcan next to us.  It was heart-breaking.  I rubbed his hand and gently wiped his tears as we made our way through ticketing.  Security, finding our gate, setting down our things, trips to the bathroom and then I took a picture and sent it to my mom.  It was a picture of Oscar and his brother running around the rows of seats giggling.  Resiliency.  Thank God for that. 

Truth is, we were made for this life.  We were created for a life of hellos and goodbyes and even when we think we can't ... we can.  Years ago I found myself on a couch in an office with candles and calm colors.  I had finally forced myself to see a therapist for what I now see was postpartum depression seven months after my youngest was born.  I unloaded.  All of the dark thoughts, the fears, the internal analysis, frustration and confusion.  I paused and looked at her afraid she would say I would be stuck in this forever and the person of joy I used to be was forever gone.  She sat there with her perfectly styled hair, nice clothes and pen and paper and looked me right in the eye with a genuine honesty that penetrated my soul.  And she said "you are going to be ok."  I burst into tears.  It was exactly what I needed to hear but didn't know it.  I still get tears in my eyes as I remember it (even sitting here in a coffee shop surrounded by strangers).  Resiliency.  She knew I had it ... and she was right.  I know my son has it which is why I can hold him as he cries and know that he will be fine. 

Life can be hard, but we humans are pretty amazing creations.

Enough

Preached at Ellicott and Simla UMCs

Why would he do that? I have many questions for the landowner in the reading from Matthew. First of all: why didn't he just hire all the workers he needed when he went out the first time? Why would he hire workers so late in the day? Why would he pay the workers who were only there for a short period of time a full day's wages? Why would he have the manager pay the workers he hired at the end of the day first? He knew all the other workers would be standing there waiting and so they would see that they got paid the same? And why not save some money and pay those who worked a partial day a partial wage? There does not seem to be much logic to this scenario.

The sensible version of this story might go something like: the landowner went out in the morning, hired his workers for the agreed upon wage of a denarius which is enough to provide a family with food for one day. Later the landowner realized he needed more workers and since these workers had not been out in the hot sun all day he agreed to pay them for the number of hours they did work. No one felt wronged. That seems fair.

But of course as we all know … life is not always fair. As a mother of a three and six year old I often hear the words “that's not fair!” Sometimes it's true. Sometimes things are not fair. At snack time some kids get brownies and candy and others get carrot sticks and grapes. As we grow older we realize that some people get ahead not because of how hard they work or how long they practice but just because of who they are, their name, their status or a lucky break. Some people work grueling, back breaking jobs and make less than others who sit in air-conditioned offices and do little. Good guys don't always finish first. Life is not always fair.

But that isn't exactly what is happening in the story we read today. While you may argue that the actions of the landowner are not even or logical, they are just. The workers who were hired earliest in the day agreed to their wages and they were paid what they agreed to. He paid them a good day's wage and he paid them when the work was complete. All of the workers were paid enough and on time. Maybe they didn't think it was fair, but it was just.

What made the actions of the landowner baffling or illogical was mercy. This parable begins by saying “the kingdom of heaven is like …” and two things we can learn from it are justice and mercy. Even those who came late in the day were given a wage to live on. Those who were not called first, the ones that get there late in the game, the ones who think they will get nothing, are given the same reward. It may not follow logic but it is merciful.

The kingdom of heaven is guided by justice and mercy. This is good news. No one is above anyone else simply because of who they are or where they come from. No one is pushed out for failings, shortcomings and sins. This is hope for all of us who have shortcomings, failings and sins. This is good news for all of us who have been angered by injustice, who have suffered or watched others suffer at the hands of evil and injustice. This is a big sigh of relief for those of us who do not always get it right the first time and need forgiveness and mercy. So why then does it not always feel like good news?

In the story the workers found an employer who will pay them fairly, stick to what they agree to and provide a living for many people and yet they are upset. I think that perhaps the problem is not with the landowner or the manager, but with themselves. It's their own issue. Just like when God chooses to show mercy to others and it defies our sense of logic or what is fair it is not a problem with God's action but rather something within us. Our own inability to accept the abundance of God's grace and the worth of all children of God.

The other day I took my sons to play mini-golf and there was a school bus there. We were behind another family and all around us were groups of very young children from a daycare with caregivers spread out monitoring them. Some of the kids went back and redid holes, some lingered and played with the statues of animals for a while. All the kids got water bottles and snacks and happily played. As they were leaving I heard the family in front of us complaining to the front desk about the kids from the daycare. She didn't understand why they needed water bottles and snacks just to play golf or why they got to redo holes. She was mad that some of the children were running around. As far as I saw the children from the daycare did not disrupt her playing in any way but she was mad at what she felt was unfair.

Sometimes it's mini-golf, sometimes it's a new register opening up when we are paying after we stood in a long line, a bigger scoop of ice cream for another at the same price we paid, sometimes it's seeing another person get a discounted education that we paid full price for or love and forgiveness given to someone who wasn't around for the hard stuff. Sometimes mercy feels unfair.

Right now my three year old is trying to figure this out in his own way. He is struggling with the fact that I also love his brother as much as I love him. Whenever my oldest gets hurt my youngest immediately starts crying and runs to me because he knows I am about to give attention to his brother. The other day I told my oldest that he was “just the sweetest” and then I heard a sad small voice down the hallway say “mommy, why didn't you say I am the sweetest?” And when my oldest was at school my three year old said “Mommy, you love me more than Oscar … right?” I try to explain to him that when I give attention and care to Oscar it does not take away from my love for him. I try to explain that my heart is equally full for both of them. I try to explain that I am a mommy to both of them and will always be. But right now he loves me with his whole heart and the fact that I love someone else as much can make it feel like it isn't reciprocated.

For the earliest audiences of this parable in Matthew, there was a different kind of issue of unfairness happening. There were Jewish Christians, those who were the first to hear the Good News of Christ and then there were Gentile Christians, those who came later to the faith through missionaries and preaching. There were those who had been studying the law and the faith for their entire lives and then there were these new people who did not understand the history and the intricacies. They show up with their strange ways claiming the message of Christ for themselves and believing to have an equal share in God's love and in the kingdom of heaven. It was a problem … not for God … not for the kingdom of heaven, but for those who felt it was not fair.

It touches on so many of our worst parts: jealousy, envy, greed, feeling sorry for ourselves... I for one am guilty of all of these things at one time or another. Who among us has not at some point in our lives begrudged another's good fortune because of our jealousy? There's nothing like forcing a smile as you look through someone's amazing Caribbean all-inclusive vacation photos after you have spent the last three nights cleaning up vomit and doing laundry.

But maybe there is something even deeper happening when we cringe at the happiness of another. Maybe when we see someone who has done really vile things forgiven or a lazy person win there is another reason we don't feel like forcing a smile. It isn't because of what God has done. It is not that we are mad at some outside force like fate or good luck, but maybe it's our own thing. It's within us.

Perhaps those workers who were hired first thing and toiled in the sun all day, perhaps they were upset because they felt that the landowner's action meant they had not done a good enough job or they weren't as valued. Maybe we have such a hard time accepting the wideness and richness of God's mercy and love for others because we are having a hard time accepting it for ourselves.

We are used to assessing our value in life by comparing ourselves to others. If we do better than someone else we feel good. If we feel badly about ourselves we just look to someone doing worse and feel better. In school an A only has value because other people got Bs, Cs, Ds and Fs. A promotion only means something if it raises you above someone else. A win is only a win if it is a loss for another.

But maybe … in the kingdom of heaven we don't have to do that. We can just know that we are loved and valued and forgiven and cherished just as we are. There is enough grace for everyone. We do not have to stand on top of someone else for recognition. The joy and happiness of someone else can only add to our own rather than take away from it. Justice and mercy are poured out even on those of us who get jealous or greedy.

Some day my three year old will come to understand the depth of my love. He will love others and experience the joy that comes from an expanded heart with room for many. Some day he will know that when I hug his brother it is a way of reassuring him too that I am a loving and kind mother and that my love for him and his brother does not run out. But in the meantime as I try to teach this to him I am going to watch my words and actions to make sure I model this truth. That I don't bash others when I feel insecure, or get angry at the success of those seemingly “undeserving,” that I do not teach him by my words and actions that we are more worthy than others just because of who we are, that I force that smile and keep working on it even when I feel like pouting in envy. It's something we are all trying to learn and work on because unconditional love, unending grace and mercy poured out for all is not something we see often. It is not our experience of the ways of the world and our hearts have been hardened, our skin thickened and our expectations lowered. But God tells us that this is what the kingdom of heaven is like. This is our God- just, merciful, loving and full of grace. This is good news. There is enough to go around even to those showing up late, even to those who don't get it right, even to you, even to me. Amen.

Clarity

Tuesday I sent my older son to Kindergarten and then took my youngest son to his first day of Preschool.  He was so excited and barely said good bye as he happily ran into his classroom.  I went to the morning prayer service at the church I attend.  First I stopped in the bathroom to shed some tears.  It felt fair, I cried on my older son's first days of school.  Then I went in the giant sanctuary and realized I was quite early.  I walked through the dark echoing space with glimmers of light coming through the tall stained-glass windows as my only guide.  I made my way to the side chapel and flicked some light switches not knowing what they would do.  A light came on and I sat down in a pew.  The light was illuminating a beautiful image of Mary holding baby Jesus.  Mary looking large and beautiful, clearly the star.  In the image she is revered and in the chapel she is the main focus, prominent and honored as she holds her baby.

Having always been Protestant, this image of Mary was not one that was nearly as prominent or revered as others.  So I enjoyed the time of silence I had there to reflect on it.  I very much believe in the power of silent prayer.  The kind of prayer where you don't really know what you are praying for and the main objective is to continually keep your mind from wandering onto thoughts of the day.  I stared at Mary and worked to keep focus.

One year as my Lenten discipline I decided to dedicate myself to thirty minutes of silent prayer per day.  It was a challenge, but one that was well worth it.  At the time I was the pastor of a church and sometimes I would sit down for my thirty minutes with some seemingly impossible situation on my mind.  Something I just could not see the way forward through and lo and behold by the end of thirty minutes I would have clarity.  EVERY TIME.  Probably in the secular world this would be attributed to clearing the mind, deep breathing, etc.  All of those are probably part of it, but I also attribute it to taking the time to hear the Holy Spirit speak.  It was great and so when Lent was over I did it every day for years and years.  Just kidding.  I did what we all do with disciplines that are life-giving and eye-opening ... I promptly dropped it when my commitment was through.  I still pray but it's usually filled with petitions and usually not a full thirty minutes at once.

So I was sitting there in the chapel, staring at Mary, clearing my mind and I had a moment of clarity.  Her willingness to love even when she knew the suffering and loss that was to come is what makes her so honored and admired.  I thought about this in my own life.  I thought about how dropping your kids off at school, letting them gain independence, releasing them from the hug good-bye is a process of letting go.  It is a process of realizing that these people you love so much and hold so dearly will go out into the big scary world and somehow find their way.  We do it knowing that we can't control everything that will come their way.  There will be pain that can't be wiped away with a kiss.  There will be heartbreak that is not undone with a big hug and there will be suffering on both ends because that's what life brings.

If you are like me then you often have found yourself feeling as if you are not enough - not doing enough, not being enough.  As a stay at home mom I often struggle with this feeling as if all of my education and career preparation and potential was just for picking up toys and feeling guilty when my children eat too many sweets.  As a pastor I struggled with the pressures of growing a church, casting a vision, providing pastoral care to everyone, staying well-read, working for justice and all the other expectations of the job.  In hindsight I often forget that and see only the moments of success and joy.  Those amazing moments when lives are changed, the Holy Spirit is witnessed and the work feels meaningful.

After morning prayer I went to a women's book group and shared and listened to stories of beauty and struggle.  One person shared a story of how she came to the realization that her greatest sin had been not accepting that God loves her.  It was powerful.  We talked about people in our lives with "rough edges" who became saints in our journey.  We talked about our own inadequacies and struggles.  It got me thinking back to that image of Mary I spent the morning with.  We were all opening our hearts in a world of struggle and suffering.  We were all choosing to offer love even though it leads to hurt.  We were all Marys in our own way, cradling our cherished memories, our loves, our hopes while the cross stands in view.  Perhaps that is our potential ... our best selves.

Sermon from Grace and St. Stephen's Episcopal Church 9/3/17

Sermon for Grace and St Stephen's 9/4/17

Confession: I never tell people how long it has been since I pastored a church. I actually won't even calculate it in my mind. It's easy enough, my oldest was nearly 2 and now he is nearly 6, but before I do that simple math I change the subject. You see I don't care to admit how long I have been “out of it” because I feel like every passing year outside the weekly pulpit, every new layer of dust collected on my alb and the boxes in our basement labeled “Jen's office stuff” makes me feel one year less important. I'm not saying that's right or the way it should be but it's the way it is. I'm one year further from using my official title and it feels like I have less standing among clergy (although they do not act that way) like I'm less up on what's happening in the world of ecclesial and theological happenings. When clergy friends are relating stories of struggle and triumph my relatable stories are further and further away and I feel less and less “in the trenches.”

It's an ego thing. I remember (some years ago) when I was making the decision about leaving my job and I made this very vulnerable and raw confession to my husband … the kind of confession you only make to a very close friend or spouse … and now hundreds of you. I said “what if my ego can't take it?” I never thought of myself as particularly ego driven but what if not seeing my name on a pay check or church sign or my ideas written into monthly newsletter articles or having a list of people wanting appointments with me … what if it's an absence … an abyss too strongly felt and my ego crumbles?

In spite of my concerns and hesitations, the call I was feeling at that time for a change gave me the courage to jump into that abyss … that unknown world. And here I am (some years later). Now when the opening hymn begins you will not find me at the end of the procession wearing sacredly sewn vestments with a divinely inspired sermon in my hand but rather picking up crushed gold fish crackers, whispering warnings to my 3 and 5 year old, wiping remnants of their blueberry oatmeal off my clothes I did not have time to iron . . . and as the processional cross approaches tapping them to get their attention and remind them to bow for the cross. It is certainly a different view of things and a different type of trenches I find myself in.

The Gospel reading today got me thinking about this … this jump into the abyss. The giving up of my dream job, my title, my long held identity, my status, my role, my sense of self. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

I remember studying this passage in depth when I was in seminary. These words are found not just in Matthew but in Mark and Luke as well. We studied it in the context of what the original audience was experiencing which was severe persecution. This added weight to the words. Particularly in Mark's Gospel it is understood with urgency and quite literally rather than metaphorically. If you want to follow me you will actually have to pick up your cross and lose your life. At the time I remember thinking that other interpretations seemed weak in comparison. As if over time this passage had become lightened, watered down, particularly the phrase “my cross to bear.” Like the person who always gets left to fold the folding chairs after the meeting describing it as “their cross to bear” or if you are the only one in the family with ugly toenails and you decide it is your “cross to bear.” It's become a saying that people use and I remember feeling at the time I studied this that all of that internalizing and attributing to metaphor and explaining away took away from the tremendous weight of this charge. People were actually risking their lives to follow Christ, actually bearing crosses. Any other way of looking at it seemed like a cop out.

But now as I look at this (some years later) and I read that line “let them deny themselves” and understand it in terms of this context, it does not feel light, it does not feel like a cop out, it does not feel weak. It feels like a challenge, a serious charge, a legitimate way of understanding the road to discipleship, what it means to follow Christ, what it means to experience the power of the risen Lord. Denying self for the sake of following a suffering servant. Setting aside the things we hold onto to make us feel important and instead serving Christ. This ego stuff is hard.

In so many ways and times and places life challenges our egos, our sense of importance, our way of attaching meaning to our lives. Years ago I was contemplating how I would feel important without a job and today I'm contemplating how I will feel important as my youngest starts preschool and my other son kindergarten. Saying goodbye to the baby days, the days when a being is completely 100 percent dependent on you brings relief but also a shift in role. A change in the way one sees themselves.

And while my opening story made the role of clergy sound very important and noble and rewarding, it hasn't been so long that I forget the other side. I have an actual story of something that happened to me during ministry that I think illustrates what I mean by “the other side.” One day I was sitting in my office doing some work at my desk and in walked a chihuahua. I was surprised to see an unattended dog as my office was not near an outside door and so I did as any polite person might and said “hello.” The dog stood there and barked at me pretty loudly for a while. Then it stopped … pooped on my carpeted office floor and walked out. You may think I was surprised or horrified or startled but instead my first thought was “that's about right.” It seemed on par with what I had been experiencing with office visits at the time.

Whatever our role or occupation or place in life we have all had those moments in life when we feel the weight, fear and insecurity that can come from denying ourselves. Faith …. following … requires some ego work. The ability to let go of self, to shed the walls, the stories we have told ourselves, the protections in place and believe that even without all of that we can be loved, we can be accepted we can have meaning … it's not easy.

This summer I decided to dive into some Paul Tillich and I read “The Courage to Be.” In this book he looks at the paradoxes of existence. He explores what it means to exist and “be” in a world where we are surrounded by what he would call “non-being.” In other words, how do we get through life with joy, hope and courage when we are surrounded by the reality that we are mortal, we are finite, we are temporary. Death, disease, despair is all around us. Meaninglessness, hopelessness can feel so big and so strong that it could swallow us up. How do we keep going, day after day with this weight? With fear? With doubts? With pain? He talks about the ability to accept that we are accepted even when we don't deserve it. He talks about the courage to ask the questions, explore the abyss, express the doubt -and how that can be essential to deepening one's faith. He talks about looking into the face of meaninglessness and finding that there is in fact something greater, something beyond it.

I understood it as a way of letting go of the desire to understand everything, to control everything, and instead embracing all that life has to offer- trusting and knowing that God is there … God is here. That God is greater than us, present with us and when we can move past the fear and embrace the mystery then we can have the courage to move forward, the courage to be, the courage to live with faith. We can accept that there is existence beyond just our self and we are a part of it, part of this greater being, this eternal changelessness.

I see it as an act of self-denial. “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” We have to be willing to lose, to fall into the abyss, to shatter the walls we put up and the self importance we create to find life in Christ. To let go of our fear of meaninglessness in order to find meaning.

And I don't think that I nailed it when I walked away from my career. I think it is something we do again and again and again. And we come every Sunday and confess that we have failed and give our souls sustenance so we can keep at it. The world just keeps challenging our ego. Opposing views, criticisms, hurtful words, despair, suffering, sadness. They come at us and Jesus keeps calling us to deny ourselves and follow him. To humble ourselves and embrace something bigger.

I'm thinking back to something I said at the beginning of this sermon. When I was talking about the opening hymn and my place in (or actually not in) the procession. When I am trying to get myself into an internal place of worship and worried about the kids behaving. When I am trying to find my place in the bulletin and hold the page on the hymnal and remember what verse we are on while one kid is asking for his Pokemon book and the other needs his snack because I told him he had to wait until worship started and the opening procession is as long as he can wait. When I want to take in the beauty of the music and the meaning of the words I am singing and the majesty of this space but I just remembered that the water bottle I brought leaks.

And standing above the pews and the people and the vestments is the cross. And it comes to where we are … calling … beckoning. And I tap my kids on the shoulder and remind them to bow before the cross. Maybe that is the most important and best thing I can do. Recognize my frailty, my dependency and nod a “yes” to Christ's renewed request to follow him … and for these four years I have been in the pews with them and however many more are to come … teaching my children to do the same.  

Two Years

Today is the second anniversary of the day my friend died.  As the day is coming to a close I just feel sad.  I feel sad that she died; I feel sad that life changes so quickly; and I feel sad that the day is over.  I know that for many the memory of a sick loved one suffering is one that is forgotten with hard work and effort.  And the anniversary of the day someone died may be a dreaded day when sunset is slow and the sunrise can't come fast enough.  But right now I feel sad because I wanted to remember every moment, replay memories and feel connected to who she was ... to who I was two years ago. 

And I did think of her all day.  I had a lovely morning sitting by a pool full of happy children telling my new friend all about the amazing woman I was lucky to know two years ago.  But as I tucked in my son and read him "The Giving Tree" I found myself lamenting at the changes life brings.  I have changed in the last two years.  That is not a bad thing, in fact I would say I have grown and bettered myself in many ways, but sometimes I miss who I once was ...  I have been blessed with so many wonderful new friends in this wonderful new place, but sometimes I miss the friends that used to be near and now are far.  

But two years later and I am still unwrapping the gift Laura gave me through my relationship with her.  She taught me so much about being a friend.  She came into my life when I was a pastor and spending most of my time with people a good bit older than me and as I transitioned into the world of stay at home mom I suddenly found myself with people my age and opportunities for friendships.  Laura had so many friends and was so good at it.  She helped me navigate that time by modeling (and offering) friendship and critiquing my wardrobe when it was needed.  

We were moms of little children at the same time and I remember thinking how sad it was that I would one day become a mom of teenagers, then college students, then adults but she would forever be preserved in time as that young mom.  But I continue to learn from her parenting.  I remember the way she guided her children through her illness, I look at her Instagram pictures of snuggles and giggles and I see how amazing her kids are and I hope to be able to emulate her combination of honesty, respect, fun and intimacy in parenting.  

And I'm writing in my blog.  Something I only started because of her, her example and encouragement.  These days I don't do the self-revealing, pouring out my heart to people as often as I used to when I was in a pulpit every week so personal writing feels strange, but it is definitely one of the ways I feel connected to her.

As this day closes I remember how much she believed in me ... and how much I believed in her.  And that inspires, comforts, challenges, humbles and blesses me for another year.