Sermon from St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church 5/10/15

John 15:9-17

The first thing I thought of when I read the Gospel for this week is weddings. I have preached on this passage during several weddings I have officiated. So I was excited to preach on it because I have a positive association with it. I love officiating weddings. I have probably officiated 25 or so weddings and I can honestly say I have loved every single one. I love the premarital counseling and getting to know the couple, hearing their story and guiding them in their future planning. I love the marriage ceremony’s liturgy which is almost identical to the Prayer Book wedding liturgy: the powerful language, ancient metaphors, poetic words and beautiful symbols. And I love being a part of that happy moment with the couple. I get to look into their tear-filled eyes, hear their careful breathing as they say their vows and see the supportive looks of all of their friends and family.


This may seem obvious, of course I like weddings, they are nice happy occasions, but the truth is almost every pastor I know would much rather do a funeral than a wedding. Many of my clergy colleagues can’t stand doing weddings. And I understand some of their frustrations, it is annoying when a couple bosses you around or makes unreasonable demands or seems to really only care about a lovely picture rather than the lifelong promises they are making. There have been moments when I wanted to say “we actually believe this stuff we are saying” as a couple seemed disinterested or apathetic about the religious language and scriptures. There are times when you feel undervalued, used or irritated. That can weigh on a person after many years. But I think more than that, weddings are hard when you do really love the couple. You hear their stories, you enjoy being a part of their journey, they seem committed to the church and then as the last of the artificial rose petals are swept away you realize, they are never coming back. You and the faith community you want so much for them to experience will never see them again. This is not always the case, but unfortunately many times it is and it can be heartbreaking as their pastor.


It’s also heart breaking when the marriage ends in divorce. You care about the couple, you are rooting for them and your heart breaks to see their tears of joy turned to tears of pain. After the tuxedos are returned and the cake is consumed, the truth of marriage is revealed … love is hard. It is hard to constantly give of yourself, open your heart and always make compromises. And sometimes for many different reasons it just doesn’t work.

It is also hard to open your heart as a pastor to people over and over again and experience rejection and disappointment. The frustration of unmet goals, the constant need to compromise with so many different people, always giving of yourself and opening your heart. . . it is hard. Love in all of it’s forms in all different relationships is hard.

All of us have experienced the difficulty of love at some point. Whether as a spouse, parent, sibling, friend, pet lover or as a member of a church. Living in relationship with others brings challenges. We get our feelings hurt, we hurt the feelings of others, we experience frustration and disappointment, boredom and unmet needs and sometimes we just want to walk away. Sometimes as pastors, friends, brothers, sisters, church members, it’s just too hard to keep on putting your heart out there.

This realization about the challenges of love is why this Gospel reading is actually kind of terrifying. It’s all about love. Jesus is speaking to his disciples. He is explaining that he comes from God, he is preparing to give his life for the world, to take upon himself all of the pain and suffering of the world and redeem it. And he tells his followers what they need to do to abide in him, to have their joy complete and to live in God. He says “this is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”



On the one hand it’s very simple in an “all you need is love” kind of way. Ditch the complicated lists of dos and don'ts and just love. But on the other hand it’s completely crazy. All we need to do is love one another as Christ loves us. Love others as the Savior of the world, Son of God, the one who (at the time he said this) is about to give his life on the cross, the one who can bring healing and hope, the one who is eternal … love others as he loves us. That’s all.


It’s an incredible challenge, “love one another as I have loved you.” Even without the “as I have loved you” it’s still difficult. Love is effort, sacrifice, forgiveness and risk. This seems like a radical command. I think I might prefer something more along the lines of “thou shall not murder” rather than a command to love others the way Jesus does. Refraining from murder seems much more doable than laying down one’s life for one’s friends. And yet this is our command, to love as Jesus loves.

“Command” is such a powerful word. In the Church we put a lot of weight on the word “commandment.” In the midst of all of the confusing passages of the Bible, the poems and stories that are not always easy to understand, the commandments seem direct, clear and easy to grasp. But, in the first 17 verses of this chapter that we read from today the word “abide” actually appears eleven times and “bear fruit” appears seven times. While the word commandment is only used three times. Perhaps then this passage is less about a list of rules to follow, a specific criteria for doing right- and more about a state of being. Maybe the “command” part is not something to cause anxiety or worry, but rather a way of helping us understand this bigger message about abiding and bearing fruit.


Sometimes we are so anxious to do things right, craving direction, wanting to know what to do, that we focus a little too much on words like “commandments” and “rules.” Sometimes we get too hung up on what to do. Sometimes we just focus on the difficult, maybe even impossible commandments and then are left feeling like we aren’t good enough … frustrated that we can’t get it right.


I often feel this way about parenting. It seems there is always a list of things parents should and should not do. Always an “expert” with a rule book for parenting. Always judging glares from observers. Always things we feel we should be doing but aren’t or shouldn’t be doing but are. As I watched my one year old lick butter off of a plate the other day, I definitely had the feeling I was doing something I should not. Children can really push the boundaries of our expectations about appropriate behavior. Perhaps you might remember about a year ago, right here in this very worship space, my then 2 year old decided to make a run for it down the aisle during worship. My attempt to stop him was met with a complete screaming melt down, limp legs tantrum. Which meant I had to pick him up while he was crying and try my best not to smash the newborn I was also holding in my arms. It was not a great moment. It was public, it was loud, it felt awful. Definitely one of those times when I felt I was doing everything I “shouldn't” in parenting.


Parenting is hard. One moment I’m worried my children are spoiled and undisciplined and then next I feel guilty for being too hard on them and can’t believe how well-behaved they are. And all along the way I feel like I do everything wrong. One of the great things about being a stay at home mom is that I get to spend a lot of time with other parents and learn that they all feel that way too. Parenting is hard… love is hard.


I was especially feeling this way on Wednesday morning. Jeremiah was away at clergy conference. I had just spent 24 hours with just me and the kids. All went well until bed time when my one year old Isaiah decided to throw all of my shoes into a pile and then the moment his diaper was off he ran over and peed all over them. There was little time for cleaning them as my three year old was attempting to smash his brother with an ottoman. Eventually they both peacefully fell asleep with their teeth brushed, pajamas on and only a minimal amount of food on their faces. I was feeling accomplished until the wake ups began. Isaiah woke up at 9, 10, 11, 1, 4, 5 and then was up for the day at 6. Oscar woke up at 3 just to tell me he was sad.


So at 7am I was lying there in bed, Isaiah cracking up as he beat my eye with a pacifier and then my 3 year old climbed into the bed. His hair was all messy and his cheeks were soft as he wrapped his body around mine. His little breath was on my neck as he whispered into my ear, “Mommy, I love you more than anything in the world.” And then he snuggled on one side and Isaiah snuggled on the other side and for a few minutes or so it was heaven. And parenting didn’t feel hard at all. Love did not feel like a challenge. We just laid there, not doing anything wrong, not doing anything right, just giving and receiving love.

Just before Jesus gives his commandment to love as he loves he says “I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit …” Maybe this passage is more about abiding rather than commanding. More about just being, rather than doing things right or wrong. Jesus says that God is the vine-grower, he is the vine and his followers are the branches. The branches then bear fruit. God loves Jesus, Jesus loves us, we abide in his love.

What if love is less about getting it right, less about doing the right things and more about just being a branch? Living in the love of God and allowing that love to bear fruit? Allowing the love of God to nourish and flow through us? What if parenting is less about doing or saying the right things and more about just living in love? What if living in relationship with others is less about the give and take and more about just living in the love of God, even when our heart is broken, even when we are disappointed?

On these beautiful spring days we have been having it’s easy to think about branches. We are surrounded by flowering branches and branches with fresh green leaves swaying in the wind and soaking in the sun. “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Being a branch … that doesn’t seem so hard.

Sermon from 4/19/15

 Luke 24:36b-48.Lutheran Church of our Savior
A week or so ago a bunch of people were sharing and discussing an article a guy wrote about why he believes marriages fail.  He called it “Five Reasons Marriage Doesn’t Work Anymore.”  I took the click bait and read the article.  The first reason he gave was lack of physical intimacy in marriage, second was finances.  He said it’s very expensive to live today and the financial stress takes a toll on marriage.  The next three reasons were about technology.  He believes that while we are very connected through our phones and social media, we don’t actually take the time to connect with one another face to face.  He also believes that social media creates an environment where people can be like little celebrities and just crave more and more attention, so much so that it takes priority over their loving relationship.  His final reason why he believes marriages fail is because our ability to take a picture at any moment and our habits of sharing pictures of what should be private moments take away privacy and intimacy.  1

I think he makes some valid and important points.  I also think he may be working out some of his feelings about his own divorce and sometimes blaming outside forces is easier than looking inside yourself.  But, as I read the article I found myself wondering how much of it was actually about human touch.  He talked a lot about the lack of physical intimacy, the lack of face to face interaction, using screens instead of voices, substituting mass communication over the internet for relationships.  All of these relate to human touch, actually being with people in person, flesh and bone.  And the truth is whether it’s 2015 or 1915, whether it’s a cell phone, instagram, long hours at work, indifference, depression, isolation or personal priorities, there are always forces that can keep us from touching one another- things that get between us, that break contact, that separate people.  And when we let things get between us, we stop touching each other and touch is powerful.  We need it.

There have been countless studies done on the healing power of touch.  Many articles written on how important human touch is for our physical, psychological and emotional selves.  I remember when my youngest was born the doctor said his blood sugar level was low.  I nursed him for an hour right after he was born but it was still low and the doctor was concerned.  One of the nurses told me that skin to skin contact could raise it.  So I tucked my baby into my nightgown and held him on my skin, touched my cheek against his head and my hand on his back.  Soon his levels were fine.  Touch is powerful.

And in the Gospel reading today Jesus says “touch me.”  He stands next to a group of scared apostles, huddled together behind closed doors in fear and says “touch me.”  They know that he was crucified, they know he was laid in a tomb and now he says “touch me.”

The portrait we get of the disciples in much of the Gospels is of an ordinary group of people who initially step out in faith, but also misunderstand, sometimes get it wrong, ask questions and run away in fear.  But the portrait we get of the disciples after this encounter with the risen Christ is very different.  They boldly preach, convert many, figure how to live in community, instruct others and risk their lives to go and talk to people in far away lands.  It is believed that almost all of the apostles were killed in horrible ways because they preached the Gospel.  Somehow they go from confused and timid believers to bold evangelists, breaking down barriers, teaching love and compassion, risking their lives to spread the news of Jesus, building the Church.  What happened?  How did they change so dramatically?  Was it all because the resurrected Jesus stood among them and said “touch me?”

Of course Jesus does say more than that.  He “opened their minds to understand the scriptures.”  He explains that his death and resurrection is in fulfillment with the scriptures.  And then he tells them that they are to go and proclaim “repentance and forgiveness of sins” in his name.  All of this is of course important, pivotal and transformational for the disciples, but that part where he asks them to touch him is pretty powerful.  Just before that Luke describes the disciples as “startled and terrified.”  Luke says that they thought Jesus was a ghost.  But after they are invited to touch him, it says they have joy.  Yes they still are wondering, but it says “in their joy.”  It seems that touching Christ turned their fear into joy.  Touch is a powerful thing.

Last Wednesday I attended a confirmation service at my husband’s church.  My husband is an Episcopal priest and in that tradition only Bishops perform confirmations.  So they have regional confirmations where people from area churches come to be confirmed.  I served as a mentor to a young woman getting confirmed and so I had a front row seat for it.  I watched as each person went up, knelt and the Bishop firmly placed both hands upon their heads while their priest placed a hand on their shoulder.  It was a beautiful moment and meaningful for all who were present.  It got me thinking about meaningful moments in my life when others have laid hands on me to pray.  Like my ordination, my baptism or before I left my first appointment to go and be the only pastor of a church.  The church I served at the time had the teenagers, who I had worked with closely and others in the church come forward and lay hands on me as we prayed together.  All of these were powerful and memorable experiences.  And I’m not really a touchy kind of person.  I’m not one of those people who identifies themselves as a “hugger.”  I don’t instinctively take the hand of the person next to me when I pray and I kind of dread experiences where I know the expectation is for me to get up and mingle with people I don’t know.  And yet, I will forever remember those times in my life when others have touched me in the name of Christ.  When I could hear the voice of Christ whisper “touch me.”  Touch is a powerful thing.

Perhaps when we are thinking about ways to grow the church and spread the love of Christ, the power of touch is worth remembering.  The disciples left the places they knew, they no longer hid behind closed doors, they were no longer afraid after they encountered the risen Christ.  Instead they went out and touched people.  Some went to the furthest stretches of their known world to encounter people face to face with the news of an incarnate Christ.  God in flesh.  God not as just Spirit, not as a ghost but flesh and bone, skin on, saying “touch me.”  It would be difficult to share the good news of a flesh and bone God without seeing people in flesh and bone.  Had the disciples simply sent word, or said to others “spread the word” I don’t know that the young Church would have made it.  Had they tweeted it or texted others or said “don’t bother coming to see us, just click from the comfort of your couch and watch us pray and consume body and blood on a screen”  I don’t think it would have been as powerful.

The truth is we believe in incarnation.  We believe in God with skin on.  Flesh and bone.  A God who says “touch me.”  And so we can’t get around the call to go and be with others.  We can’t get the full experience from the comfort of our couch.  We need to get up, get out and touch one another, look into each other’s eyes and say “peace be with you” just as Christ did in the Gospel today.  We need to say to others in their time of need “touch me” “I am here.”  We are given body and blood so that we will go and be body and blood.

So perhaps when we think of church growth and what it means to be a Christian today, it is about more than lovely billboards, updated websites and a list of offered programs.  Perhaps it is about something riskier than keeping our beliefs to ourselves.  Perhaps it is about something more shocking than being polite.  Maybe it is about getting out there and being with others, flesh and bone, close enough to touch.  Being the hands and feet of Christ … demonstrating an incarnate faith, saying “touch me.”

I guess I am crazy enough to believe that in this day and age relationships not only work but are desperately needed.  That human intimacy is important and that marriage can work even in a time of social media.  Maybe it is because I too am transformed by the power of touch.  By the love of a God who is so near to us, so loving toward us that God says “touch me.”  This world can feel cold and distant, germy and scary, changes happen quickly, technology is everywhere and sometimes it can be lonely.  So let us proclaim the Risen Christ by being with one another.  Let us be bold like the disciples and leave the closed doors, embrace the power of  touch and say to our brothers and sisters “touch me.”

Sermon from Calvary United Methodist Church 3/22/15

John 12:20-33
For the last year since my youngest son was born, I have found myself thinking a lot about the differences between raising your first child and your second one.  I am number three of four in my family of origin, but because there are big age gaps between myself and my siblings I sometimes see traits of youngest, middle and oldest in myself.  So now that I am on the other side of things, as the one raising children, I am fascinated by these birth order differences, what is natural, what is learned, how much perspective matters, and so on.
One of the great things about raising a child the second time around for me is how much more accepting I am of things.  After my first experience, I fully expected that my baby would wake up  many times in the night for a long time, so it’s slightly less frustrating.  I expected that the baby wouldn’t really care when I said “no throwing food on the floor” and I know that a lot of these behaviors will work themselves out so I can relax a bit and trust that a loving, compassionate and disciplining environment will eventually have an effect.  So, while life with a three year old and a one year old can be a bit hectic, I do feel more relaxed, more accepting than I did the first time around with a baby.

It is amazing how powerful acceptance is.  In my years of ministry I have found that the best way to demonstrate the love of Christ and not lose my mind as a pastor is to accept people for who they are.  Sure, we challenge, encourage, instruct and nurture one another, but all of those things are more fruitful, more fun and less frustrating if we can also accept one another.

The same holds true with ourselves.  When we are constantly beating ourselves up for our unique personality traits that we loathe, or feeling nonstop guilt for some part of ourselves, then we are unhappy, unproductive … stressed.  I’m not a fitness or diet expert, but my guess is that our attempts at health, losing weight and exercise work much better if we start from a perspective of accepting ourselves, accepting how we look and working towards health and wholeness rather than talking badly about ourselves, hating how we look and beating ourselves up after every unmet goal.  Acceptance goes a long way, accepting the struggles of parenting, the struggles of work, accepting our brothers and sisters in Christ, other people in the world and accepting ourselves.

In the Gospel reading today from John Jesus is calling us to acceptance.  Jesus is asking us to accept him, accept his Father and accept the new reality his life, death and resurrection bring.  But before we can accept this call/ accept his words, we should try our best to understand them, and this passage can be confusing.  So let’s dig into the text a bit.

The passage begins with the arrival of some Greeks.  It says that they want to “see” Jesus.  The original language of the text implies much more than simply seeing with the eyes.  Biblical scholar Francis Moloney explains that the verb used for seeing is associated with “the affirmation, the acceptance, or the refusal of Jesus’ role as the revealer.”*  So these Greeks are here to decide if they will accept who Jesus says he is or not.  And when Jesus hears of their arrival he says “the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”  Or in other words, it’s time.  Our Lenten journey is about to come to an end, everything Jesus has talked about will now come about.  The cross is near.  The fact that the Greeks have arrived signals to Jesus that word has spread, people from all over the world are coming to Jesus, it is time for what will come next.
So the Greeks and everyone else around listening to Jesus’ words are put in a place where they must either accept or deny the truth of what Jesus says.  Will they accept that this man is who he says he is?  Son of God?  Salvation of the world?  Savior of humanity?  Or will they deny who he is and hold fast to what they know, what they are familiar with, what is around them- their day to day experiences, the joys and struggles of life … this world.  Accepting Jesus means accepting a new reality, a world that extends beyond what we see in this life, beyond what we can attain in this world, deeper than our skin.  Rejecting Jesus means holding instead to what we know, the powers that rule and govern us here and now.

So then Jesus says, “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”  Jesus is talking about the self-sacrifice that he offers, the gift to the world. Soon he will die and in doing so will bear much fruit.  He will offer a new reality, a new relationship with God for all the world.  His death is so that the love of God, the joy of salvation can be experienced by many.  It is a gift.  And, like any gift we can choose to accept it or not.

But acceptance is about more than just a nod of assent or holding on to hope.  Acceptance of what Jesus says is also a call to follow him, to be transformed by this new reality, to have our motivations, perspectives, actions, outlooks, understanding of eternity changed.  Acceptance of Jesus means accepting a challenge: “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”
It’s a little confusing.  If you want to keep your life then you need to hate it?  But if we are living out of love then we love others, we love our families, our friends, all of creation, and we love our lives.  So why is Jesus talking about hating life?  It is an unusual way to communicate a message of love, hope and peace.  But here is the truth … we are all going to die.  Life ends.

It is a harsh reality that we can either accept or try to deny.  If we try to deny it, escape it or hide from it then we will close ourselves off from the world because death is all around us.  Or we will live in fear, desperately trying to control uncontrollable circumstances, telling ourselves that we can somehow avoid death by doing, buying or accepting the right things.  But if we accept the reality of death we are free from the fear, free from the denial, the running, the hiding.  We can live in the truth.  It is painful and difficult to accept, but in the end it is the only way to really live fully.

Jesus is calling us to accept our mortality.  Accept that this life is not permanent, this world is not ultimate existence, the forces and figures that rule us now are not eternal, the temptations and lures of the world are futile and do not lead to lasting peace.  But Jesus calls us to accept something else besides just the cold harsh fact of death.  He calls us to accept a new reality.  Not to dress in all black, throw our hands up and say “what does it all  matter, nothing lasts.”  Not to resign ourselves to hopelessness and meaninglessness.  Jesus calls us to live into the reality of his life, death and resurrection.  To accept that he comes from God.  That his gift of himself means freedom for us.  That our story is part of a much larger story of God, salvation and eternal peace.  And acceptance of this frees us to live with peace in this life and the next.  And in a confusing and unusual twist of what it means to be servant and master, Jesus tells us that if we follow him, then God will honor us.  Jesus is calling for acceptance, calling for all to be drawn to him, to live in his reality and to be glorified with him.

It sounds good.  Clearly, acceptance seems like the way to go.  So then why is it still so hard?  Even though we know life is not permanent and that there is nothing we can do about that, we still worry and misplace our priorities.  We look to the accumulation of things and new stuff for happiness.  We don’t take risks out of fear, we play it safe and end up watching life on a screen from the comfort of our how own homes.  We become paranoid about illness and diseases and fearful for our health.

That one is hard for me.  When my kids are sick I find myself remembering every terrifying story anyone has ever told me about childhood illness.  A week ago a friend told me a terrible story about a child who died from strep.  That night my son got a cough and I worried way more than I should have.  It’s just so easy to forget that all of life is temporary.  It is hard to let go of our desire to control everything.  We love our comforts, pleasures, the people around us and we just want to cling to them as tightly as we can.  It is hard to accept, let go and experience the freedom and peace that comes with that.

I have a good friend who has stage four breast cancer.  She is my age and has three young children.  It’s terrible and I hate it and I desperately wish it wasn’t so.  She is such a strong-willed, spirited person and so well-loved that it’s hard to believe this is all happening to her.  I feel like because of my experience as a pastor with people with illness that I can offer a space of honesty for her.  I can be comfortable with the difficult things because I’ve been trained to be a comfort to people in difficult situations.  Sometimes when I read the comments others post on her Facebook page, I think it seems like they haven’t really read her posts about her situation.  Like when she said the goal is no longer a cure but quality of life.  It seems sometimes like people ignore that and just try to act like she just needs to fight hard and make it through.  Like people can’t accept what is happening.

A couple of weeks ago I went with her to the Cleveland Clinic for her chemotherapy.  It was fun spending time with her and a really nice facility, but a crummy situation and a sad place.  Waiting rooms filled with people nervously waiting for their  treatment and their loved ones trying to be encouraging.  I found myself thinking things like “she is so much younger than everyone here and she is doing so well and she is so strong, surely she can make it through…” We got to talking about the port that they put in her chest and how uncomfortable it was.  I said “well, won’t they take it out?”  She said “no.”  I said “what if you have like a couple of years between treatments.”  And my friend who is always joking around and teases me often, looked at me very seriously and with compassion in her eyes for me said “it’s never going to be a couple years between treatments.”  I nodded … right … yeah.  And I realized I was just like everybody else, not accepting the situation.  Pretending that things would somehow go back to how they were.  Sometimes it’s just so hard to accept the way things are.

Jesus knows that it is hard to accept the pain and suffering of life.  In the Gospel reading he says “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say–’ Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour .”  His soul is troubled, he understands the urge to try to change the situation, shy away from the difficulty … But he has complete faith that God is going to see him through.  He has complete clarity of purpose.  He knows that his act will bring peace to all of humanity.  So he accepts his fate.  He accepts his role in the relationship between God and humanity.  He faces the cross, he does not hide or worry or fear.

And because he does this, we can know peace.  We can know hope.  We can know that there is more to life than just self-protection, worry and pain.  We can let go of our tight grip on the things we hold dear, trusting them to our eternal God.  We can know that in this battle of darkness and light, the darkness does not overcome the light.

We are at that part of Lent when the cross is coming into view.  Next Sunday is Palm Sunday and then Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.  Let us use this time to shift our focus to the cross.  To see a new worldview, a freedom from the oppression of this world and an invitation to let go and accept.   

Sermon from Reformation and Bethany 2/8/15

Last Sunday I did what I’m guessing many of you did.  I went to church, hurried home before the snow got too heavy, put on some comfortable clothes and eventually cuddled up under a blanket on my couch with some snacks to watch the Super Bowl.  But it was a weird day.  Of course there was the crazy snow storm that locked us all in our homes and then the tragic news about Mayor Collins and the awful car accident and heart attack he suffered.  But at the end of the day, even as the snow fell we could all take a bit of a break and watch a great football game, dazzling half time show and entertaining commercials.  Well, sort of entertaining.
Did you see that Nationwide commercial everyone is talking about?  The commercial with the young boy talking about all of the things he did not experience because he died and the images of terrible things that can hurt children.  I missed part of it because I was tucking my little ones into bed, but the part I missed I was quickly filled in on through social media.  My Facebook and Twitter feeds were full of people fuming about this commercial.  It really upset people, but not in the way I think the Nationwide people hoped.  People were mad, people were saying they were going to switch insurance companies.  Some people teased it but mostly people were just angry that they had to watch that.  And, I get it.  Yes, we should be aware of the tragedies that happen in the world and it is important to be incredibly cautious of the safety of little ones …but come on.  Give us a break.  We just wanted to be entertained, to laugh, to cheer, to get lost in a game, do we really need to be confronted with such terrible tragedy just so someone can try to sell us insurance?
As I read the Gospel reading for today and think about the world we live in, I feel like there are a lot of people out there that could just really use a break.  In the passage from Mark Jesus starts off by healing Simon’s mother-in-law.  And then everyone who is sick or possessed with demons is brought to Jesus.  It says “the whole city was gathered around the door.”  That is a lot of people looking for healing.  And then Jesus gets up very early to get a break to pray and Simon and his friends come searching for him to tell him that everyone is looking for him.  So Jesus says, let’s go.  And off they go to proclaim and heal all around.
I’ve been thinking about all of those people, the ones gathered around the door, the ones hoping for healing.  The ones who were sick, had diseases or demons.  I’m  thinking about their longing, their desperation.  I mean, what did they know about Jesus at that point?  He just rolls into town, heals a woman and suddenly the entire city is at his door, in need of healing.  It sounds like there were a lot of people weighed down by the world… hurting, feeling the pain of being human, looking for a break.
I feel like I can see their faces, because I see them all around me.  Let’s be honest, their faces are our faces.  We too are in need of healing: weighed down by the world, hurting, feeling the pain of being human, looking for a break.  We see the faces of these people when we turn on the news, when we look at our neighbor …when we look in the mirror.  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could get a break?  A break from the illnesses, sadness, harsh realities of life?  Maybe even watch a football game without thinking about how fragile life is?
A couple of weeks ago a good friend of mine got difficult news.  She had just completed what she hoped was her final surgery in her battle with breast cancer.  She was done with her long run of chemo and relieved to be cancer-free.  And then, there were spots …on her bones…it’s not over.  For so many reasons this was devastating news.  I have been thinking about her all the time.  My heart feels heavy for her.  It is like a black cloud, a heavy weight that just won’t go away.  And for her the weight is much heavier, especially as she watches her very young children and loving husband deal with the news.  Especially as she experiences the pain, contemplates the future and attempts to resume some kind of normalcy.  And unfortunately I know that this is a story that you are familiar with in some way- either through your own experiences or the experiences of someone you care about.  This life is not easy and we don’t need an insurance company to tell us.  We are human, we suffer and the people we love suffer and it is hard.  Sometimes we just need a break.
Jesus brings a break.  If you think about the people that he healed, the rest of their stories, it is a break that he gives them.  They are still human, they will suffer again, they will be ill again, they will wrestle demons again in many ways, and they will all die.  But for a beautiful, miracle moment … they are whole and healed, they are touched by the divine.
But here we are, all these years later, reading these stories.  Reading about people with illness, pain and suffering flocking to Jesus and being healed with a simple touch.  We read this while we are surrounded by illness, pain and suffering and we too hope to find Jesus walking into town so we can crowd around his door and receive healing.  But Jesus knew he wouldn’t get to every sick person, every hospital, every house, every pain.  He knew and so he brought a kind of healing that is once and for all.
The beginning of Mark’s Gospel is full of these kinds of healing stories.  Jesus is busy casting out demons and restoring people.  Until he gets to Jerusalem and then it is about a different kind of healing and restoration.  One that will be once and for all, for everyone, every where -even the ones who did not get to feel his touch while he walked from town to town.  Jesus understands the human condition, the weight of it, the burdens we bear, and offers a kind of hope, peace and joy that is a lasting break from the pain.
Even though life is hard, even though it hurts, because of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we can know that in the end, love wins.  In the end we will be restored with God.  Sometimes in life it can become difficult to see this.  Everything feels so heavy.  Sometimes we forget the Good News of the Gospel, the good news of Christ’s strong and enduring love.
Sometimes, we, even the ones who hear sermon after sermon and read chapter after chapter in the Bible- the ones who pray night after night.  Sometimes we long for a break, we long for hope, we long for more faith.
In the reading from Isaiah, the people are also longing for hope, for faith, for a break from oppression, exile and wandering.  And we hear these words, “Have you not known? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth?”  When these words were spoken by the prophet Isaiah the people of Israel lived in exile.  Babylon ruled them and they were powerful and to be feared.  The people could see no way out.  They were beginning to believe that Babylon’s rule would be everlasting, that Babylon was in control and not their God.  And so God basically says “do you forget who I am?  I am more powerful than Babylon or any of their Gods.”  “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.”
Sometimes we need reminded of God’s power, sometimes we need to remember the hope of Christ.  Sometimes we just need a break from the weight of the world.  But don’t forget.  Don’t forget that it is God that is everlasting.  Let  us remember what we have heard- in the books of the Old Testament, the Gospels and the witness of believers today.  In Mark’s Gospel even the demons know who Jesus is.  Let us then, remember and proclaim that in Christ we are restored.
I find that on these long winter days, when it is too cold or too snowy to be outside and life just seems a bit darker, it can be hard to find the light.  But in those famous words of Isaiah we hear, “those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”  So let us then come to the table, taste and see the healing presence of Jesus Christ, be renewed, restored and strengthened.  Let us shed the weights that are heavy and, even if just for a moment, take a break in the strong and everlasting arms of Jesus.  

Emotional (Winter 2015)

Entering the “middle-aged” phase of life, taking time away from my career, raising two children and an intense experience of post-partum depression have all caused me to do some digging …digging into myself: purpose, baggage, identity and also digging into life: meaning, purpose, coping, joy. In the process I have been thinking about who I am and what that means for how I relate to the world. So here comes this revelation which is probably not shocking to those who know me … I am an emotional person. I do not watch Lifetime Movies and weep or scream and yell for no reason … which I think are some of the immediate images people bring to mind when they hear “emotional.” Instead, what emotional means for me is that I process things through my emotions.

When I was going through the ordination process (Candidacy Guidebook for UMers) I shared with my mentor that I was worried I was too sensitive for ministry. He was worried too because he knew how difficult ministry is, how emotionally-laden it is. So now after 7 years of full time ministry I have come to the conclusion that there is no sense worrying about this or trying to change who I am, it just is what it is. And this has many advantages.

Sure, it means that I do get upset and sometimes take it personally when people leave the church. My stomach hurts when there is a church conflict. My heart aches when I see pews full of grieving faces at a funeral and I care … genuinely. I think it also means I connect with people in a deep and meaningful way because I crave that. I like to draw people out and get to know who they are because that is what I am called to do, who I am, I love the connection to another human being. Maturity, experience and learning have enabled me to be a calm presence for others and control my emotions in times of crisis when I am in the role of pastor. So I can sit with those who are dying and be a collected and confident presence, but I still believe that my emotional nature has enabled me to connect with people in a way I really value.

Still, sometimes it just really hurts: ministry, relationships, family, life … it can hurt. When I experienced post-partum depression I felt like I was losing control of my emotions and it was terrifying. When I see some of my traits in my son I worry about the pain and heart ache that awaits. But I also love the excitement and meaning that awaits. I don’t really think anyone is completely emotion-less and stoic. I suppose it is a spectrum. Perhaps the best thing to do is own where we are on the spectrum, accept it and hang on for the ride.

Sermon from 1/11/15 Lutheran Church of Our Savior

Let There Be Light

Genesis 1:1-5, Mark 1:4-11
A couple weeks ago we came home late in the evening and as we were walking from the car to our house my 3 year old looked up at the very cold, dark sky and pointed. He said, “Mommy, is that the star for Jesus?” After all of the Sunday School lessons, books read and church services I was so delighted that the Christmas story had sunk in and after pausing for a moment I said “Yes, I think it is.” He then excitedly yelled, “I see it! Daddy I see the star for Jesus!” I wondered how much of that innocent excitement was experienced by those foreign sky-watchers so many years ago on Epiphany as they followed the star to Jesus. I also wondered how many people in the world today are looking up at a cold, dark sky and looking for light, looking for some sign of hope, that God is here. These bitterly cold January days leave many of us longing for light- longing for the lights of our warm home at the end of our day’s journey, or the light of a crackling fire as the snow falls outside, or the light of a Florida sun and a nice vacation. These long days of winter are cold, harsh and dark, and they may leave many of us feeling cold, harsh and dark, looking to the sky in search of something to hope for.

And it seems to me that those are just the type of circumstances in which the powerful light of God breaks through. After all, it did all start out that way. In the creation story from Genesis we hear about a dark and formless void … chaos. And with a mere utterance light comes through. “Let there be light.” This is how it all began. A dramatic shift from darkness to light.

The truth is that sometimes we forget that the light follows the darkness. Sometimes the night sky seems endless. The hopeless stories, the pain we are experiencing, the weight of depression, the questions, the suffering, sometimes it seems so thick, so all-encompassing that we can’t imagine the light will follow. Sometimes we forget that God says “let there be light.”

And in the Gospel of Mark reading today that light has come in a new way. Mark’s Gospel begins with anticipation, with pointing and waiting. First we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah, words about preparing, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” And then the very next line says “John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness …” And he is calling people to prepare, to prepare by repenting. To be pushed down into the water, into the darkness, to wash away their sins, and emerge clean, prepared, ready for the light. And John tells the people that good things are coming. The one, the one that many have waited for, the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit is coming. Their darkness will be no more, the light is near. And then Jesus comes and is baptized.

The Gospel of Mark is written in a very hurried way. Everything happens “suddenly” and right away. There is no story of the baby Jesus, no beautiful words about the Word and the beginning like in John. Instead, this is the account Mark tells. A quotation from Isaiah, a brief description of John the Baptist and then he is here. Jesus. Straight from Nazareth and then off to begin his epic journey right away. If someone was new to Christianity and picked up the Gospel of Mark and started reading, they may not understand the hoping and waiting that took place before Jesus came. They might not know of the many generations that passed hoping for a Savior. Of the many who looked to the dark sky hoping for a star, but could only wait. In the Gospel reading today it all just seems to happen so quickly.

But we know, we know what it means to wait and hope. We know what it means to be in the darkness looking for light. Any of us who have felt sadness, grief or pain. Any who have struggled with depression, anxiety or loneliness. Any who have contemplated what it means to be human, to live on this earth, so vulnerable, so mortal, so attached to others who are also vulnerable. Any who have struggled to find answers, to find comfort, to see a future with hope. We know about the waiting, the fears, the chaos, the darkness that comes before the light.

But John the Baptist knew what the prophet Isaiah knew, what the waters of creation knew … that something good was coming. That the darkness would bring forth light. That God is here. And so Jesus comes and he is baptized. He is plunged into the waters and emerges in a beautiful light- the heavens “torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.”
Today is Baptism-of-our-Lord. It is a day when we remember and celebrate that amazing and beautiful event that happened when Christ emerged from the waters. And we also remember and celebrate our own baptisms.

I have had the opportunity to be a part of the ritual of baptism from a number of perspectives. Of course as a baby I was baptized, and as a pastor I had the honor of baptizing many from newborns to adults, as part of the congregation I have participated in the service and watched from the pews, as a sponsor I have stood behind a dear friend being baptized and as a parent I have watched as both of my boys were baptized. So I can confess that each of these roles has unique challenges. As a baby I obviously had no idea what was going on other than a shock of water poured on my head. As the pastor there are so many things to think about for a baptism: sufficiently counseling the parents beforehand, making arrangements with the altar guild and others helping, making sure the congregation knows their part, wondering if the acolytes will remember their parts, keeping the baby from ripping my microphone off and making sure it all goes smoothly. As a parent you are just hoping that the timing will work out so that the baby is not hungry, screamy, stinky or spitting up. As the sponsor you want to remember your part. And as a member of the congregation you are hoping to see around the heads in front of you and all the while remember your own baptismal vows. It can all be an exercise in avoiding distractions. And yet, even with all of that … there is that moment. That moment in every baptism I have ever been a part of … that moment when it hits you. The presence of the Holy Spirit is felt and it is breath-taking.

Because beyond the adorable white outfits and well-spoken liturgy is this amazingly bold act. An act that connects us with Jesus and the earliest Christians. A vow that lasts forever and a rock solid faith that God is there, present in the water. An act that is defiant. It is defiant because we look death right in the face and say “you are not the final word.” We dive right into the darkness, drown in the waters of despair, death and sin, we fall deeply with courage knowing that we will come up, we will see the light again, knowing that the darkness brings the light. Knowing that God said “let there be light.” Knowing that Jesus does not leave us in the darkness. It is defiant because in our baptism and every time we reaffirm our baptism we say that this is what we will live by. In a world of fear and sadness and a darkness that at times can seem overwhelming, we will live above the waters, we will live as baptized Christians, we will live in the light of Christ.

This is our story as Christians. The story of Christ is one of darkness and light, but the light always has the final word. We dive deep into the waters because we know that we will come up for air, we will see the light. We follow Christ to the darkness of the cross because we know that resurrection will follow. And our eyes search the darkness of the night sky because we know the light is there, we know the darkness will not overcome us.

And when we don’t know this, when we lose sight of the light, when our faith waivers, when we are afraid, alone, hurting or just unsure … we can come again to the baptismal font and reaffirm those promises. We can take comfort in this community of faith praying for us when we are too weak to pray on our own and somehow, some way the light will come. Because the darkness brings light.

About a week before Christmas we got a call at the house from a member of my husband’s church saying that his wife had died in the night. This man is a devoted church member, hard-working, kind and well-loved. I prayed for him the day before Christmas Eve as he said his final good-bye and attended his wife’s funeral. I told him that when I saw him at the Christmas day service. He told me that he had lost a wife before this and had also buried children. He knew pain, he knew darkness, he knew the uncertainties of life. At the end of the service I sat my 10 month old son down in the aisle while I picked up all the snacks he and my other son had spilled from my attempt to keep them quiet for church by filling their mouths with snacks. My baby is in a phase right now where he is very attached to me and cries if anyone else tries to hold him or sometimes if I just put him down. So he started to fuss a bit. The man I was telling you about came over to say goodbye and my baby reached up his arms. So he picked him up. I turned around to see them happily giggling at each other and parading around for all to see their smiles.

It was a great Christmas moment …hope in the form of a tiny baby. Joy in the midst of tears. Loneliness on hold for love. And somehow some way light coming forth from the darkness.

My Favorite Story to Tell (March 2014)

I’m not sure if it is considered appropriate or inappropriate or TMI to share a birth story.  Maybe no one cares.  After all, babies are born everyday.  Regardless, I love to tell the stories of how my sons were born.  I haven’t written on my blog in a long time.  Mostly because of lack of time, but partly lack of inspiration.  So I thought  I would get back into it with a story that inspires me, moves me, reveals me, comforts me, scares me, makes me laugh and makes me cry.  Here is the story of how Isaiah was born.

For weeks I had been having contractions.  This happened with my first son and he was born at 37 weeks.  I started to get concerned when the contractions were getting intense and I was not yet at 37 weeks.  I went to the doctor on February 28 for my regular check up.  I was 3 cm.  For some people this may seem like amazing progress, but with my first son I was 8 cm at my 37 week check up so I figured I had a while.  The forecast  showed a snowstorm for the weekend so I texted my mom “looks like we will make it past the snowstorm."  My husband left for an overnight retreat, I had friends from out of town visit and life seemed normal.  The next day I started to get anxious for my husband to get home.  I didn’t know why.  I wasn’t having contractions.

I snuggled up in bed with my 2 and a half year old to read books and cuddle him to sleep.  The contractions started.  I looked at my husband and said "that one was kind of intense."  I came downstairs for our Saturday night routine of him reading his sermon to me.  I was having a hard time concentrating.  I decided to go to bed to try to make them stop.  My son woke me up a couple of hours later for our usual routine of walking him back to his bed.  The contractions were really intense and really close together.  I tried different positions, breathing, prayer, still they came.  I decided I needed to call the doctor.  She said to go to the hospital.  It was about 1am and snowing like crazy.  I just felt like it wasn’t the real deal yet.  I was not yet at 37 weeks and I did not want to think of the possibility of having a premature baby.  I didn’t want to call someone to come stay with our son and make everyone wake up and drive in the snow for a false alarm.  So I insisted on driving myself.  As I was scraping ice off the car I wondered if that was a good decision.  Central Avenue was terrible, but some of that might have been from the fog I was in.  It was so surreal, was this happening?  The man in the security booth in the parking garage gave me a funny look as I held my giant stomach.  I got in Triage in Labor and Delivery.  I was 5 cm.  The nurse said "call your husband, this is happening."  I called him.  I still didn’t really believe it was happening.

I moved to a delivery room.  The nurse wrote "March 2, 2014 Happy Birthday Isaiah!” on the dry erase board.  Part of me felt like telling her she might be wrong because I still didn’t believe it was happening.  2am and I was all alone in a great big room.  The same kind of room I delivered my first son in.  Instead of contemplating the weight of the moment or reminiscing, I texted.  Fortunately my two best friends were having a bachelorette party in Vegas so they texted back.  They sent me pictures of them in a casino giving me thumbs up.  I sent a picture of my sleepy, gigantic self with as much of a smile as I could make.  I missed my husband.  I wanted him there.  And then he walked in.  Pajama pants, sleepy eyes, comforting smile, calm demeanor.  One of Oscar’s favorite people, the woman who babysat him when I worked, answered her phone and drove in the snow at 3am to be with him.  I breathed a sigh of relief, he would be fine.  My mom would come later, he was cared for.  Now it was time to think about my other son.

As the nurses and doctors came in they marveled at my stoicism.  Deep breaths, mantras, smiles and laughs while the monitor registered some intense contractions.  “Yes I am sure I do not want an epidural."  At 8am I took a picture of my husband sleeping on the couch.  This was after he made arrangements for Sunday services to be covered.  Of course a preacher’s kid would come unexpectedly on a Sunday morning.
8:30am they broke my water.  Things started getting intense.  Now I could not move or talk during contractions.  Still calm though, still thinking it may not really be happening.  I said to my husband "isn’t it weird that right now we are in one of those life moments we will remember forever?"

The nurse asked me to turn on my side.  I did.  And immediately I thought "Oh my gosh this is really happening!"  I started telling her, my husband and anyone who would listen that actually I couldn’t do it.  Then for some reason I started talking like my 2 year old.  As I was saying the words I knew they were borrowed from him.   "I can’t do this."  "I need help."  "I need an epidural."  "I have to go to the bathroom."  "I need drugs now."  The nurse said "it’s too late."  I said "no don’t say that, you can’t say that."  Nurse: "I need you to move on your back."  Me: "No way."  Nurse: "I am going to grab your leg."  Me: "I might kick you."  In an instant my calm "mind over matter” self gave way to complete and total panic.  The doctor came in.  She said I was close.  I heard one nurse say to the other “she is fully dilated but only negative 1 station."  I had just looked up what the stations meant the day before and knew he had a long way to go.  I told the doctor I didn’t believe her when she said I was close.  I pushed for an hour with my first one, so I knew better.

The doctor said "Do what I say and he will be here in two big pushes."  I said "no, I can’t do it"  and then I did exactly as she said.  "Hold your legs, chin down, inhale and don’t exhale, push."  After the first big push I looked at the doctor and said "you are going to have to do a cesarean."  She said "he’s in the birth canal, let’s have a baby."  Again, I did everything she said - no grunting, no yelling, just a big breath in.  There were cheers, encouragement, tears from my husband and my only scream as the shoulders came out.
And then a 7lb 10oz gooey, hairy baby on my chest.  He nursed for an hour. This time around no one was in the waiting room to meet him
, so we took our time.  He was born at 9:57am.  Isaiah was calm.  When the nurse took him to clean him, my husband talked to him and the nurse remarked on how familiar he was with my husband’s voice.  My whole body was shaking.  I was so happy it was over.  So happy to have my baby in my arms.  So happy to never be pregnant again.  So happy to meet sweet Isaiah.

The days at the hospital were lovely.  My older son came and was so sweet and wonderful with the baby.  My recovery was nothing compared to the first time.  He nursed wonderfully and he actually slept, which was not our experience with our first one.  The day after I came home from the hospital was when the waves of emotions started.  I was so happy to have my baby, so overwhelmed with love and yet my hormones seemed to be taking control.  Panic, sadness, fear, depression, elation … it was overwhelming.  I knew it would be over soon, but those days were awful.  I don’t know that many people talk about the "baby blues” or whatever it’s called, but it is intense.  For weeks I did not write in my journal or have meaningful conversation for fear of those emotions coming back.  But on Easter Sunday as we left behind the darkness of Lent for the light of the resurrection I happily shouted “Alleluia!” and gave thanks for eternal hope.   I feel more myself again.  Isaiah is wonderful and his brother is an amazing big brother.  As my husband said “now that phase of our lives is over and we can move on to adventures as a family." 

That’s my story.  There are more amusing details I include in the live version.  It has been very cathartic to write it out.  Pain, suffering, joy and healing … this is how new life comes.