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 Sermon from 2023 Easter Vigil, Matthew 28:1-10

          Where is home for you? Now, before you give me your address and zip code, I want you to pause, take a deep breath and picture home. What image appears in your mind?

          For me, it’s an orange wooden house on a one way street. It’s the house I grew up in, and the first image that comes to mind is a vivid memory I have of being very young and walking down the street with my family in the cold. We lived just down the street from the high school and must have been walking home from some performance for my oldest sister. I remember feeling warm inside even though my cheeks were cold- as I saw the big bright Christmas bulbs lining our porch, partially covered in snow. It was beckoning, it was warm, it was safe, it was where I wanted to be, it was home.

          As I read the scriptures for today I find myself returning again and again to that image, that concept, that feeling … called home. In the first reading from Exodus, God is actively bringing the people away from the place they had lived to a new land, one where they can be free, one where they can live as God’s people, one that has been promised. As they begin this journey, they must have been trembling. Trembling from the trauma and grief they endured through the plagues and death, trauma from what they endured as slaves. They may also have been trembling from awe and wonder as they witnessed inexplicable miracles and heard God’s words to them through Moses. They must have been trembling with fear as they left everything they had known and desperately ran toward a wilderness with no map and no emergency preparedness plan. There was so much trauma, pain, emotion and unknown. But God was calling them, to a new place, beckoning them to a place of freedom … bringing them home.

          In the reading from Baruch, the people are being called to follow the “shining light” of God’s presence and wisdom, to leave the foreign lands they occupy, hear the calling of God and live as God’s people. In Ezekiel, God tells the people that God will gather them up, clean them, and they will live as God’s people, God calls them home to the land of their ancestors. In Zephaniah, God says “I will bring you home” and we again have this vision of restoration, regathering ... coming home. Tonight as we read through these scriptures, we were brought on a journey in the darkness and called to hear God calling us home, longing to regather us, to restore us, to bring us to a new place … a shining light.

          And then, God does something new, God enters humanity through Jesus Christ. God walks among us. And through the words, actions, love and presence of Christ we hear that same call … come home. But this isn’t a new land or a geographic location we are called to, it is union with God through the resurrected Christ.

          As I talk about home, I think of two of our newly baptized Christians as they pack up the home they have known and prepare to move to a new state, a new land, a new home. It is fitting and beautiful that Kirstyn and Amy were baptized here tonight, with us, before they leave. This place has been their home in many ways. They have built relationships here, become excellent acolytes and leaders in the youth group and literally grown. Oh, and they have giggled … a lot. But when I think back on their years here and the seven years I have known them, it is clear that they have been their authentic selves … always. From the days when they were two wide-eyed and round-cheeked choristers to now- they have never pretended and have always challenged others to be themselves as well. They ask the hard questions, they question authority, they push boundaries and they love … fiercely. I have watched them laugh, cry, ask hard questions, take risks by opening their hearts to others, make mistakes, make confessions and wrestle with all the hard stuff and good stuff of life and always in a way that is so authentically them. And so I know that this place, these walls have been a home to them, a place where they can feel safe and cared for. But I also know that when they move far away, they won’t be leaving home because they will always be their authentic selves wherever they go and their direct gaze and blunt honesty will call others to that same authenticity. They will take home with them, because home is with them, in them, always accessible within their souls.

        This is the home Christ calls us to in the resurrection. Not a place we need to travel to, but a place that is always accessible, as the resurrected Christ dwells in our souls. Jesus calls us to union with God and shows us that our relationship with God doesn’t end when we change locations or when we make that final earthly journey through death.

 When Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to the tomb to be where Jesus is, they find that he is not there and then, as they leave, as they walk away with fear, there they find him. Right there with them, on the journey- not at the destination, but present with them.

 Jesus is present here with us, in the bread and wine, in the waters of baptism and in our soul. Each person that was baptized is marked by the Holy Spirit forever, a mark that will always remind them that Christ is with them. As they journey out into the world and leave behind this moment of baptism, as they walk away from the empty tomb, there Christ will be … on the journey … not at some final destination … but present with them. A permanent home that can never be taken away. A permanent home that you can always find.

 

In her book, The Interior Castle, Saint Teresa of Avila writes extensively on her own inner journey that she believes is an experience universal for all who seek to dwell in Christ and have Christ dwell in them. She writes beautiful descriptions of various dwellings one must travel through to finally get to that final place where one can experience the full union of Christ. But these dwellings are not landmarks, or houses or churches, they are within and accessed through prayer and devotion. Of the seventh and final dwelling she writes, “When the soul approaches the Beloved now, he bestows upon her the kiss sought by the bride. And enfolded in this kiss are all the other blessings that come with every degree of prayer that has unfolded along the soul’s journey home to him. In my understanding, it is here in this dwelling that all the soul has been longing for is fulfilled. Here the wounded deer is given abundant water to drink. Here the soul delights beneath God’s holy tent. Here the dove Noah sent out to see if the storm was over finds the olive branch as a sign that firm ground exists amid the storms and floods of this world.”[1]

 

What St Teresa writes of is home, but not in some distant place, right here, right in the midst of a world that is broken. A world where there is fear, there is danger, there is pain, there is sadness. And right in the midst of your heart, a heart where there is fear, there is pain, there is sadness. That is where Christ meets us. No longer confined to a body, Christ is in all things and all places and at all times. Christ within me, before me, beside me.

          That house that I talked about … the orange one with the big Christmas lights … I went to see it last year. I was visiting family and wanted to show it to my kids. It is now gray, not orange. The house next to it has been torn down; the school up the street from it has also been torn down. All the kids I ran around with in the summer have moved away and the family inside of it- we have all dispersed and live in all different places. I have no idea who lives in it now. It isn’t home anymore. It’s just a building that triggers nostalgia. But the warmth of those Christmas lights and the love I encountered there are still home- and they exist in my heart, along with many many experiences of love from my years of living in many different houses. I moved away but home never left me. Because the source of love, the Spirit that cleansed me at my baptism is ever present within me and each person baptized tonight, and each of us, and our beloveds who have died. And so we sing Alleluia because Christ has not left us, and we are home, here beneath God’s holy tent. Here at the baptismal font and the Eucharistic table. We are home with the risen Christ and so we say, Alleluia …  Amen.

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[1] Avila, Teresa. Mirabai Starr(translation). The Interior Castle. Riverhead Books. 2003. Pg. 283.

My Favorite

 

Sermon from Grace and St Stephen’s 3/12/23 John 4:5-42

          During ordinary time in the church year, or “green” seasons, I wear a stole that was custom made for me at my ordination. It was a gift from my friends and family and was made by a woman who takes various parts of your story and incorporates them into a stole. One of the more prominent figures on mine is the woman at the well, who we get to know in the Gospel reading today. She is on my stole because this story is my favorite passage of scripture.

 

When I was growing up, sometimes my Baptist friend would invite me to a church event and everyone was invited to go around and say their favorite scripture, I never had any idea what to say. I went to church every Sunday at The United Methodist Church and always went to Sunday School but I didn’t memorize scripture passages and random one-liners didn’t hold much appeal to me. So I often just reached for something I could remember like Noah or the Good Samaritan. That was before I met the Samaritan woman going to the well to get water. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me my favorite scripture but I wouldn’t hesitate now, it’s this one … it’s her … and him and this conversation.

          It’s hard for me to put into words why I love it so much and how it speaks so deeply to my soul. Somehow I just feel very seen in this passage. I don’t know exactly why but their conversation and back and forth brings up excitement and deep feelings for me. One of my favorite weeks in my Gospel of John class in seminary is when we did a deep dive into this passage. We read commentaries from all different perspectives and even some really interesting literature that attempts to build on this story and create a made up narrative beyond it. So I guess other people have felt inspired by it too.

          Maybe I also like it so much because it reminds me of deep conversations that I have experienced myself. The kind of conversations that feel very real, genuine and like a deep connection is made.

 

          For example, about 20 years ago I remember driving late at night through a series of bridges and tunnels between New Jersey and Manhattan. I was in seminary, living in New Jersey and watching Saturday Night Live with friends when one of my friends realized he missed the last train to his apartment in Manhattan. Having just moved from Ohio and never having driven to New York City before, I said I would give him a ride if someone came with me. Another friend agreed. After we dropped him off and made it through the city traffic I began to have a conversation with this other friend. We were attending a United Methodist seminary and so many of us were preparing to be United Methodist pastors, but this particular friend and his roommate had recently converted to the Episcopal Church and they really loved it. They were always talking about it and their new found love of traditional liturgy and things like chanting and incense and saints. They seemed to always find a way to bring their excitement of being Episcopalian into every conversation. I visited their Episcopal Church and it was lovely but without full text bulletins I was a bit distracted by all the book-juggling as a newcomer. So late at night, as the city skyline faded in the rearview mirror I asked him, “Do you think you are better than everyone because you are an Episcopalian?” I think the question surprised him, but it turned out to be a great conversation and all these years later I think we can all feel pretty confident that the answer to that is “yes, yes he does think he is better than everyone because he is an Episcopalian.” Is that right Father Jeremiah?

          So when the Samaritan woman is at the well to get a drink and Jesus tells her to get him a drink and she fires back with some direct questions, including, “Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us this well?” I hear it as “do you think you are better than Jacob?” and I like her. She is direct, she is bold and she is honest and Jesus seems to like her too because he continues to engage with her and offers her “living water.”

 

          I think sometimes when people talk about this passage they talk about this woman as an outcast, as someone to be pitied, as someone who has lived what others may call a “sinful life.” But what I encounter in this passage is someone who is confident, and not afraid to be direct with a Jewish man talking to her alone in the middle of the day. Samaritans and Jewish people were not supposed to get along and had a long history of issues. And a man and a woman who were strangers weren’t supposed to be talking to each other alone. In fact, we read that when the disciples found him they were “astonished that he was speaking with a woman.” The text goes on to say, “but no one said, what do you want or, why are you speaking with her.” I wish they would have; I would love to hear Jesus’ answer. Perhaps if they too would have been honest then they too could have understood better what Jesus was saying about who he is. But they didn’t.

 

          I think people often pity this woman because of what we learn about her. Jesus says that she has had five husbands and that the guy she is currently with is not her husband. Because of this she is often cast as sad or shameful or desperate.  But what I find interesting is that the text doesn’t say that. Jesus describes her situation matter-of-factly and never pairs it with any judgment. He is MUCH nicer to her than he is to the Pharisees and Sadducees he gets so mad at. Her past and her situation are what they are, and she doesn’t miss a beat over it. He tells her he knows these things, notes that she was being honest and then she gets right back into the back and forth. In fact, she goes into tricky territory by bringing up long-standing theological differences between her people and his people. And he continues to explain to her who he is and what he means and through her questions she gets there … she gets him … she sees him for who he is and she can’t wait to tell everyone else. And, what the text tells us is that people believed her. Even though we are often told that she is an outcast and full of shame and judged- what the text tells us is that she tells people about Jesus and they believe her- they drop what they are doing and go to see him because of what she says. They also ask Jesus to stay and he does.

 

          Jesus, God incarnate, engaged in a deep conversation with a bold Samaritan woman and so many lives were changed because of it. And she, the Samaritan woman, wasted no time in engaging this Jewish man sitting at the well, telling her to give him a drink and so many lives were changed because of it.

          In her book, Abuelita Faith, Kat Armas says, “Jesus doesn’t just talk to an otherwise despised woman- as many theologians have pointed out to be radical- but he assumes her agency and engages her in mutuality. Jesus welcomes the Samaritan woman’s challenge, participating with her in teologia en conjunto, the act of theologizing together in collaboration. And through their back-and-forth exchange, the mujer at the well encounters the Living Water- our sacred water who himself heals, gives life, and restores.”

          She sees him and he sees her and the result is beautiful. Maybe that’s what I like so much about this passage. I know what it feels like to be seen and I know how it feels to let someone else know they are seen. Not with judgment, not with shame, not with surface politeness, but truly seen and accepted. Jesus sees the Samaritan woman and a well of life giving water is opened inside of her. The kind of water that seeps deep into your bones, the kind of water that never runs dry, the kind of water that gives you courage to go and share it with others.

 

          When have you felt seen? Trauma psychiatrist Bessel Van Der Kolk says, “Social support is the most powerful protection against becoming overwhelmed by stress and trauma.  The critical issue is reciprocity, being truly heard and seen by the people around us, feeling that we are held in someone else's mind and heart.” Jesus and the Samaritan woman truly saw and heard each other and that was more powerful than their backgrounds, differences, genders or social norms.

 

          At the winter youth group retreat in January the teens and I got into a conversation about God’s grace. I was telling them about how God loves us just as we are, even when we don’t deserve it and that is grace. They started asking questions- which the Samaritan woman would appreciate. They asked “what about this or this” and I said God still loves them. One asked about Jeffrey Dahmer which got everyone saying, “well, surely he is too evil for God’s love.” But I told them, I’m sticking with grace. God’s grace is bigger and more than we can ever imagine.

 

          Behind their questions about famous criminals or people who did horrible things I heard the deeper question … what about me? What if you really knew me, my mistakes, my bad thoughts, my failings, my dark thoughts- would you still say God loves me? What if God sees me, really sees me … beyond the front I put up, beyond politeness, beyond good behaviors … would God still love me, would I still receive the living waters that eternally quench thirst?

 

          Maybe that’s why I love this passage so much … because sometimes I ask too many questions, I can be too direct, too honest, too curious, and feel too judged by the world around me … but Jesus sticks around. It’s real, the living waters, God’s radical acceptance, God’s grace, Jesus’s invitation to a deeper relationship- it was real 2,000 years ago and it’s real today so … yeah … I really like this story.

Heart Stuff

 Sermon from 2/12/23 First UMC Prairie Campus Matthew 5:21-37

          Last week a group I am part of called Neighbors for Education sponsored an event that featured a lecture on the topic of Social and Emotional learning in schools. Through my involvement with my kids’ school and my involvement with this group, I am spent a lot of time listening to people talk about education. I have attended workshops and many meetings on the topic. But the vast majority of them center around achievement numbers. As the chair of the School Accountability Committee at my kids’ school, I try to keep on top of these things, especially since this year their school became what’s called a “priority improvement school” meaning the average test scores were low and so now there is a whole lot of assessments and resources and analysis and interrogation all with the goal of raising the test scores. And all with the effect of increasing pressure on administration and teachers. At School Accountability meetings we hold our breath and cross our fingers as the principal posts the latest assessment scores for us to discuss. We use words like “benchmarks” and “meeting grade level” “state standards” “performance” and “achievement.” And I understand that schools need to meet certain standards and that some type of evaluation is necessary to ensure that schools are addressing the needs of the students. At the same time, what I have always loved about my kids’ school and the reason we are not only loyal to it but love it, trust it and invest in it with our time and energy is because it is a warm place where my kids are respected, cared for and valued. And my perspective as a parent is heard and the principal wears silly costumes and the teachers like each other and I know that my kids are being cared for.

          So I went to the event on Social and Emotional learning prepared for data, facts and arguments, but what I heard turned out to be far more relevant and far more moving. Dr. Avi Lessing introduced himself, gave some information and then turned to a slide with these words at the top, “Is school good for the soul?” And then he invited us to find a couple of other people and share with one another about a time when school was good for our soul. The stories of the people around me were moving. One talked about a teacher he had that took the time to get to know him and encourage him and stayed in contact with him and his family for decades until his death. Another talked about finding the “theater kids” and feeling a sense of belonging through their acceptance. I too had stories about teachers who took the time to see me, listen to me and show me I mattered. Not one person talked about test scores. The speaker talked about how schools can be places of learning, not just achieving. And at a time when teachers are resigning every day I can’t help but think that many schools are in need of that kind of shift. A place of learning sounds to me like a place where curiosity is stirred from within a child, where experiences are valued and there is not just time but a priority on relationships. Things you can’t always see from an outside score.

          I thought about this as I read the Gospel reading for today. Jesus covers a lot of ground in this passage. He is talking to his disciples and he isn’t watering anything down. This speech is direct, challenging and hard to hear. I mean, maybe you were ok with the stuff about not murdering or breaking an oath- but I am going to guess the whole “throw away your eye and cut off your hand” part woke you up a bit. It sounds intense.

          Jesus starts with “you have heard it said” and then takes it up a notch. You have heard it said “don’t murder” but I say “don’t be angry.” You have heard it said “do not commit adultery” but I say “don’t have lust.” You have heard it said “don’t break a vow” but I say “don’t even make a vow.” He takes it to the next level.

          If you think about it, what Jesus is saying in all of these instances is that it isn’t so much about your achievements and performances, your right actions and avoidance of things like murder- it’s about what’s happening inside. He doesn’t just want your test scores- he wants your heart. It isn’t about a checklist or a performance evaluation, it’s about whether or not your heart is oriented to love. In his commentary on this passage, Daniel Harrington says, “[Jesus is] moving into the realm of internal dispositions from which evil actions proceed.”[1]     

          And so when he starts by talking about murder, he brings it to anger, recognizing the root of the action. And so he talks about making it right with one another, making peace with each other. He then talks about adultery but makes it about “committing adultery in one’s heart.” It is about working on the lust from within that dishonors the relationship. It’s about getting to the root of it, the internal causes, before the action takes place. And that’s why we have that weird stuff about throwing away your eye and cutting off your hand. Jesus is making a point about finding the source, getting to the root … and whether or not we are fixating our hearts on love or other things.

          I also find it interesting what this does to our inclination to judge others. It kind of shifts that for us. For example, if one is feeling righteous because they have not cheated or murdered, they might want to rethink that after hearing this. Before you point at and shame others you might want to take a minute and look inside- do you find anger … lust … mixed up priorities … broken promises? Perhaps then compassion rather than judgment is the best response. Perhaps then looking inside at how one can better orient themselves toward love rather than comparison is the best response.

          So many of the problems we see in the world could be made better by all of us looking within ourselves, by working to reorient our hearts toward love. In her book Abuelita Faith, Kat Armas writes, “As Christians, we all must seek to live holistic lives. This means that we must constantly evaluate how we might be participating- both personally and systemically- in practices that plague others. I know I am always having to look internally at my ways of being and understanding the world that might perpetuate injustice- from evaluating my prejudices to my spending habits, and from whom I learn from to how I care for creation. It’s an ongoing effort that I must commit to until I meet my ancestors in el cielo, in heaven.”

          What Kat Armas is talking about might sound like a lot as it goes beyond a checklist of avoidance, “did you murder anyone today? No? check!” and looks deeper into oneself and how our actions align with our Christian values and beliefs. For example, looking at the ways our beliefs and actions are informed by racism and working to change that instead of just patting ourselves on the back for not using a racial slur.

          Like Jesus and his “cut off the hand” talk, it does take it up a notch, it doesn’t let anyone off the hook and it calls us to a higher standard. But this calling is not a burden, it is an act of love. We are loved so deeply by our Creator, that we can go and live out that love ourselves. We can live in God’s love by shifting our heart toward that love and offering it to others. You see it isn’t about rules or standards or check lists or tests or comparisons … it’s about love. Being loved by God and offering love to others.

          My oldest son is in fifth grade and as he nears his end of elementary school I find myself reflecting back on his elementary experience. What I remember, and what will stay with me is not the test scores or assessment data, but rather the ways the people in that building embraced him. Like when the teacher got tears in her eyes talking about his love of learning, or when another teacher took extra time to help him pursue his curiosity even with an overcrowded classroom full of students with various needs, or when another teacher lined up the students outside the classroom to cheer him on when he was doing online school and walked by on his way to complete an assessment, or when the school counselor did one on one virtual chats with him during covid school closures just to make sure he was doing ok, or when friends accepted and encouraged him, when Band-Aids were placed on boo boos with love and treats were shared with generosity. All of the times when he was shown and taught love … when school was good for the soul. Those are the things that will stay with him and will enable him to demonstrate that same love to others in his life.

          The thing is … we are never going to get it right all the time. Our hearts stray, our intentions blur and our actions cause pain. But we keep trying because this is our calling as God’s beloved children and God gives us grace so that we can keep trying, we can keep leaning into that love, realigning ourselves and reorienting our hearts. And as we make this journey through life and eventually find ourselves leaving this life, it is those experiences of giving and receiving love, those memories of care, kindness and warmth that will guide us back into the loving arms of our eternal source of love.

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[1] Harrington, Daniel J. Sacra Pagina: Matthew, pg 91

Unbrace Yourself

 

Sermon from Beth El Mennonite November 27, 2022 Advent 1, Narrative Lectionary: Habakkuk 1:1-7; 2:1-4; 3[3b-6], 17-19

         

          It was the Friday before Thanksgiving and at about 6 am my kids excitedly woke up to a snow-covered yard. They rushed into my room and asked “is it a snow day?” I broke the news to them that it would be a full school day as usual and then endured the whining and lamenting that followed. Normally we walk to school, but it was about 10 degrees out and they were already whining so I decided to drive them. We slid our way onto Circle and slowly drove by cars struggling to get their tires to move in the snow. I had lots of places to go that day and my husband took the car that is better in snow to an overnight work retreat in the mountains which left me slipping around in a car I am not used to driving all day. I regretted everything on my calendar that day and found myself gripping my steering wheel and carefully making turns with my jaw clenched and shoulders high and tight. Each time I returned home I had no time to relax as I played a fun game of “find where the dog threw up.” Finally, I got to bed but only after sliding in an unexpected pile of remaining regurgitated gifts from the dog as I brushed my teeth. Every inch of my body was tired but I slept poorly and woke with a headache, my body too strained from bracing itself all day.

 

          While we may think of “brace yourself” as something one says before a crash landing, the truth is we do it all the time. I often will find my cheeks clenched or forehead crinkled or shoulders pulled forward during the day for no discernable reason. Often we find ourselves going about our day as if we are about to have a crash landing- stressing about what is to come, imagining worst case scenarios, agonizing over unwanted tasks and dreading bad news.

 

          I can imagine this is a bit how Habakkuk lived his life. He was living in stressful times to say the least. The Babylonians ruled and they are described in this book as “fierce, restless people … [who] spread fear and terror … Their armies advance in violent conquest, and everyone is terrified as they approach. Their captives are as numerous as grains of sand … these men whose power is their god.”  And so Habakkuk cries out to God saying, “O Lord, how long must I call for help before you listen, before you save us from violence? Why do you make me see such trouble? …Destruction and violence are all around me, and there is fighting and quarreling everywhere … justice is never done.”

 

          But this was such a long time ago and so far away … how could we relate to these desperate words coming from one seeking peace and solace in the midst of violence and unjust tragedy? Of course we can.

 

          With only a few slight revisions, our prayer might me:

Oh God we are surrounded by fierce and restless people who spread fear and terror. They advance into safe spaces of love and peace with instantaneous death, terror and violence and everyone is terrified as they approach. The bodies of those killed by violence in our own country are as numerous as grains of sand … and it seems that more and more look to power to be their god. O Lord, how long must we call for help before change comes, before we can raise our children in a world safe from random violence and threats to their safety? Brokenness and violence are all around me and there is fighting and quarreling everywhere as we label and shout at each other over differences rather than uniting for peace. Justice is never done and we are tired from bracing ourselves … waiting for the next mass shooting, waiting for the next cries for help, hoping they won’t be ours, waiting for the next tears to be shed, for the next traumatized generation to come into adulthood. How long Lord?

 

          Yes, Habakkuk’s time was long ago and far away, but the cries for peace, the cries for justice the cries to our God sound painfully similar as we attend candlelight vigils and gaze upon make shift memorials.

 

          So, we walk around with our jaws clenched, our cell phones held close and our shoulders pulled forward. We look over our shoulders and have second thoughts before we leave the house. We worry and we fear and we shake our heads in despair and frustration. And our bodies are sore from the tension, our souls are weary from the longing. Our eyes are burning from the images and our ears are ringing from the cries.

 

          This is how we begin a new church year. This is how we enter Advent, our voices shaking with emotion as we sing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” We wipe away tears as we pull out the Christmas decorations and we put colorful lights on our houses because we need a light in the darkness.

          I have to confess that I have never been a fan of many of the Advent lectionary stories, they seem a little intense and scary during a time of innocent joy and cartoon Christmas movies. Like today’s Gospel about two people randomly going about their day and one being “taken away” unexpectedly while another is “left behind.” It can sound a bit more like a spooky Halloween reading rather than something one reads in the light of a glowing Christmas tree.

 

          Or maybe not, maybe that’s how I read it when my jaw is clenched and my shoulders tight, when my phone is in my hand with the latest news and my forehead is crinkled in concern. Maybe I read it as scary because I am living in a world that is scary, preparing for the worst … dreading what may come. And so two people walking in a field and then one suddenly taken away while the other is left standing alone sounds like the next bad thing to fear.

 

          But what if we take a deep breath, roll back our shoulders, loosen our jaw and unfurrow our brow? How might it look then? If we can stop bracing ourselves for the next bad thing, we might clear our vision just enough to see the hope. And our minds and souls will remember the rest of the story. The good part. The end. The part when God takes on flesh to be with us, to take on our pains and sorrows and redeem them. The part when Jesus shows us that love is real and pervasive, that love is what lasts and that peace is what we have to look forward to.

 

 

          The words of Habakkuk are all too real for us today. The agony, the pain, the fear, the frustration, the absence of justice, the despair, the death, the tears, the loss, it’s enough to make you want to just skip over the short three chapters of this small, lesser known book of the Bible. But if you take a deep breath, unclench your jaw, roll back your shoulders, slow down your gait and let yourself read it to the end, you get to something really beautiful. You get to the hope:
“Even though the fig trees have no fruit and no grapes grow on the vines, even though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no grain, even though the sheep all die and the cattle stalls are empty, I will still be joyful and glad, because the Lord God is my savior. The Sovereign Lord gives me strength. He makes me sure-footed as a deer and keeps me safe on the mountains.”

 

Surprising and unexpected words from someone living in such terrible times. But Habakkuk wasn’t alone in those difficult times and relied on words of hope from God. In chapter two God tells Habakkuk to wait, even though it may seem slow in coming, wait because justice and peace will come.

 

          And isn’t this what we hear in Advent, this call to wait, this call to hold on, keep awake and don’t lose heart. Because God is coming and it isn’t something to brace ourselves for because it is good news, it is love, it is peace, it is joy. But sometimes it will feel like it is slow in coming and sometimes we just can’t see it through the tears. But that doesn’t make it untrue. God’s peace is real and so we can live as a people with hope, a people with peace, a people with love, a people who can rest in the eternal peace of God.

          When we are living in a constant state of fear, when we are bracing ourselves all day, it is hard to see the hope. And it can be overwhelming, it can leave us too exhausted to do anything, too frustrated to care anymore, too hurt to see possibility. And if that’s where you are, that makes sense. But don’t forget to take a breath, roll your shoulders, unclench your jaw and know that the Holy Spirit has not left you. There is hope. We know the rest of the Advent story, we know the rest of the Easter story … God comes, God is with us, Emmanuel. Amen

Punch

 

Sermon from Grace and St Stephen’s 10/16/22 Luke 18:1-8

          Sometimes the Bible is funny. It can be hard to pick up on that when it is read in such a beautiful and grand place, with a beautiful and grand procession by people in fine robes with titles and surrounded by serious faces and acolytes very carefully performing their assigned duties … but in all of that very important and very serious presentation … sometimes there is a bit of silliness. Like when a widow wears down a big mean unjust ruler by incessantly asking for justice. In fact, as I was studying this passage I came across a slightly different translation of verse five several times. It’s the part when the judge says “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out.” According to scholars, the Greek verb translated as “wear me out” is actually a boxing term that literally means to “hit under the eye.” (Miller, 158) Which explains why one translation gives us verse five as, “But this widow gives me so much trouble that I will give her justice! Otherwise she will keep coming and end up giving me a black eye!” (Johnson, 268) Which let’s face it, makes for a pretty hilarious mental image. The widow coming day after day and punching the judge in the face over and over again until the red-eyed, swollen judge relents.

 

          But of course, we don’t always have to take things literally and we also don’t need to promote eye punching, so we can go with the translators who opt for the figurative “wear me down.” And, even with the figurative translation, the widow maintains her fierceness in persistently pestering this judge who the text tells us, “neither feared God nor had respect for people.” So we know he doesn’t care that she is a widow and should have protected status, as many others would.  He also doesn’t care about anyone or justice. But she does and so she keeps at it.

          I have to say that I am glad that the kids are down at Sunday School and not here to hear this particular scripture. Because I can tell you that most kids do not need further encouragement in the art of nagging. When I read this passage I actually have some compassion for the mean old judge as I know what it is like to be worn down. My 8-year-old will match anyone in persistence when he is determined to get a snack … several times per day. Most of us can understand how exhausting it is to have someone ask for the same thing over and over again, ignoring us when we say no. It can certainly wear one down. The truth is, persistence is only praised when you aren’t in the role of the judge, or when the persistent person isn’t fighting for what you are against. Persistence can be good or bad.

          Many of us are here because of the persistence of ancestors who dreamed of a better future, parents who persisted in caring for us, and our own persistence at facing each day even when the anxiety was thick or the hopelessness tangible. We celebrate those who fought oppression and injustice persistently so that we could have a better world, those who persistently work towards a cleaner earth, equal rights and a more just society. But there are things we wish were not so persistent- racism, hatred, crime, war, those who profit from the unjust treatment of others and those who just drive us crazy because they won’t leave it alone!

 

          Persistence in itself is not what Jesus is teaching the disciples with this story. In the introduction to this parable we are told that it is about the need to pray always and not to lose heart. It’s about persisting in faith. And the truth is, there is a reason why prayer and not losing heart are paired together. Anyone who has ever prayed knows that losing heart and giving up is a very real possibility.

          This parable ends by saying that God will not delay in helping those who cry to God day and night … that God will “quickly grant justice” to them. And yet, sometimes that doesn’t feel very true. Have you ever fallen on your knees and prayed deeply day and night, praying when the tears fall … crying out to God? I have and I have sat with others as they have. And it doesn’t always take away the bad news, it doesn’t always stop the disease or the pain or the injustice. Sometimes losing heart feels more likely than persisting in prayer.

 

          And I’ll bet that was the case with those first disciples that Jesus was talking to. The road before them was not an easy one. The task of telling this seemingly outlandish story about a guy rising from the dead must have seemed monumental. And they faced persecution, fighting, torture and death. As they endured their imprisonment or the stones thrown at them … did they think back to this story from Jesus … did they remember that persistent widow wearing down the judge? Maybe … after all we have these stories today, all these thousands of years later, passed on generation to generation, and that only happens through persistence in telling them, persistence in believing them.

 

          The truth is, persisting in faith is a choice. Sticking with Jesus is something we choose to do. Being in a faith community through thick and thin is a choice. Claiming Christianity is something we decide to do … in a world where that is certainly not always popular.

 

          It is a choice to pray, to show up on Sunday mornings, to give thanks to God, to lift our hands asking for the body and blood of Christ. It is a choice to keep at it and not lose heart.

 

          Sometimes I wonder what makes a person decide to stick with faith. I think back on the twenty years I have been working in churches, all the many young people I have talked theology with and taken on mission trips, all the babies I have baptized, the adults I have preached to and all of the invites to church events and worship I have put out there. And I wonder what makes it stick for some and not for others? I would love to be able to talk someone into faith, to do and say all the right things so that I could bring more people into the church and give people a lasting and enduring faith. But that isn’t how it works. I can’t control it, we can’t control it and we can’t even always rationally explain why we continue to choose faith.

 

          But we can be persistent. We can keep reaching out to others, keep sharing about our own faith and keep praying- not because our prayers can somehow control what happens, but because we are persistent in our faith, because we are choosing to stick with Jesus.

 

          In a world that does not always make sense and that often hurts our hearts, we choose persistence in Christ’s flipped over vision for the world- where a nagging widow gets justice from an uncaring person in power. Where the weak are made strong and the least are first. Where hope never dies even in the darkest hour. Where justice prevails even when matched up against wealth, status and power. Where mercy defeats cruelty and love overcomes hate. This is the choice we make, to stay together as Christ followers even though we know it will be hard. We may not always be able to explain it but that persistent faith sinks deep into our bones and the blood of Christ which we take starts pulsing through our hearts.

 

          I often don’t like the ways in which the female figures in the Bible are handled by interpreters. It seems that women are always characterized as sad, desperate, needy and weak, even when the text doesn’t actually say that. We read into these characters a lowliness or unworthiness that we then use to show how charitable the other characters are. And we are tempted to look at them with pity. Like in this passage, we could pity this poor, powerless widow facing a harsh judge. But this fierce widow doesn’t need our pity. She has faith, she has hope, she has not lost heart. It’s hard to see anything weak or pitiful about a justice-seeking widow giving an unjust judge a black eye. I like her fierceness and I hope we can find that fierceness in our acts of justice and our own persistence in faith.

 

          So when the day is long, the work is hard, the hope is distant and you feel like losing heart, think of this widow, come to God through prayer and find the strength to keep punching.

7 Years

I don’t blog much anymore. Being so open and vulnerable is not easy but Laura did it so well. She was honest … always honest …  and it connected with people. She encouraged me to blog and so this is kind of like an offering. Some people place flowers by a grave to mark an occasion, some may share memories together or do something thoughtful and difficult like write a poem. I write a blog every year on the anniversary of her death. It’s my bouquet of flowers laid on the ground- a symbol of remembrance, an act of appreciation, a small way of saying “thank you for the gift of getting to be near you for your brief time on this earth.”

If I want this to be a meaningful gift and something that represents my relationship with Laura then I have to be willing to be brutally honest and uncomfortably vulnerable. So I’ll talk about my first mammogram last year. Her life and legacy is so much more than the illness that took it, and yet I of course thought of her and what she went through as I sat there nervously waiting for my results. It was my first one (a lovely 40^th birthday present for all women) and a few days after it I got a call that there was a mass of some sort and they needed to do further imaging. If you know me then you know that despite my best efforts at positive thinking and deep breathing … I was worried. I had to wait weeks for the follow up imaging. Enough time to distract myself with other things and enough time to thoroughly worry about every possibility. When it was finally time for the appointment, I made conversation with the kind technician and held my breath every time I was told to (and hoped the forced breathing might steady my shaking). Then I was taken to a smaller waiting room to see if the radiologist would call for the ultrasound. The tech had said that if they saw that it was nothing I probably wouldn’t even need the ultrasound. So when they called me back for the ultrasound my heart sank. As I laid there on the table I thought of what all of this was like for Laura- how vulnerable one must be with their body in these situations, the torture of uncertainty and the looming possibility of bad results. I could picture her so clearly sitting in the chair at the Cleveland Clinic, listening to the oncologist, asking hard questions (and asking again and again until he really answered them). In that moment as I sat across from my friend and watched her hold her jacket on her lap, I remember thinking how young she looked (she was only 33). As I continued to lie there waiting … I started to remember other things I had forgotten, meaningful conversations or funny moments we shared. After the tech was done with the exam she said “I’ll be right back with some good news.” I breathed a sigh of relief but decided to just lay there and wait. I thought to myself “I want to stay in this time of remembering Laura.”

Everything was fine and I walked out with a very different result than my dear friend had. I absolutely hate medical tests and dread going back for another mammogram this year, but something about the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the helpless waiting broke my heart open and out flowed not just difficult but beautiful memories of this person that I love and love to remember. Seven years is a long time and sometimes the years start to shift, blur and distort our memories and it can be hard to hold onto the details. I was comforted to find those memories nestled in my heart and grateful for their companionship when I was in a stressful place. 

I am far from that time and place when I looked into her eyes as she breathed her last, but when I tell the story the tears are fresh because the love has survived the years. My life has changed a lot since she sat in the pews as I preached but her openness to me and her model of what it means to be a friend has influenced all of my friendships since.  And so here is my bouquet, a symbol of my gratitude, a sign of my remembrance and a small and humble tribute to a great and beautiful life.

Sermon from 5/8/22 "Granola Bars and Gatorade"

 Acts 9:36-43

          Who is Tabitha? We heard about her in the Acts reading today, but I don’t see her in the faces of the statues above our altar. I can’t find her depicted in the stained glass and we don’t have an icon of her at home. And yet, she is called a disciple in this passage. And while some of the people in the Bible go unnamed, we actually get two names for her, we are told that her name in Greek is Dorcas. We know that she lives in Joppa and for those of us who were at the Wednesday night Bible Study we know that is where Jonah went to hop on a boat and try to run away from God. We know that she was “devoted to good works and acts of charity.” We know that she made clothing and that she was part of a community of widows. And we know that she was beloved. The women were weeping for her and disciples were telling Peter to hurry up and come save her.

        When I read this passage this week I was very moved by that scene in Tabitha’s bedroom.  Peter walks in and here are all these women weeping and holding up the tunics and clothing that she had made. What a beautiful image of these heartbroken women treasuring these things she had made as they wept. My mother’s side of the family is Lebanese and so as I imagine this scene I do not picture stoic faces politely stifling their emotions while carefully showing Peter the tunics. I picture more of what my mom describes from her mother’s funeral: Middle Eastern women sobbing, trilling and wailing as they mourned together in community. Less of a quiet funeral parlor type scene and more of a cathartic, raw release of sadness. And I just find it all so moving- Tabitha was loved, she was an integral part of the community, she devoted her life to good works and acts of charity, she made beautiful clothing that others cherished and she was so devoted to her faith that she was called a disciple. She mattered. So why isn’t she more well-known. Why is she not as revered or talked about or painted as other more well-known saints?

          I decided to read up a bit more on Tabitha and was disappointed in what I found as I was reading a Bible Commentary that we often use as a resource.  It states, “Her loss is keenly felt because of the community’s responsibility for the welfare of its needy widows … Her healing bears additional witness to the importance of the community of goods. Yet the spotlight remains on Peter …”[1] and then it goes on to talk about what this whole situation says about Peter and how important it was in establishing Peter’s importance and close connection with Christ.

           So … in other words … these women are wailing and these disciples are running around looking for help because they didn’t want to feel guilty about not helping a widow?? Hmm … and the whole “community of goods” thing … so she was healed because the town needed more clothes??? Are we supposed to believe that all of this sadness over a woman who devoted herself to charity was just because she was a widow who made clothes- and that it might cause problems for others if she died??? Are we forgetting that she is called a disciple? Are we downplaying the communal mourning? Did we forget that she matters not merely for her labels or what she produced but for who she was?

          And then of course it’s all about Peter.  Her life, death, resurrection and the community’s role in this- is all just to prove that Peter is just as important as Paul? Part of a “who does God love more” competition?

          I’m not into any of that. There must be more here. Tabitha deserves more. Something in this story made me feel connected to Tabitha. I like this disciple who makes clothes and has these deep relationships with these other widows. It’s really hard to devote oneself to good works and charity. It is not nearly as appealing for most people as devoting oneself to money and power. Good works and charity feels much more like a losing battle.  And that’s something that I can relate to … losing battles. I am after all a Cleveland sports fan, I have devoted my life to serving mainline churches whose denominations suffer from declining membership and have helped organize a group to advocate for public education which is quickly falling prey to systems which seek to make it profitable rather than meaningful. Add to that environmental concerns, justice and just general kindness and love and it can seem some days like it’s all a losing battle. It can seem some days like we may as well throw in the towel. With temperatures rising, children being killed in war as they try to flee and a deeply divided nation where discussions become contests in who can make the other person feel worse- it can all seem a bit like trying to push a giant boulder up a very steep mountain. And so I identify with Tabitha and her devotion to seemingly tireless causes with no wins in sight like charity and good works. And I identify with those grieving women too because life and loss and pain and reality is hard.

          But I think in my quest to make a hero out of Tabitha I have missed the mark of this passage. Just as I think the New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary missed the mark by making it all about Peter. Just like I miss the mark every time I forget that I am doing things I believe in to get wins or be successful and not because of my faith in God. Just like we miss the mark every time we think what we do as a church, as a community or as people doesn’t matter if it isn’t flashy or resulting in massive amounts of followers or immediate gains.

          Two thousand years later we read this passage and we know that it isn’t about individuals. Tabitha and Peter are both long gone. Of course they are saints of the church to be remembered and honored, but only because of the role they played in what God is doing. Tabitha was brought back to life and that is completely amazing, but it wasn’t forever … she died as we all do. The miracle that happened that day was in order to point to the resurrection of Christ and its eternal implications. What happened in that room was an in breaking of the Holy Spirit on this earth to point to God’s presence which is unending and tireless in pursuing love. And so all of our good works and charity, all of our bold witnesses and courageous advocacy are not losing battles as they are part of a much larger story of a God who is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.

          Since it’s Mother’s Day I will tell you all a story from my perspective as a mom. Both of my kids are playing flag football this season. They are doing it through the YMCA so it’s volunteer coaches and no score keeping (but of course all the kids know the score). Both my boys have been lucky and have very kind and patient coaches this year. We see the other teams out there with coaches screaming and getting angry and telling kids to go to the sideline if they make a mistake and we are grateful for the kind encouragement and fairness of the coaches our kids have. But … they couldn’t score. Which sometimes made me wonder ... does meanness help make wins? But us parents kept bringing them to practices, pulling out our lawn chairs and putting on our winter hats as we sat through very windy practices and miserably cold games. We kept cheering them on, passing out snacks after games and tracking all of the good things they did so we could remind them of that after the game.

          But then last week something crazy happened. We brought out or lawn chairs and hats, we made sure their shoes were tied and their jerseys cleaned and we sat and watched like always, but … they won. Both teams. And when my 8-year-old caught a pass and ran 40 yards down the field I was literally jumping up and down screaming with all the other parents and then we parents all gave high fives to each other after. When the game ended and the kids realized they won, we cheered with them. Because we know that you don’t always get the win. That good works and charity, niceness and kindness are not the easy road. We know there will be losses, but the losses are made much easier by people cheering for you anyway and handing you a granola bar and a Gatorade after.

          Tabitha was brought back to life by Peter. The tears stopped, the community came to believe in Jesus and the good works and charity continued. Peter’s mission continued, the word about Jesus continued to spread. But none of it got easy, and they moved forward only because they knew God is at work. God is present, God does not give up. And keeping our focus on that rather than our own failures, our own frustrations and our own fears- sustains us for the journey. Perhaps Tabitha’s image isn’t found among stained glass windows and statues, but rather it is reflected in the faces of the faithful who walk this journey. We see her dedication to good works and charity in our efforts to make this world a better place in any way we can, even if it seems fleeting. We see her love and connection with others in the faces of those who grieve the ones they have boldly loved. And we see her story in the body of Christ that keeps at it, keeps trying and keeps hoping because this story is not just ours, it is much bigger than that, so let’s keep cheering each other on.

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[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible: Volume X, page 162, Abingdon Press, Nashville, 2002

By Wolfymoza - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48549944