Sermon from the 8 am service at Grace and St Stephen's 9/17/23

 Exodus 14:19-31

          Last week my family received some big news. News you have heard about if you attended worship last week or are on the church email list. It was a nerve-wracking morning for us. At 6:30 am we gathered on the couch to participate in worship via zoom with the Diocese of Albany, six long prayer-filled hours later after several ballots were cast, my husband, Jeremiah picked up the phone and the voice on the other end said “Hello Bishop Williamson.” I shouted to the kids who were playing in the back yard and we hugged, cried and then composed ourselves and went back on screen to greet the Diocese through zoom. People asked how I was feeling and I responded with “I am feeling all the feelings.” It was a long process that we put our hearts into, it was also incredibly humbling and of course means a major life change and lots of difficult goodbyes.

          Soon after, my mind started racing. If you could listen to my thoughts it would be a dizzying carousel of questions ranging from “where will we live” “what is the next step for my career” and “how do I set up my ministries at Grace and St Stephen’s so they continue to thrive” to “how will our dog do on a cross country car drive” and “when will I have time to pull the weeds from the lawn before the realtor takes picture.” There are so many questions.

          I have never been the type of person to sit back and trust that it will all work out. I have spent my whole life trying to prepare for possible outcomes and fearing that I am falling behind. And yet, I do have faith. Faith that God is with me through all of it, faith that the road ahead will be paved with faith, love and hope. Faith that is part of the fabric of my being from the stories, sermons and experiences that have nurtured me all my life. Stories like the one read today from Exodus. This is a story we know well. We may not remember the order of the Judges or routes Paul travelled but we do know the Exodus. We know it because the Bible tells us over and over and over again to remember it. It is one of the most fundamental stories of the Bible and intimately tied to another fundamental story of the Bible- the resurrection.

          We hear again and again about the waters separating and the people of Israel walking the path from oppression to freedom. In fact, the Exodus is mentioned about 120 times in the Bible. It is definitely something our ancestors, the prophets and God want us to know, remember and retell to others. Remember that God brought the Israelites from oppression to freedom. Remember how the sea was parted and the path was made clear.

          And as often as I have heard the story and as much as I would like to think I have faith, I am pretty sure if I was faced with the sea split open and an unknown journey ahead, I would have packed some sandwiches and made the kids put on life jackets … I have faith but also … life is scary. And things only got harder before they got better. The terrain was not easy, the unknowns unbearable and faith was hard to hold on to, even for those who witnessed the exodus.

           Today, our church is celebrating our 100^th birthday. The actual birth date is not today exactly, but this year is 100 years since Grace Church and St Stephen’s came together and gave us the long name we have today. The Bishop will preach at the 10:30 service and there will be activities and fun through the afternoon. As part of the celebration, throughout this year, our church historian, Marianna McJimsey has been educating us on the history of our church. She told the youth group the story of how the bell in our tower got here and our bulletins, social media and newsletters have been filled with fascinating stories connecting us to those who have knelt on these kneelers before us. When you start to hear all of our church’s stories and think about all that was happening in the world during those 100 years, it is really astounding and beautiful that we are here, celebrating 100 years.

           Because, even in our recent history, the way forward has been blocked by seemingly immovable barriers. A church split, financial struggles, tragic deaths of pillar members, a pandemic, clergy changes and more. When the path ahead seemed blocked, when the way forward was blocked by an impossible boulder, God was with us, carving a way through, separating the seas, inviting us to take a step forward in faith. And here we are, a healthy, thriving, love-filled and spirit-centered church.

          And so we celebrate because we are here. We celebrate because we have a beautiful building, amazing choir and active ministries but also because we have been continuing on this journey for 100 years, sharing the love of Christ and shining a light into the darkness.

          But like those ancient Israelites, we have not journeyed alone. In the passage read from Exodus, we hear that the pillar of cloud that has been guiding them moves from in front of them to behind them and the text says, “the cloud was there with the darkness, and it lit up the night.” The darkness was there, but so was the light. The light of God sustained them as they took each faithful and unknown step. Any journey has light and dark. And there are times when we walk in the darkness, unable to see the way ahead, crippled with fear, fumbling over unknown obstacles. And we try to find our way back to the light, the light breaking through the cracks, promising a way to catch our breath … a way to warmth.

           And no matter how hard we try, sometimes we can’t control the path forward. Even when we have checked off all of our checklists, over-packed and sufficiently worried into all hours of the night- the journey may be completely unexpected and leave us dizzy with questions.

 Almost 8 years ago, when we found out we would be coming to Grace and St Stephen’s I was overwhelmed with unknowns. At the time I had a one and four-year-old. What would it be like raising kids in Colorado? Would I make friends? What about my career, what would I do next? Where would we live? What about mountain lions and rattlesnakes … should I be worried about those? I had no idea what awaited us. The penetrating warmth of the Colorado sunshine, the sincerity and kindness of this congregation, the loving embrace of the kids’ schools. But also, the heart breaks from people moving away, the painful grief of losing loved ones and the isolation of pandemic lock-downs. There was really no way of preparing for any of it.

    But here we are. All of us. Surrounded by statues and stained glass depictions of saints who bravely walked the journey with Christ, enduring suffering, unknowns and yet always making their way toward that pillar of light in the darkness. And now the penetrating Colorado sun shines forth their colorful light on all of us as we walk our journeys.

          As we celebrate this milestone in our journey as a church, we also remember with love those who have gone before us and contemplate what lies ahead, and we do so with faith, trusting that together we will pave the way ahead with hope, love and enduring faith. The way forward won’t always be as clear as separated waters clearing a path and it won’t always be as hard as church splits and pandemics, but we trust that the pillar of light never leaves us and that God is always calling us toward freedom. And that’s why we keep telling our story, to anyone who will listen- our story as Christians walking this journey together. Our story as a people of faith who follow the light of Christ. Our story that is rooted in the stories we tell over and over again. The story of a people who were suffering and oppressed and took a step forward between two walls of water. The story of a people who found an empty tomb and a resurrected Christ. The story of a people who celebrate 100 years of community as Grace and St Stephen’s, with all of our shortcomings and fears- we made it and we will continue to make it because we aren’t alone. “The cloud was there with the darkness and it lit up the night.” Remember this, remember the light in the darkness, share this, let it seep into your bones, and keep going, even when life takes unexpected turns, when your thoughts are chaotic and the weight of life leaves you feeling dizzy … God is there, the light is with the darkness and that is a story worth telling for at least 100 more years.

8 Years

      Today I listened to “Helplessness Blues” by Fleet Foxes on my way to pick up the kids from camp. It’s the song that was on in my car as I drove home late the night of June 29^th eight years ago. Eight years ago my head was spinning and the tears were pouring from a source deep in my gut, a wound in my soul. For eight years that song brings back that memory in a very real way, but also lots of memories of Laura, not just the way her eyes met mine right before she breathed her last. Today, as I drove through streets more than a thousand miles away from the road I took home eight years ago, I was relieved to feel the warm tears on my cheek. I was relieved to know that while time has changed much, it has not extinguished my love for Laura.

               In fact, a couple of months ago I found myself reaching for my phone to text Laura. It was an instinct, but one that I thought faded years ago. It’s been many years since I had that instinctive thought, but my husband sent me a picture and I knew she would appreciate it more than anyone else. My husband was on a retreat with other Episcopal priests and one of the priests showed him a tattoo on her arm, it was of the Woman at the Well but as a voluptuous pin-up girl. And I LOVED it and I knew Laura would too. So I reached for my phone, but when I realized what I was doing and that I couldn’t communicate with Laura through a text, I smiled and appreciated the movement of the Holy Spirit in such unexpected ways and places … like through a tattoo on a stranger’s arm. Those who were in our Bible Study at the coffee shop in Woodville or those who remember the scripture she chose for her funeral or those who knew her ability to embrace the sassy woman within … will understand. She was sassy and honest and sometimes said the thing that made other people squirm. When I say “she” I mean Laura and the woman at the well. But it wasn’t the kind of “in your face” or “gotcha” kind of questions that put up people’s walls or make people defensive. It’s the kind of questions that come from a heart wanting to connect, wanting to understand, wanting to be vulnerable. The kind that make the walls come down, that chip away at defensiveness and create an opening for genuine connection.

               Time can change things. And sometimes, as time beats on, we may find ourselves misremembering, or idolizing or morphing someone we lost. But, I have to say, I am pleasantly surprised to find that the characteristics and traits that Laura and I connected through have only become stronger in me. Age has made me appreciate who I am more and has only lowered any level of intimidation I may have still had in my early thirties. I ask the questions that sometimes make people uncomfortable, I love deeply and I crave genuine connection with others. Those are the places we still connect. I also make tons of mistakes and say the wrong thing. She did that too and she was honest about it, which made everyone feel that they could be themselves around her.

               I still miss her. And I am still so humbled and grateful that I got to be part of her journey. I am grateful that the tears still fall, that her children are now teenagers and are loved deeply and that I remember her in so many ways and in so many places and through so many relationships.

The Gate

Sermon from 4/30/23 at FUMC: Prairie Campus John 10:1-10

          I decided to preach the assigned lectionary texts for this Sunday and as soon as I started reading this Gospel I had a memory from a Bible class I took in seminary. We were studying this passage from John and we had to read a very lengthy article on the sheep gate. It was about what a sheep gate was and all the historical specifics. Somewhere between the logistics of how it would have opened and closed and the specific measurements that were typical of sheep gates at that time, my eyes got very heavy and it was a struggle to finish it. I did not like that article at all. I figured I would just avoid preaching on this passage for my entire ministry career and forever block out all historical sheep-gate related information for the rest of my life. So when I opened up to John 10 and saw the sheep gate I first sighed and then thought “I kind of wish I had paid more attention to that article.” But, because I didn’t, you will be spared from a sermon about the dimensions of a historical sheep gate and hopefully spared from heavy eyelids.

 

          But maybe you have a more mechanical type brain than I do or perhaps you are fascinated with historical details and so you are really wishing I had paid better attention to that article so we could talk more about sheep gates. Well don’t worry, I do think we should spend some time reflecting on the sheep gate, maybe not the dimensions and mechanics of it but meditating on it none the less. Jesus often speaks in parables but we don’t always get clear guidance on understanding those parables. But in this explanation of the sheep gate Jesus directly says (multiple times), “I am the gate.” So it is certainly worth spending some time on.

 

          Jesus as the gate is not the most popular metaphor in Christianity. I have never seen a stained glass window with a beautifully colored and reflective gate at the front of a worship space. I have never seen Christians wear necklaces with gate charms or put gate stickers on their cars. And yet, Jesus tells us “I am the gate.” It is much more popular and understandable to focus on the other metaphors in this passage. Jesus as the Shepherd is a much more relatable image. This idea of a shepherd and his pasture clearly has a deep influence on how we do church as we call our ordained leaders “pastor” and the work of caring for one another as “pastoral ministry.” It is a beautiful model of Christian leadership and evokes images of green rolling hills and a calm and steady presence guiding the herd through both peaceful and uncertain times. And in the verses following this passage Jesus says “I am the good shepherd.”

 

          But, for now, we have a gate. And the image of a gate might not conjure up warm feelings for everyone. My first thought when I think of a gate is a closed gate, a locked gate or being left outside of a gate. I am guessing we all have had experiences like that. Maybe it is an experience of a literal gate being closed. Like arriving late to something and not being let in or wanting to go somewhere but it’s closed. Or maybe it reminds you of any experience of being not being let in- but not because you are late or at the wrong place but because of who you are- your background, your race, your gender, your socio-economic class. When I was growing up my mom would tell me about when she and her siblings weren’t allowed in to the public pool as kids because they are Lebanese and their skin was brown. I thought about that every time we went to the public pool and walked through the entrance gate. For some, the gate is a painful memory, a symbol of exclusion.

          But in the Gospel reading today that isn’t the function of the sheep gate Jesus is talking about. Yes, gates can be used for keeping people out, but Jesus is talking about a gate that lets people in. This is a gate that is open. A gate that protects the sheep from those who wish to do them harm. It is the way in.

 

          That makes us the sheep. In this passage, along with the one following it and many others throughout the Gospels, sheep are used as a metaphor for Christ’s followers. In fact, I remember singing songs about being a sheep during Sunday School when I was a kid. The image of Jesus as the good shepherd caring for the sheep is a popular image on stained glass windows and church wall portraits, and it isn’t because Jesus really liked sheep or was exceptionally skilled at petting sheep. It’s because the idea of Jesus as the shepherd leading his flock of followers is an important image in the Bible and in Christianity.

 

          But as you all probably know, the idea of “being a sheep” is not exactly popular right now. In fact I have seen bumper stickers and t shirts proudly proclaiming “I am not a sheep.” We live in a very individualistic society where we are constantly told that the purpose of all things and what truly matters is you, who you are, what people think of you, what you accumulate, how you feel and your right to do whatever you want to do. And so this idea of finding one’s place in a big group and blindly following the shepherd while walking along with the other sheep- happily unaware of where you are going or what is happening- is not very popular. And it’s not just unpopular, it makes people really angry.

 

          And none of us wants to be mindlessly following the person in front of us right off a cliff. We honor and seek to emulate those who boldly spoke for justice rather than maintaining the status quo. Sometimes we need to go against the grain and question the direction of the flock.

 

          But as Christians we are called to be part of a community and we are called to follow Jesus, to listen to his voice, discern where he is calling us and follow … right through the gate, and right alongside with our brothers and sisters. And sometimes that means giving up some of our individualism to be part of the community. Giving up some of our stubborn insistence and confessing that we do not know all the answers and that we are dependent on God.

 

          And we find that when we walk through this gate, when we follow this voice … we are more than just another sheep. We are called by name. I love that line in this passage, in verse 3 where it says “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” One of the commentaries I read suggested this could be referring to “pet names” or “nicknames” that a shepherd has for each sheep. This isn’t what I would typically think of when I think of a shepherd calling in sheep. I picture a tired shepherd herding the sheep into a single file and hurrying them along before slamming the gate and walking away. But this is something different. He is calling them each by a name, a beloved name. He sees them, he knows them, he makes sure they know they are seen and known. We are named, we are valued and we are loved … and we are part of a larger body, a community, a flock.

 

          The passage ends with Jesus saying, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” This is what the gate opens to, this is what we are called by name to. What does it mean to have life abundantly? Sometimes I think there is this idea that if you are a Christian and you are really strong in your faith you should never have fears about death or whether or not life has meaning or if we have a purpose. But those are all really human questions. Sometimes when I realize how quickly my children are growing, how fast the last few years have gone by or when I have to tell someone in their twenties that I am in my forties and see the look on their face- I start to think about life … aging . . . death . . .whether or not I’m doing it all right. You see I am the kind of person who has always tried to do things “right.” I always got good grades, tried to follow the rules and do my best to make others happy. But life is tricky. We don’t get progress reports and the “right” path forward isn’t always clear … if there even is one. Sometimes life is moving so fast and I wonder what am I even doing and what should I be doing and how do I know  … anything really?

 

          And we often are the stubborn sheep who goes the wrong way or the lost sheep. At the end of the day sometimes we replay things we did or said or didn’t do or didn’t say and it all swirls around in our head and the darkness can feel really dark.

 

          But Jesus tells us he is a gate, a gate that opens, a gate that protects and that we are called by name to walk through. We are called to be embraced into the fold of God’s mercy and love. And we see that yes our story and our life matters but it is about so much more than that. We are called to be part of the body of Christ that extends across space and time, that lasts into eternity. We are part of a salvation story that is bigger than us and yet is very much a part of us and we are an important part of it. This is life abundantly. This is life through the gate. A life lived knowing that we are seen and valued and we are not alone. That we are called. And we don’t need a checklist or a progress report, we don’t need to agonize over what we did wrong or right, we don’t have to make all the right decisions, or live up to everyone’s expectations or never make mistakes, we don’t even need to have it all figured out, all we have to do … all we get to do  … is walk through the gate.

Home

 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