St. Anskar

My Lenten blog post for the Episcopal Diocese of Colorado
 http://faith.episcopal.co/resources/blog/

Inside a "dead church"

In the Tuesday morning women's book group I attend we cover a lot of topics both light and heavy. It is a varied group as far as religious background goes and there are a number of women in the group that have recently come to the Episcopal Church from more fundamentalist/literalist Christian traditions.  It has been a learning experience for me as they share both their positive and negative stories of what it's like to live in a more conservative church.  I was having a conversation with one of these women after group and we were talking about when people find dissonance between their personal beliefs and the church, for example if a gay man realizes the church he is active in believes homosexuality is a sin.  I asked, "why don't they just go to a mainline church?"  She hesitated as I'm sure it's not an easy answer and said "we are told those are "dead churches."  Oh, right, yeah .... I have heard that before.  In fact my Episcopal priest husband grew up in a Pentecostal church that talked about those "dead churches" with the hymnals and pews. 

Growing up this was not a concept I was familiar with.  I grew up in a very loving moderate United Methodist Church.  My family was close with the pastor, actually I think everyone in the church would probably say they were.  I went to Sunday School every Sunday, youth club on Wednesdays and when I was a child and my parents lead the teenage youth group I went along to countless retreats, rallies and mission trips.  We had hymnals, we had pews, we had potlucks, we had sacraments and creeds, but I never in my life would have thought of it as "dead."  

Today I am raising my kids in a great big, beautiful, stone Episcopal Church with an organ, hymnals, stained glass windows, creeds and even a little chanting and incense on occasion.  We live in a city that some consider to be a hub for the mega church.  Focus on the Family is headquartered here and New Life and all it's branches are here plus tons of Christian organizations are based here like Compassion International, Young Life, etc.  I feel pretty confident that some people may look upon the pointy stone tower and think "dead church."  

Here's the truth, there are certainly some mainline congregations that might in some ways fit this description.  There are churches that have become merely a gathering place for one or two families holding onto the past and watching the doors close before they relent to giving up power or allowing change.  There are some clergy who see "traditional" as an excuse to phone it in and put little effort toward innovation or excellent worship.  Yes, they do exist.

However, I grew up in a mainline church, I worked in four mainline churches (two as an ordained United Methodist pastor), supplied in 15-20 mainline churches (supply means fill in on a Sunday for clergy when they go on vacation), been involved with the five mainline churches my husband as worked in and attended countless others and I can say with full certainty they are not "dead" churches.

It's hard and not helpful or honest to attempt to speak for an entire denomination let alone a collection of several denominations (the term mainline usually encompasses several historic denominations like United Methodist, Episcopal, Presbyterian Church USA, Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, Congregational, etc.).  I can only speak to my own experiences and from my own perspective.  

Sometimes I feel like mainliners are so careful about not offending others or excluding others or seeming to put down others that we rarely go to bat for ourselves.  I in no way intend to put down others and am not looking to compare, but rather give a fair hearing to the hymnal users of the world.  And of course, not all mainliners use hymnals or organs.  In my own tradition there has been a push toward more "contemporary" forms of worship for a long time and it is not uncommon to walk into a United Methodist Church and find a pastor in jeans, a screen with lyrics and a drum set.

But this is my experience.  Sometimes we kneel.  I never did this growing up but now that I worship at an Episcopal Church I do it often and it feels good ... sort of.  I struggle to keep my knee from slipping down the kneeler forcing me to do a split when I am wearing tights.  I use different kinds of muscles to hold my lower back straight so my butt doesn't jut out and hit the pew and I frequently turn my head to check and make sure my little ones aren't climbing over pews or destroying those ribbon bookmarks in the hymnals.  But all of that effort makes me feel like my body is engaged in the prayer.  Kneeling feels like the position I want to take when I am urgent and passionate and humble in my requests to God.  And even though large displays of emotion tend to not be associated with more formal traditions, you will definitely see people crying as they kneel in prayer.  Every Sunday.  Sometimes it's me.  

We pass the peace.  I definitely use hand sanitizer afterwards during flu season but I love the chance to look people in the eye and acknowledge our presence to each other.  Christianity is incarnational.  We believe God took on flesh in Jesus Christ.  So it seems natural that flesh and bones Christians would be part of our worship experience. 

The hymns are pretty old and so is the organ.  I am no organ expert.  In fact, when my husband was listening to tons of organ pieces as part of his search for a new church organist I couldn't tell one song apart from another (insert gasp from people at my church).  But I've never heard anything fill a space like an organ.  All the way up to the top of the high arched ceilings and all the way down the aisle is filled with the deep and full sound of the instrument.  And sometimes I sigh a bit when I see a hymn I don't know or one that people are struggling to sing has six verses.  But when I can shut off the noises in my head and focus on the words I am singing they move me to my core- the depth of theology, the timeless and beautiful metaphors.  Even if I only manage to fully pay attention to one verse, it makes me think and pulls my heart into my own (mediocre at best) singing.  

There is also something to be said for singing together as a congregation.  One year when I attended the annual gathering of conference clergy there was a band to lead the music and the words to newer Christian songs were on a screen while the hymnals were stored away somewhere.  The band was really good and the music was good.  I liked it.  However, it was made for a band, certain lines were repeated for emphasis by the lead singer, there were unexpected slows for emotion and no music to know when to go up and down with my voice.  Also, the instruments were too loud for me to hear anyone around me.  I realized that I really missed singing with the other clergy I was in covenant with.  I missed the feeling of hearing all our voices raised together to "O For A Thousand Tongues to Sing." I like joining my off pitch voice with fellow Christians around me,  I especially like it when my friend who is a professional opera singer is sitting next to me and making my weak voice blended with her strong one sound great.  

We say creeds and written prayers.  We also always have time for impromptu, personal prayers to be said aloud or quietly during "the prayers of the people."  Here's the thing ... I'm not comfortable with the amount of male pronouns used in the Nicene Creed or most hymns, and I am allowed to take my own liberties with those pronouns when I am in the pews (it's actually much clearer who we are referring to if God is God and Jesus is he), but these creeds are the most well thought out thing I will say all week (second only to the Lord's prayer).  Do you know how much time, thought, prayer, wisdom, intelligence and even bloodshed went into these statements of faith?  And I believe them.  They make me feel grounded, they remind me of where my faith is in a world of shouting voices and disagreement.  They also connect me to worshipers from the past 2,000 years.  

The sermons are great.  I know, I know, it's my husband usually preaching (or me which would make this paragraph incredibly annoying so let's exclude my sermons), but they are great.  The lectionary dictates what is preached on, which I find to be an incredible discipline.  You have to seek out what the spirit is saying and struggle and be challenged.  You can't skip things that don't fit with what you feel like saying and you get to dig in and research and wrestle with a chunk of text, not just one line.  The sermons are meant to provoke and challenge.  It is not a list of rules or judgments.  There is room for diversity (and believe me there is a lot of diversity of opinion in mainline churches).  Your experience, brain and heart are needed to complete the sermon.

We read a lot of scripture.  Sometimes a church will describe itself as "Bible based,"  I've never heard that used to describe an Episcopal Church but they read more scripture than any other denomination I have ever experienced.  And it's not just a line from here and a line from there, it's chunks.  Every Sunday you get: a Psalm, an Old Testament passage, an Epistle and a Gospel reading.  We stand for the Gospel because these are the words of Jesus.  We are encouraged to research, wrestle with, discuss and dig into the scripture.  My favorite part of seminary was my Bible classes.  If you dig into a passage it is amazing how it comes to life, opens up, moves you, challenges you and speaks to your soul.  

The people are amazing. So, when I started my second appointment, my first one as a solo pastor there was some conflict.  In fact, two months in I called my District Superintendent in tears saying I didn't know what to do (it only took two months to break my then #1 goal as a young woman pastor- do not cry!).  There was some heavy conflict.  One of the people I went head to head with became someone I treasure greatly.  We kept at it, we didn't walk away and after another month or two we were big supporters of each other ... and we did some great and creative ministry together.   People are difficult and sometimes newcomers are turned away by people believing each person is a reflection of the church's principles.  But we are a collection of sinners asking for forgiveness, frail humans depending on grace.  We are desperately trying to be better together with the Holy Spirit making that possible.  The people I worship with here do amazing things that you would not know about to just see them in the pews.  They start nonprofit organizations for at risk teens in the foster system, they volunteer with battered women, they nurse hospice patients to comfort, they feed the homeless, they work for justice and they live out the love and mercy of Jesus Christ no matter their occupation or situation.  I am so inspired by these repentant humans I share a kneeler with.

There is so much more to say, but no one likes blog posts that are too long ... well maybe my mom would.  Thanks for hanging in there with me for this subject that means so much to me.  I suppose it is my thank you note to those intimidating buildings with the big wooden doors, the hymnals with the worn out binding and the musicians using their gifts to help people like me lift beautiful prayers to God.  To the amazing people who have brought me to the faith.  The pastor who let me ask any questions I wanted in confirmation class, the mentors, prayer teams and generous souls who died and left their hard earned money to ensure these structures can stand.  The councils who wrote the creeds and preachers who stayed up wrestling with those tough passages.  The acolytes and altar guilds, those who sewed paraments and filled the baptismal fonts.  The Holy Spirit who keeps it all alive.

Finding "The One"

If I were to write an essay on how I spent my Christmas break it would inevitably include some reference to organ music.  While some of it was live at the beautiful worship services I attended, the bulk of it was coming through the tiny speakers on our laptop as my husband sat on the couch carefully reading through many organist resumes.  He is looking to hire a new organist for the church.  Perhaps you may think "what's the big deal? You just need someone who can play along with a few hymns each Sunday."  If you think this ... you are wrong.  It is a big deal as the music program at our church is top notch, covering ages 5-100 and bringing a multitude of events from the gentle but powerful Choral Compline services to an endowed concert series to a week of choir camp in the mountains for kids and teens.  So as my husband and his team scour the about fifty (seriously) resumes they are trying to figure out how to take into consideration all the many qualifications and also look for something more, something harder to quantify or describe ... how to find "the one."

I find myself on a similar search in other ways.  For example, I am looking to find how I want to live out my pastoral calling as my kids are getting older and spending less time at home.  I have been volunteering in various capacities and wondering where God is calling me to next.  I love volunteering at the church where my husband is rector.  I think it is so wonderful that my children feel comfortable and loved there.  I love that my kids know things about Joshua and the battle of Ai from the Wednesday night Bible Study and it makes my heart burst when my son loves going to choir practice every week.  But I am ordained in a different denomination that I also love.  I love preaching, teaching and providing pastoral care.  These are the things that in the past have always brought me fulfillment and excitement.  At the same time I love having the time and availability to volunteer at my son's school.  I love getting to know the children and feeling like I am (in a small way) contributing not just to my son's but many children's education and sense of value.  I see ways I can help the community through the school organizations I volunteer with.  I don't want to give that up.  Also, I love keeping a balance to our family life.  I like having dinner together around the table as a family most days, praying together before bed and while housekeeping is not something that I particularly enjoy or comes naturally, I do like having the beds made and laundry done and providing the family with a warm and welcoming place to seek refuge and rest.  I love where we live and exploring it through new adventures, playgrounds and hikes. I currently have about fifty ideas of where I want to either: work, volunteer or continue my education.  How do I find "the one?"

When I first moved here almost two years ago I was determined to find "the one" in a different way.  I needed to find a really close friend.  Someone to bond with and keep the isolation that can come with being a stay at home parent at bay.  I had a few really wonderful friends in Toledo that totally got me and I always felt comfortable with and regularly enjoyed a really good deep laugh with and I needed to find that.  I would meet another mom and wonder "could this be the one?" And then realize she already has tons of wonderful friends here and my desperation is not attractive or shared.  I am lucky to have a husband that gets me and regularly makes me crack up but since we moved here his work hours have increased and I needed to find ways to adjust to that.  

Two years later and I have not found "the one" of anything.  Something even better has happened. I have found several.  I have several really wonderful friends each bringing out a different part of me, each teaching me different things and inspiring me in different ways.  And over time those relationships will grow to a place where we "get" each other more and more.   I have also had a lot of different experiences through volunteering that have taught me new things about myself and stretched me in different ways.   

I'm not going to lie though, I'm definitely still struggling to figure out what is right for me and my situation and I do still secretly hope for a new best friend to move down the street from me.  Perhaps the key is to realize that there are so many beautiful people and beautiful opportunities in this life and anything we can do to make the world a better place or connect to another person is worthwhile.  Every person and every opportunity has a unique perspective, specific gifts and can inspire a new part of ourselves. In the meantime ... I get to listen to some really great organ music. 

Light in the Dark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello Goodbye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough

Preached at Ellicott and Simla UMCs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clarity

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

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

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

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

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

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