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

 Acts 9:36-43

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If Not You, Then Who?

 

All Souls Unitarian Colorado Springs 4/24/22

          If not you, then who? Have you ever been asked that question? It can be seen either as a way of helping someone discern a calling and empowering someone to make a difference in spite of all of the negative voices in their head telling them they aren’t good enough … or it can be seen as a guilt-inducing way of pulling someone into a position they are reluctant to fill by tapping into their inherent desire to make the world a better place. I was asked this question on a sunny June day last year outside a coffee shop by D11 school board member Julie Ott.

          I had been asked by teachers at my kids’ school if I would consider running for school board. The thought of a political campaign and then resulting public office felt overwhelming, intimidating and also exciting. So I did what any good mainline pastor would do who has been through a lengthy and in depth ordination process, I started a process of discernment: meeting with people, doing research, praying, asking questions and wrestling with pluses and minuses. At the time I was asked “if not you, then who?” there wasn’t an answer, I was it. It was the beginning of summer and there weren’t many prospective candidates out there yet. But as the months went on the answer became more clear. If I didn’t win, I knew who would be making decisions that would impact my children and every student in D11 and the fire lit within me only burned brighter.

          I worked hard, really hard. I became fast friends with three incumbents who were running for reelection. We were the four that were endorsed by the teachers of D11 and were running for four open spots. We started working harder and harder not just for our own campaigns but for each other’s as we realized more and more what was at stake.

          At the beginning of the campaign I knew there were some conversations about Critical Race Theory but the then Superintendent of D11 publicly announced that Critical Race Theory was not being taught in D11 and will not. I also looked up the Social Studies Standards with Colorado Department of Education and it was not in there. It wasn’t being taught in d11 and no one was advocating for it to become part of the curriculum, so surely the election would focus on the real issues of D11, of which there are many: declining enrollment, achievement gaps, old buildings falling apart, teachers not feeling heard and an attitude of competition rather than collaboration between schools. After several days of a flooded inbox with emails asking only one question, I realized I was wrong. Door after door, email after email … I was asked “do you believe Critical Race Theory should be taught in schools?” Clearly someone was pushing this issue … and they were successful.

          The candidate forums and campaign materials from others became shocking and upsetting to me. Candidates were trashing the superintendent, blaming him for years of academic and enrollment decline when he had only taken the position one year before the pandemic closed schools. And the conversation about equity got weird. To be honest, when I learned about the equity audit that was done in D11 (and paid for by a grant) and the resulting equity policy and equity department that was formed I was shocked we didn’t already have those things in place! Of course there are achievement gaps and of course we should be honest about those and of course we have to find ways to address them so that every student has what they need to succeed! But other candidates talked about how the distraction of equity talk was the reason kids struggled to read. Equity was defined as something that told kids they would never succeed because of who they are and they should just feel bad about that. When in truth it was an effort to finally address systemic inequalities and long standing barriers to success that have been in place for hundreds of years. And yes it did talk about race because if we don’t talk about it how do we ever address racial inequities and if we don’t address them then we are saying we are fine with achievement gaps and an educational system that is built around the premise that privileged kids should succeed and others should be left behind. It was an effort to actually address the declining standardized test scores that everyone was saying they were so upset about rather than just complaining about them and pretending that just doing what we have always done will work.

          It became the whole “talking about race is racist” argument that attempts to silence any efforts of progress. It also became scapegoating the superintendent and blaming some hidden agenda on indoctrinating our students. When those of us who have spent endless hours volunteering in schools know that teachers are working hard, they care about their students, they are finding creative ways all the time to engage students and educate them and teachers are people with all different political and religious views- not some homogenous group set on producing students that adhere to some kind of agenda.

          All of it worked. The constant complaints with no actual solutions other than “stop critical race theory” which wasn’t being taught anyway. The scare tactics and fear-mongering, the massive amount of involvement from churches like the Church For All Nations and their “Cultural Impact Team” who hosted parent boot camps where they trained parents on “getting back their school boards” for things like “Christian values” and away from things like equity and culturally responsive teaching. And the narrative that teachers are making children question their gender and creating a world of trans, bi and gay students who will destroy the moral fabric of society. The messaging worked …. Well that and the $180,000 that was put into the campaigns of candidates by a group called Colorado Springs Forward.

          During the campaign I also saw who was filling the public comments at School Board meetings. It was the same four people shouting about masks and critical race theory over and over again. People like me, the involved parents, the SAC chairs and PTA presidents and classroom helpers weren’t there. We were in the schools building relationships and trying to be part of the solution. But we needed to start showing up. Rational people who care about the education of our future, the inequities in our educational system, the value of educated teachers and the importance of keeping a quality system of public education in this country needed to show up.

          I met so many wonderful people while campaigning and some of us got together to talk about how concerned we were about the agendas of the people who would be making decisions for our school district, the one we have been championing and talking up and volunteering for and sending our kids to and do everything we can to help. We needed to organize and speak up for the involved parents, the dedicated teachers, the passionate administrators, the rational community members and the students- the students who have breakfast in the morning and the students who depend on their school for that, the students who need individual educational plans to address their unique learning challenges and the students who are labeled as gifted/talented because they process information differently, the students who live in the west end of town and the east end of town. The students who have parents who can chaperone the field trips and the students who have parents who work multiple jobs, the students who come to school from the bus and the students who come from the car they slept in. The students who speak English at home and the students who speak a different language over the dinner table. All of these students deserve quality public education.

          And the truth is public education is under attack. The narrative that is gaining traction is that public schools are socialist failures that need replaced by private schools and schools run by for-profit companies that will be better because they will have to compete.

          And so we organized. We are a group of people who heard the question “If not you, then who?” and the answer was no one. There was no one preparing to watch the Board of Education and hold them accountable, to unite the voices of those who are passionate about public education and give power through numbers, to partner with organizations like Inside Out, Men of Influence, Citizen’s Project, El Paso Council PTA and others who believe in equity- that every student deserves an opportunity to succeed. We have been able to amplify the voices of LGBTQIA+ students by standing alongside Inside Out in calling out transphobic and homophobic statements made by Board members not just because they are ignorant and offensive but because they cause real harm to students and families. We have joined with Citizen’s Project to speak out when the superintendent was pressured to resign and when the Board voted to remove the equity department from the budget. And we have raised our voices together to say that racism is not ok. And that may seem basic, but I have been utterly shocked at the blatant racism from members of the Board of Education. And we do all of this while at the same time finding ways to partner with schools and help them in any way we can.

          We are also holding true to our belief that democracy cannot be bought and that helping more people realize the value of their vote will make for a more inclusive city that meets the needs of those who are often overlooked. So we are working with the League of Women Voters and Colorado Latinos Vote to increase voter registration and participation in local elections.

          There are some things we take for granted in our lives and the opportunity to send our children to a quality public school to receive a well-rounded education is one of those things, but the truth is, if we don’t speak up for it, if we don’t fight for it, if we don’t insist on it- who will?

          I’m not usually one for memorizing a single line of scripture and taking it out of context, but there is one that is embedded in my heart and that is Micah 6:8 “What does the Lord require of you? To seek justice and love kindness and walk humbly with your God.”

          Resisting political agendas that seek to make a profit off students while neglecting their needs is justice. Speaking up for the ones who do not have a seat at the table is justice, giving my time to make sure that every student has an opportunity to be educated is justice. And kindness is not the same as being nice. Being nice may be seen as staying quiet with a polite smile and never talking about anything that might offend someone. Being kind means demonstrating love to all of God’s children, being willing to give more resources to those who need them and enduring discomfort to have the difficult conversations that call for change. All of this done with humility, recognizing our missteps, recognizing our own biases and always looking to extend grace to one another. This we can do together.

Throughout this process of organizing and all of the emotional ups and downs, the potential wins that ended only in crushing defeat, the signs of hope that were only meant to pacify us in the hopes that we would be quiet- in all of that I have been held up by the grace, passion and bold courage of others. I have been inspired and uplifted by those that are walking this journey with me and in knowing that I am not alone, I can answer “If not you then who?” with US.

         

Sermon from Easter Vigil 4/16/22 at Grace and St. Stephen's

 

          I have fond memories of my first Easter Vigil service. Growing up Methodist, I had attended several Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter morning services but the Vigil was something new for me. It was my first year of seminary and Jeremiah was doing his student ministry at an Episcopal church by our school in New Jersey. His priest was giving him the opportunity to chant the Exsultet and he was nervous about it.
I walked across campus with him from the student apartments to the darkened chapel where he practiced over and over again. To this day, when I hear it chanted I still think back to sitting in that empty chapel and listening as the words bounced off the large wooden cross and empty altar. The next day I attended the service and was completely caught up in it. The dramatic fire lighting up the pitch black space, the series of readings that layered upon one another to build up to the dramatic moment we are now in, the loud organ and passionate shouts of Alleluia as the big black curtain dropped and massive amounts of lilies appeared. The joy on everyone's faces as we sang those first Alleluias that had been buried away since Ash Wednesday. It gave me goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes. The strawberries and champagne that followed the service were also a surprise for this cradle Methodist.

          While it was all very new to me, it of course is very old to the church. The first evidence of the Great Vigil service is from the second century in the region that is now Turkey. In my church history class, I remember my professor detailing the way in which the ancient church celebrated this liturgy, processing in the candidates for baptism who proclaimed their beliefs and were celebrated as new Christians. It is in fact one of our oldest Christian liturgies and yet it still feels so very relevant and even at times emotional. It still speaks to us today- in this very different time and in this very different part of the world.

          Perhaps that is because this story that we are reenacting, retelling and recelebrating is so very real. We all know darkness. We all know heartbreak, pain and uncertainty.

          One of the things that always strikes me on Good Friday is how normal the day is outside of the church. Inside the church it is a dark, empty, sad space full of mourning and loss. We read the last words of Christ and sing songs about crucifixion and loss. We walk out in silence and some even with stomachs growling from fasting and we contemplate the emptiness of a world without a Savior.  But when we walk outside the doors it is a normal Friday with school, work, social activities, movies to watch and tasks to complete- you can even find Easter egg hunts and kids sitting on the laps of giant bunnies on that day when our hearts sit in darkness.

          In the same way when tragedy strikes or when a loved one dies we experience that same strangeness- when the mourner's world is shattered and their heart grief-stricken but the rest of the world goes on. Cars keep going up and down the roads, children keep laughing and the world continues to spin. It is strange to have one reality in your heart while living in the midst of a very different reality. To have a thick and heavy darkness inside while standing in the sunshine next to people going about their normal days.

          It is a juxtaposition we Christians know well. We go about our normal lives and daily routines but with this remarkable story filling our hearts, bringing us hope even in the despair and wisdom even in uncertainty. We mark our seasons not by the sports calendar or the sales events at the car lots, but rather by this ancient calendar that takes us through birth, life, death and resurrection. We believe in crazy countercultural ideas like that love is the source of all being, that justice matters and that we should do nonsensical things like feed the poor, clothe the naked, bring healing to the suffering and actually care about people other than ourselves. Where widows and children have more wisdom than rulers and things like water, bread and wine are more valuable than the most expensive jewels.

          And today we got to participate in the miracle of new people entering this life of faith with us, newly baptized Christians that will be nurtured by our community, loved into faith by their parents and guided by their godparents and sponsors.

          It isn't always an easy thing, guiding people into this life of faith. In fact, I am a godparent and often wonder how best to live into that role. I try to find ways to teach my godchildren about the faith, give them meaningful gifts to remind them of their faith and always make it known that I am available to talk about anything- even doubts. But it isn't as if one can force another into believing, or persuade someone simply by words to live into this countercultural value system we swear to. Perhaps the best that we can do is promise to be with them through the whole story- through the darkness and unknown and through the resurrection and joy. And to keep reminding them of that story, keep finding ways to whisper it into their lives- that love wins, hope is real and resurrection will come. That the flowers that withered and died will burst forth from the ground again, that those who suffer in pain will rise in glory, that the sun that has set will rise again, that no matter how heavy the darkness, how uncertain the path, how miserable the anguish … God doesn't let go.

          Thinking back on that first Easter Vigil I experienced, the one that started with an Exsultet chanted again and again into a dark and empty space- one of the reasons I remember it so fondly is because that was a special place for me that I like to remember. Part of why it is special is because it was a place where I often felt carried in my faith by others. A good seminary experience is a time of deep questioning, a time of picking all aspects of your faith apart, a time of being confronted over and over again with the injustices and pains of the world, a time for constructive arguments, life's deepest questions and brave people sharing their doubts. It is a time to let your walls down so that you can be shaped and molded into someone who can lead others into this life of faith. One of the things that helped me most during that time took place every Thursday in that chapel where I listened to Jeremiah practice his Exsultet- my fellow students and professors who were asking those hard questions and sharing their own pains and vulnerabilities, who were questioning and challenging- they all knelt for the bread and the wine together every Thursday and in kneeling with them, I knew I could get back up. I remembered the rest of the story, I remembered and was carried by the power of faith, I was prepared for kneeling alongside others in their darkness.  Their model of faith even in darkness, strengthened mine.

          Perhaps this is how we can be good God parents, good church members, good fellow Christians along the journey- we can keep kneeling together, keep reaching up for the Holy Mystery of the body and blood of Christ even in a world where that doesn't make sense to most people. We can keep reminding each other that the dark curtain will drop, the Alleluias will return and the lilies are just hiding behind the altar. We keep walking this story together over and over again and praying it into the world. So that when the tomb is empty we can see it, we can understand it and we can shout Alleluia even when the rest of the world is just going about their daily lives.

          After all, we baptize while it is still dark. The baptisms tonight were before the lilies sparkled and the Alleluias rang out and the tomb was declared empty. They were baptized into darkness, uncertainty and loss. That is faith. That is our radical story of hope and persistent belief. Of a God who is still with us in the dark. That is our countercultural, radical, strange, hard to explain Christian story- that we believe even in the dark, that hope never dies, that love is stronger than death and that faith is worth having. That is why it feels so good to shout Alleluia, not because we don't know darkness, but because we do.

Sermon from Grace and St. Stephen's 2/13/22 "Trees and Chocolate Cake"

 

Jeremiah 17:5-10, Psalm 1

          Our Tuesday morning Women’s Book Group has been learning a bit about botany as we read together Braiding Sweet Grass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. In the book she weaves together her knowledge as a botanist with the passed down wisdom she is the recipient of as a member of the Potawatomi Nation. So when I read this metaphor about the tree by the stream, sending out its roots, nourishing its leaves and bearing fruit-  in both the Jeremiah reading and the Psalm, I immediately thought about all the learning I have been doing through reading this book.

          One section in particular came to mind.  She is talking about the mast fruiting phenomenon of pecan trees, meaning that the trees go for long stretches of time without bearing fruit and then all together offer an abundance. She writes, “When the trees produce more than the squirrels can eat, some nuts escape predation. Likewise, when the squirrel larders are packed with nuts, the plump pregnant mamas have more babies in each litter and the squirrel population skyrockets. Which means that the hawk mamas have more babies, and fox dens are full too. But when the next fall comes, the happy days are over, because the trees have shut off nut production. . . so [the squirrels] go out looking, harder and harder, exposing themselves to the increased population of watchful hawks and hungry foxes. The predatory-prey ratio is not in their favor, and through starvation and predation the squirrel population plummets and the woods grow quiet without their chattering. You can imagine the trees whispering to each other at this point, “There are just a few squirrels left. Wouldn’t this be a good time to make some nuts?” All across the landscape, out come the pecan flowers poised to become a bumper crop again. Together, the trees survive, and thrive.”

          It is mutual thriving, interconnectedness … like a tree sending out roots to the stream, bearing fruit for the animals and feeding the people. There is no way to look at nature and not see how everything is connected. The air, the land, the plants, the people … all reliant on one another.  And so the prophet Jeremiah uses this metaphor. For the tree, the water is life. Without the stream it withers. So it is for Judah. Jeremiah is referring to the people of Judah as the tree and God as the source of life, when they continually separate themselves from that source they cannot thrive.  As Father Jeremiah said in his Wednesday night Bible Study on this passage, “Self-reliance is repeatedly the sin named by the prophet Jeremiah.” A failure to recognize our interconnectedness and our dependency leads us away from the source of life, from what sustains us. It takes us further from the river.

 

          I once found myself in a place that survived by the river. It is a small town with a couple of restaurants, a couple of churches and a diner on the edge of town along the state highway called “The Speed Trap.” I learned a lot about small towns and what it means to be in a community in the years that I served as a pastor there. Their proximity to each other and distance from a city kept the people very interconnected. They saw each other at the drug store, the grocery store, the post office, school pick up and church. Sometimes their interconnectedness drove me crazy. I heard lots of things “secondhand” “So and so said this the other day at so and so’s house.” Rumors took off quickly. There were feuds that lasted generations even after the initial cause was long forgotten. And people were so comfortable with each other that they often went straight past polite and made me very uncomfortable with the direct manner in which they spoke to one another.

          But it wasn’t long before I was part of the community. Because of the 30 minute commute home, church members would often have me over for dinner when I had a late meeting. They let me into their homes, showed me family pictures, told me their stories, fed me delicious food and even changed my flat tire. They trusted my new ideas, listened to my sermons and called me their pastor. As they were sustained by the river, I was sustained by them in sometimes unexpected ways. Like when I would show up to a house for a pastoral visit and see the Tupperware on the table which meant I was going home with a treat, and sometimes that was chocolate cake. Or when a retired pastor who attended the church seemed to magically appear at the hospital after I had my first baby and sweetly nestled my son’s fresh skin into the nook of his aging arm. When sweet Clarence had my then toddler son and I over for apple picking and fresh honey from the hive and I had so many apples that I shared them with my neighbors in the city. When I returned from maternity leave to find that a thoughtful man in the congregation had installed a curtain over the window in my office door and a mini fridge next to my desk to make it easier for me to pump milk for my new baby. Or when the funeral director and I let tears fall as we rode in the car together past the elementary students lined up along the road, as they said good bye to their classmate. That place with roots in the river was a place where people sustained one another, not always easily, but steadily.

 

          Last week marked six years since we saw Pike’s Peak on the horizon with a car full of car seats, snacks, toys and everything else that could fit. It has been six years since we came to a place not sustained by a river but rather sustained by a mountain. I remember telling my then four year old, “the white on the top of that mountain becomes the water we drink from our sink!” It took us a while to learn how to grow things here. It takes time, attention, watering and protection from the hail. Eventually we found a way to develop roots. My husband now has a full garden that we all help tend to and celebrate the first signs of sprouting spinach. And at the same time our roots have found a way to thrive in the thin mountain air and dry earth.  This place too is interconnected.  And like everywhere else, that can also drive me crazy. The differences in religious and political perspectives can sometimes make for tenuous connections and heated conversations.  But I also see the many ways in which we sustain one another here. People here are more likely to let you in than in other places I have lived. They are used to new people and will give you a chance. Many people don’t have generations of family here and so friendships become deeper out of mutual need and appreciation. And sunshine soaked hikes are a great way to open up to one another while navigating boulders.  Every week I meet more amazing people who inspire me with their openness, passion and ability to speak honestly about what they believe. This place, with roots in the mountain, is a place where people sustain each other, not always easily but with eagerness.

          The tree by the river in both Jeremiah and the Psalm remind us that we need to stay close to the source. The water is life. God is life. We stand by the stream of God’s grace and strength and let our roots soak it up. It nurtures our soul and makes our leaves green and then we are able to bear fruit for the world around us. We are at our best when we remember not to drift off alone in the desert, bent on our own self-righteousness or our unwillingness to see the benefit of others. Because here among the trees, close to God, we can get through the drought, whether it is a pandemic, tragic loss, doubt, sadness or the absence of hope, because we have the shade of one another’s leaves. We are interconnected, like the pecan trees that feed the squirrels … thriving together.

Sermon from 12/26/21 at Grace and St Stephen's Episcopal Church

 

John 1:1-18

          Today’s Gospel reading is a creation story, one of divine origins and explanation. It is a birth narrative, but instead of a manger and donkeys and shepherd it is simply a light in the dark. It is a theological treatise telling us about God and how we are connected to God. It is a revelation, the beginning of a story about God incarnate through Jesus. It is a Christological statement about the power and position of Jesus Christ. It is a beautiful poem about humans and God.

          It is all of these things and yet, what strikes me most about it isn’t the bold proclamations, grandiose statements, eternal time frame or creation-sized wideness of it, but rather what strikes me most is the smallness of it. The closeness.  The distance between God and the Word is so small that it doesn’t actually exist.  What strikes me most is the intimacy. This is how we came to be, this is how the Word came into the world, this is how God chose to be in the world … through intimacy … closeness.

           As secular Christmas traditions come to a close, perhaps you like so many others are relieved to be done with it, relieved to set aside the consumerism and forced sentimentality. But for all of the negative associations and eye rolling that comes with some secular Christmas traditions, at their heart I do believe they are a kind of reaching out for intimacy. Twinkle lights strung along the frame of a home to say “we want to celebrate with our neighbors and even the strangers walking by, we want to add light and beauty to your darkness.” Gifts are exchanged in an effort to show appreciation, connection, thought and relationship. Pre made holiday cards with happy faces and corrected addresses to say “I still think of you.” Sugar and flour mixed together and baked into reindeer shapes to say “I want to be the source of something that brings you a little bit of happiness.” Old songs sung out of tune to connect us with our past traditions and unite our voices.  Maybe it all falls short, maybe it all just looks like consumerism, maybe it all becomes things that overwhelm us … but I would like to think that at the root of it all is an extended hand, reaching out for closeness … for intimacy.  The intimacy that brought us all into being. 

          “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.” Not one thing … this was how we came to be.  You can’t tell the Christmas story without intimacy. Whether it is a mother and her baby, the Word and God, or the Holy Spirit like a dove coming upon Jesus.

           Perhaps then this is what we look for at Christmas. When we are pushing our cart down aisles of scarves or earrings or coffee mugs, what we are searching for is that way to reach out to someone, to connect. When we remember with sometimes painful longing Christmases of our past, perhaps what we are craving is the closeness we felt in those moments with people we can no longer get close to.

          Many of you know that I ran for political office and it was a wild experience that stretched me and challenged me in ways I never expected.  I learned a lot in a relatively short period of time. But I can say that what I treasure the most about that experience is the intimacy I got to experience. Like from the woman who stood in her driveway in her bathrobe and told me all about the struggles of raising her two special needs children and the ups and downs of their journey. Or the man who let the tears fall as he told me about his struggles with depression and his son’s battle with addiction.  Maybe even the guy who made me so angry I was shaking because as we stood there talking, eye to eye with only the frame of his front door between us we were actually daring to come close enough to a world completely unlike our own that we could hear it … just a little.  I definitely experienced intimacy with the people who walked that journey with me, the ones who built me up when I deflated and laughed with me when the only other option was crying. I appreciate those experiences of closeness so much, perhaps even more than I would have in 2019 before we ever knew how isolated we could be.

           When I read about covid cases rising and vaccine effectiveness decreasing there is something in me that aches. It felt so good to make crafts together again at Advent Lessons and Carols, to see the kids dressed as shepherds and cows, to hug family, to meet up with friends, to sing together, to be in this space. To be physically present with each other, to be close … to be intimate. We know now that we can’t take it for granted.

          One of the reasons I enjoy working with teens so much is because they are good at connecting.  They haven’t yet learned to build up walls and take sides and put up defenses and pretend that they don’t need anyone.  So they are genuine, they ask questions, they laugh together, they share experiences, they cry without apologizing, they tell you when you say the wrong thing and they open up their heart. It is a reaching out for relationship that we learn to hide, to pretend isn’t there or to take for granted. It is that craving for connection that is part of who we are since creation.

          The Gospel tells us about that creation, that the world came into being through the Word.  The Word is the light that shines in the darkness, the light that the darkness cannot overcome. The light that enlightens everyone. This means that we have that light, that intimacy, that unextinguishable light, we have it within us. It is how the world came into being and it is a light that enlightens us all. It can’t be taken away. The intimacy that we crave is always with us, in us, shining on and through us. This is our creation story, our birth story, our history and future.

           In the beginning was the Word.  A Word means revelation, a word means something is said, something is communicated.  The purpose of a word is to say something.  And on this day after Christmas we have heard the Word.  It is Jesus.  It is light and love in our world.  It is a light that the darkness cannot overcome.  It is God drawing us into that relationship that has existed since the beginning and will exist long after our end.  It is an invitation into intimacy.

          We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We don’t know if we will find ourselves in quarantine or isolation either physically, mentally or spiritually. But we know that God has spoken.  The Word has come into being and brought us into being. It enlightens us, calls us and compels us to reach out to others. And no matter what happens, that light will never be overcome by darkness. So even as we take down the twinkle lights, put the presents on the shelf, recycle the cards and regret eating too many of the cookies- let us embrace the intimacy.  The connection we all have through the Light of the World. The light that we share, the light that is big enough to encompass creation and small enough to fit inside our hearts.

Which story do I tell?

 

               There are a lot of decisions we make when we recount past events. What do we highlight? What do we gloss over? What do we want to be the lasting impression we give others? We do this when we talk about our kids’ behaviors, our marriages, our childhoods and everything else in life. We decide which story to tell. Do we tell of the struggles or the triumphs, the frustrations or the pleasant surprises?

               I was faced with this decision when I woke up Wednesday November 3. I had been dealt a crushing blow the night before. After months of answering questions, candidate surveys, recruiting volunteers, raising money, speaking to groups, meeting with people, preparing for forums, responding to endless emails, updating social media and SO MUCH door knocking … I lost my run for School Board. The campaign took over my life. I worked really hard as did my team. My heart was in it which made the loss hurt all the more. I worked with three wonderful candidates during the campaign (for four spots) and only one of us won. On Wednesday I went down some spirals. I was broken-hearted so I cried, frustrated and angry so I went off on rants and embarrassed. I lost publicly and that brings with it a certain amount of embarrassment. But I knew that the way in which I framed this wild experience is the way in which it would live on in my memory, so I had to decide what to tell myself.

               I could beat myself up. I could question if I was actually good enough, if I am good enough at anything, if everyone knew the whole time I was no good, if it was all a waste of time … I could think about the stomach aches I had the whole day of a candidate forum, having no idea what people would ask and what the other candidates would say (there was definitely some strange moments). I could think about all the angry and suspicious emails, the ones where people try to trap you and label you and make you look awful. I could remember only the angry people who answered their doors. The guy who went off on a LONG rant that started with typical concerns, then communism and the lying media and then said “we need to declare war on school boards.” That was the only time I lost it the whole campaign (well, publicly). I got really mad at that kind of language. I was mad that people told me I needed a security camera system at home if I won and that I needed to find ways to ensure the safety of my children. I told him that kind of violent language was not ok. He saw how upset I was and was shocked. Or maybe the guy who went off on my ten-year-old about critical race theory and the National Educator’s Association while he was innocently standing alone waiting for his dad. It left my son in shock, fear and swearing he would never run for political office. Then there was the morning when my fingers were frozen, everything kept blowing away, my head was pounding and just as I was finishing canvassing a housing development a guy yelled at me for being there and said it wasn’t allowed. I dreaded the angry emails that would follow. So much anger came at me and I am not sure why. There was the day I found out how much “dark money” was going into the campaigns of my opponents. Right after I was so proud of surpassing my fundraising goal of $10,000 I found out that an outside group was giving $100,000 to other candidates. That did not feel good. And all the doors closed right in my face while I was talking, honestly those were my least favorite. I felt like I wasn’t even seen as a human being. There were setbacks, stomach aches and things said by others that were so upsetting. It was hard to express to people how important the election was and in the end I was so angry at the low voter turnout (when compared with other school board elections in past years). People did not care but I cared SO MUCH. Is that the story? One of defeat, anger, embarrassment and frustration?

               There is more to it than that. My youngest son loved knocking on doors and talking to people. People were so kind to him. I stood in driveways with people as they poured out their hearts to me, shared what they have learned and what they care about and I felt completely honored by that. I connected with people over the phone while phone banking and got to really share who I was. I met amazing people who are doing great work for this city despite defeats. People who have lived here a long time and worked hard to establish themselves threw their weight behind me because they believed in me. Teachers gave up their Saturdays or stayed after a long day of school to knock on doors in support of me. The people at our church were so excited and supportive and it felt like I was doing it with them. Meet the candidate events became an exciting time of sharing ideas and making new friends. People I had never met put my name in their yards, on their windshields and filled in the circle next to it on their ballots. Friends and family I grew up with gave generously. Former teachers and former church members made financial contributions and sent emails of encouragement. I got to see so many corners of this city and most people were happy to see me walking their neighborhood. And the thank yous. So many thank yous. “Thank you for doing this.” How could I tell this story without that? The bond I made with Chris, Shawn and Julie. The way we fought together for the bond renewal so the students of this community could have facilities that aren’t crumbling around them. The pride my family had when they saw my signs or heard my radio ads or we got a flyer in the mail with my face on it. The opportunity I had to work with so many intelligent and good people, especially my campaign manager. The possibility of getting to serve the students, the hope I had in the future of our school district, the feeling that I was actually doing something about it. Plus, I learned so much. I got to tour schools, meet with administrators, research public school funding, listen to speakers who have been in this field for a long time and read so much about topics that were new to me. It felt like I was back in school (which I love). And that guy who yelled at me when my fingers were frozen and my head was pounding … he found me later to apologize and his compassion made my heart flood with compassion.

               No matter how I tell the story I can’t change the ending. I lost. Am I humbled that I got over 15,000 votes or embarrassed that I missed a spot by over 2,000 votes? Depends on the day. The fact that I lost is real, but I know that sometimes we learn and grow more from losses than from wins. I know that I would not have lost if I had never tried. I know that I worked hard and gave it my all and am proud of the campaign I ran.

               In the first few days after the election people kept talking about “when you run again” or “next time.” It was a completely ridiculous idea to me. I told my team to throw away the signs and shut down the account. But now I have a stack of signs tucked away in the corner of my garage, not because I plan to run again but because I have learned that I have no idea what life will bring … and I am not afraid of losing. I was given an amazing opportunity to stretch myself and open myself up to something I had never experienced before. And so as I etch this experience into my long term memory I do so with all the emotions- anger, frustration, joy, sadness but it is all wrapped in gratitude. My hope is that will always be the subject, moral and ending of the story whenever and however I tell it … gratitude.

What it's really like ...

              At 3 am I was startled awake by my nine-year-old standing in front of my bed.  “Mommy, I think I might throw up.”  The next four hours were a blur of gentle touches, trashcans, reassuring words, prayers and cartoons in the dark I saw through sleepy eyes.  Was it COVID? Would we all get it? What meetings do I need to cancel today?  All the while I still had a pit in my stomach from when my doctor called to tell me my first mammogram showed something in one breast.  Two days later after covid tests and lots of laundry I randomly picked a seat at the school board meeting.  I quickly realized the people all around me were very upset.  As I sat there listening to the anger in people’s voices … anger directed at those sitting in the very same seats I am campaigning for, my mind bounced between feeling compassion for everyone upset, thinking about my messaging as a candidate, wondering if the covid numbers will keep rising, wondering if my kids will get covid and fighting that anxiety knot from the diagnostic mammogram scheduled the next day. 

               Days kept going full of meetings, emails, phone calls, youth group events to run, permission slips to gather, sermons to prepare [I just had to pause and text my husband, asking him to bring home my vestments because I left them at the Episcopal Church and I need them for serving Communion at The Methodist Church tomorrow].  As I bounce from thing to thing I remember that when I decided to run for School Board someone gave me this warning “as you campaign there will be traps along the way, be careful not to get caught in them.”  At the time I had no idea what he meant.  Now I know. 

               Everyone wants me to be something.  I am not conservative enough for the conservatives and not liberal enough for the liberals.  People tell me “I will support you if …”  and then tell me how to change my messaging.  I get invitations to events and have to ask myself if it is actually a way for me to share my message and connect with people or a way for people to put me in a corner, label me a certain way and then tune out everything I have to say. 

               Last Tuesday my husband had a meeting so I led Morning Prayer on Facebook myself.  The scriptures were: Psalm 26, Kings 8:65-9:9 and Mark 14:66-72.  Over and over again I kept hearing about integrity.  I felt emotional reading them because they felt like the exact thing my heart needed to hear.  Campaigning and being a pastor have many similarities.  In both situations people want you to align with what they already think and believe.  In both situations support from others can feel conditional and uncertain.  In both situations if you do not tend to your soul and remember who you are then you get lost.  Standing at all these school Open Houses reminds me a bit of standing in the post worship greeting lines.  Most people are in a hurry and you just try to say whatever you can as quickly as you can, some people are upset and you try to do your best to listen and respond in a way that is genuine and honest and some are ready to connect with you and you feel so appreciative of a moment to truly see another and feel seen. 

               Today I find myself with something rare: time to myself.  As I sort through all the anxious thoughts I have had these past few weeks, process the fears and think about the things that have upset me and why and also the things that have moved me and why, I find myself feeling like I want to cry.  Not the kind of cry I expected- not because I feel overwhelmed or scared or sad, but the kind of cry that comes from a heart overwhelmed with gratitude.  I feel so incredibly grateful.  The mammogram was fine, just dense tissue.  The kids are fine, all negative covid tests, all recovered and so incredibly happy to be going to in person school.  My mom just got her booster shot.  The big church event last Sunday went really well and was really fun.  I was the first name drawn for the ballot order lottery meaning I will be the first of seven names listed on the ballot (for three spots).  Several of the current school board members have been incredibly helpful and kind.  And I have gotten to meet some great people and learn about really wonderful things at all the schools I have been to.  I am learning so much.  And I got all nine burrs out of my dog’s fur with minimal biting.  All a reminder that I will be ok no matter what, not because life is easy, not because bad things don’t happen but because I can remember who I am regardless of all of that.