Maybe. May be.

It's difficult to write about many things when there's one thing struggling to be heard.  As poet Ellen Bass once instructed a bunch of us burgeoning poets, "You have to write the poems you don't want to write before you can write the ones you do want to write.  Otherwise, they'll all have to crawl over the ones sitting like a lump in the back of your throat."  Or words to that effect.

So...I haven't been writing much of anything because of one true thing (thank you, Anna Quindlen) that needs to be said.

I am grieving.  I thought it would nice to have a rest from parish ministry for a few months (no telling when they will end), but all I feel is sad and angry...what most folks call depressed.  I didn't just go from 90 mph to nothing; I parked the car in the garage, put an old parachute over it, and tucked the keys in a drawer.  Yes, I've done some things this summer I would not have done had I been working:  I went to South Dakota on a mission trip with my Monroe peeps to an Indian reservation with Simply Smiles; I co-deaned a conference for twenty 5th and 6th graders at Silver Lake Conference Center with my friend and pastor Jennifer Gingras entitled "Clowns for God"; I traveled to Costa Rica for a week-long adventure with my family.  I'm teaching myself how to play the Native American wood flute.  I'm working on a clay sculpture at the high school that will serve as a Communion set in some future ministry setting.

But it's not enough.  This November I will be celebrating 20 years of ordination; 15 of those years have been in temporary ministry positions.  I want to settle down with a congregation and see what that feels like.  Ever since I left full-time ministry to be home with my children (which I have never regretted for an instant, for which I am immensely grateful) I have also been grieving the loss of that ministry.  And please do not attempt in the comments to mollify that emotion or to help me realize the blessing of being able to stay home with my children.  I know that.  I've heard all of that for the past 15 years.  What seems to be beyond understanding is how something so wonderful can also be a source of pain; how a life with God can be life-giving and be a struggle, that God can be the one thing that saves you and the biggest question mark of your life.  A life with God, like any other relationship, is complex and sometimes there are no answers--not even a 'yes' or 'no' as whether or not to stick with it.  Most days it's a 'maybe', which might turn out to be the most faithful answer we can give.

I've written my profile.  I've received all my written references and I've submitted my profile as 'complete' to the UCC Profile Office in Cleveland.  I've decided that despite everything, perhaps because of everything, that I need to do this:  I need to love and to serve and to make it my life's work.  And I think I'm good at it, at least, as far as I've gotten to this point, and I still have a long way to go.  But it is a calling I can't let go of and that won't let go of me, even if I wanted it to; a heartstring that does not break when stretched but only keeps pulling.

Tricky part is...my husband feels called to work in the solar field, research and design specifically.  This is the other reason I have kept myself temporary and loose; so that when he finds that dream job we can pick up and go.  But for one reason or another he has not been able to find that job.  And he's paid just enough at  his current job to make it difficult to consider leaving, even though he's miserable there.  It would be easier having him lead the way since he has the higher earning potential.  But I can't wait any longer.  Four years ago he earned another Master's degree, in computer and electrical engineering, that took three years to finish.  Another temporary ministry gig for me and I just might go the way of John the Baptist.

Prayers, people, I need prayers.  Big ones, small ones, one word of hope.  Strike a match, hold a vigil of candles, a campfire in the backyard, a bonfire on the beach.  Bring them all together to make this light big, that a faith community in need of a pastor like me might see it, that I might go to where they are.

A chance for world peace

This past Saturday I took my youngest daughter to a Yankees' game in New York.  If you know where I grew up, you know this is quite a feat.  I'm from the South Shore of Massachusetts.  My mother took me to Red Sox games during the days of Fred Lynn, Carl Yastrzemski, Carlton Fisk, Jim Rice, Luis Tiant, Dwight Evans, Dennis Eckersley, Wade Boggs and Bob Stanley.  I have "lived and died with the Sox", as they say, for most of my life.

So for me to take my daughter to a Yankees' game is no small thing.  And yet I did it because my love for my daughter is much, much greater than my love for my Boston Red Sox.  I wore my Red Sox cap and proudly escorted my daughter into Yankee Stadium on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. 

I had decided ahead of time that I would ignore jeers and taunts but would welcome any questions about my choice of hats.  As it happened, I heard only two of the former and received but one question--from a woman sitting in front of me:  "So, why the Red Sox cap?"  We had already made exchanges about the game; now she was ready to satisfy her curiosity.

I replied that I was making an effort toward world peace.  If I, a Red Sox fan, can take my Yankees' daughter to a Yankees' home game and cheer them on, then there's hope for the world.  After that declaration, she and the man seated next to her spent the next several minutes trying to figure out what I did for a living.  At first they were convinced I was a teacher--not bad for a first guess.  Of course, after that they didn't get any closer; the man even paid me a backhanded compliment with "a swimsuit model"!  I replied that I do that in my spare time.

When I finally confessed that I was an ordained minister, the woman, who was Roman Catholic, said to me, "You have to go to school for that?"  (When they were guessing, I had said that I went to college and grad school.)  I explained, yeah, we have to learn all that church history, Hebrew scriptures, the New Testament, systematic theology, etc., just like a priest would.  In return, she gave me a blank look.  Oh well.

So now I had my ally in the bleachers in case anyone gave me a hard time.  By the way, Boston fans, Yankee fans aren't half so rabid as you might think.  Although if I had worn the cap to a Yankees'/Red Sox game in New York, perhaps they wouldn't have been so forbearing!

It was a great game and a wonderful time with my daughter.  Here's recap of the game:

Mid-August Lunch (2008)

The need for connection, conversation, good food, and good wine never leaves us. At least, I hope so. Wouldn't it be wonderful if as we age, we could live in small groups, cared for by one or two individuals, who would cook delicious food for us, look after us and keep us comfortable and safe? There's a time when we all need more care than what our families can provide, and that's alright. But before that, we're capable of still living a life that gives great joy.

Mid-August Lunch is a delightful movie, a slice-of-life story about Gianni and his mother and the three unfamiliar Italian mamas (one is an 'auntie) who come to spend the weekend during the Italian summer holiday Pranzo di Ferragosto or mid-August lunch. Gianni Di Gregorio, who directs the film, stars as the mother-doting son who takes life as it comes, as slowly as he can enjoy it. While watching the film I got the feeling of some friends who got together to tell a simple yet entertaining story.



I should be so lucky at the age of 80 or more to spend the month of August in Rome, eating a meal cooked by someone like Gianni. Ciao, bello!

Leaving

Genesis 12: 1-9; Acts 2: 1-21
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
June 12, 2011 – Pentecost Sunday

(After 2+ years this church found its settled pastor, who will begin in August. I chose to leave now to spend the summer with my husband and daughters and to give the congregation both an opportunity to self-govern for a while and to open some space between myself and the new pastor. This was my last sermon to the Woodmont congregation.)

Some of you may remember that on my first Sunday here I said that as an interim pastor I would operate rather like Nanny McPhee. I quoted these words: “When you need me but do not want me, then I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, then I must leave.” The first statement makes it difficult to stay, the last more difficult to leave. But both accurately describe the transition a congregation goes through during the interim process. More than that, both statements describe a life of faith; a life lived in community with God.

Living with God means a life of comings and goings. It may look like we’re staying put for a while, but actually God is always getting us ready for the next adventure. Like a garden or a forest or an ocean or a galaxy, there’s a lot going on that we don’t always see but things are changing and moving nonetheless. Everything, everything is on its way to somewhere else—constantly—always moving, always changing. It only looks like we’re standing still because time seems to move so slowly. The universe is about 15 billion years old and it’s still evolving, still growing, and our knowledge of it still expanding.

Yet when we look back on our lives, a speck of years in the span of existence, it seems all of it has occurred in the blink of an eye. How quickly these past two years have gone by and yet while we were in the middle of it, didn’t it seem like this day was so far away? Inevitably leaving is part of the plan, at some point in time, in whatever way. Eventually we all leave what is known and go into the unknown.

When God told as then Abram and Sarai to “go”, God wasn’t telling them to go so much as to leave. Leave behind all their family, their familiar fertile land in Sumer, in the delta of the Euphrates; leave behind the inheritance of his father’s land for a land that God would show them, a unfamiliar place, a land in which they would be strangers.



For many of us this is not good news. Leave? Just because God said so? Leave for a place far away, with no idea what it will be like, giving absolute trust to a God who only a few chapters back destroyed almost all of creation and humankind with a flood, then scattered a burgeoning human race by confusing their language.

But now God makes promises of blessing and descendants to Abram, and God makes good on those promises. We see the relationship between God and human beings change and grow. However we know nothing about Abram, about what kind of man he is. When God last singled out a human being for a special calling, which was Noah, we read that he was a good man, a man of integrity in his community and that he ‘walked with God’. But we have no such recommendations for Abram. Perhaps he was simply in the right place at the right time.

And so Abram, at the age of 75, leaves everything he knows, taking with him his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, all his possessions, animals and slaves and sets out for the land of Canaan. And he doesn’t make the journey in one huge push but goes in stages: one step, one day at a time. Ever since then, God’s people have been on the move, whether for survival or exile or to return home or to leave once more.

Even in the Pentecost story we get the unmistakable feeling that everything is changing for the disciples. Jesus has been raised from the dead and has has ascended into heaven. They have gathered together as Jesus taught them but then suddenly there is a gust of wind and flame. Whenever a wind blows through, when flames are burning, nothing is ever the same as it was. It would have been comical, almost comforting if they had been drunk on wine instead of filled with the Holy Spirit. Instead we have a group of disciples who are now compelled to preach, to tell the story of Jesus, their story—to anyone who will listen.

Even more than that, they can now speak to anyone in their own language—yet another sign that soon they will be leaving their beloved Jerusalem, their families, the inheritance of their fathers and mothers, their faith tradition as they had always known it, and go to the foreign lands of the gentiles.

In Jewish tradition the day of Pentecost is a celebration of the giving of the Ten Commandments to Moses 50 days after the exodus. Now God is giving another set of marching orders so transformative that they cannot be denied. And yet we’ve all done our best, from time to time, to keep this story quiet, as fascinating as it is to us, even though, perhaps even because, it has the power to change the way we live our lives. We may resist the movement of the Spirit but sooner or later we’re going to have to leave what is known and venture into the unknown. Leaving, whether physically or spiritually, is how we grow.



Woodmont UCC, the story of Jesus living in you, your story is on the move. It always has been and always will be. The wind blows where it will and on you will go. Today you are opening a door and crossing a threshold to a world, a place yet unknown. As the good doctor once said (and I’ve edited this a bit):

“The Holy Spirit is upon you!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And with Jesus in your heart, YOU are the ones who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’ve got too much heart to think any street is a not-so-good street.

And who knows? God may not go down any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, God will probably call you to head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy and gutsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t. Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And the holy church gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a church lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How many angels on the head of a pin?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up their mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across a weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for the budget to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for a committee-free night or waiting, perhaps, for enough money or a pot to boil, or a few more members or a string of pearls, or a pastor who wears pants (perhaps you’ve had enough of girls!), or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll move beyond all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where the Worshiping Musicians are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you were made to fly!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are Fall Fairs to be chaired. There are races to be run. And the miraculous things you can do with God’s call will make you the church-iest church of all. Glory to God! You’ll be as amazing as grace can be, with the whole wide world watching you sing! Glory be!

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll have lonely times too. Things you can’t do ‘cause you’ll work against you.

All Alone!

Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll resist quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though the powers that be growl. On you will go though your sinking hearts howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems with God as your North Star.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with some mighty strange birds as you go. So be sure to speak up when you speak. Speak with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And when you dance, always forgive when someone mixes up your right foot with their left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(One hundred six and ¾ percent guaranteed.)



Folks, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Barrieau or Burrows or Bray or Bob, Jason, George, Eric, Frank, olé!
You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Wealth inequality

This method was used in the 1980's to illustrate the excesses of nuclear stockpiles in the US and the then USSR. I can remember a church member involved in the anti-proliferation movement dropping BB's into a galvanized garbage can. And yeah, you couldn't even hear a BB drop when he was done. Too much is way too much.

Bad news and Good News

Are you a trader?

And their eyes were opened

Psalm 116: 1-4, 12-19
Luke 24: 13-35
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
May 8, 2011 - Mother's Day


Last week we laughed because of the resurrection; this week we wept.

I didn't preach a sermon this past Mother's Day. Instead we put aside the usual agenda to help one family in their grief for a baby that died 20 years ago, that was never named, that was not laid to rest.

In the place where the sermon would go, after the scripture readings, the youth message and a hymn (At the Font We Start Our Journey), I began the liturgy for baptism with the words from the gospel of Mark:

"People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.' And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them."

We prayed, blessed the water, and the parents named the child Matthew. I then poured water over their hands, baptizing Matthew in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, the Mother of us all.

The congregation stood and welcomed this child into their midst as a member of the church. We prayed that this child would receive the new life given in Christ. And then we remembered this child, Matthew. We re-membered him, realizing his absence but also now his memory in this church family. The mother stood and told the story of his birth, how he would not survive long after, that she was unconscious and had never really embraced nor fully mourned her son. She wanted to name him Matthew because that was the gospel through which she came to know the Bible as an adult.

I talked about the journey to Emmaus, that it not until that time and in that place that these disciples were able to see the risen Christ, and that now this family was able to see the risen Christ in their midst for having been a part of this faith community, in this time, in this place. Then we prayed for Matthew's spirit and for our spirits too.





At the words of commendation (Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Matthew. Acknowledge, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a son of your own redeeming. Receive Matthew into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace) I could no longer hold it together. My voice broke on the word 'son' and I finished the prayer with tears slipping down my cheeks. It was the first memorial service I had ever done for a child, and I don't think it made any difference that there was no small casket and that he had died 20 years ago. It certainly didn't for his parents or for the congregation.

After a blessing, before we began the Prayers of the Church, I said, "That felt good. It felt good to do that." And then: "God is good." The congregation responded "All the time." And I said, "And all the time..." they replied, "God is good."

It was a good Mother's Day.

The church improvisational

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, Caravaggio, 1601-02

John 20: 19-31
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
May 1, 2011 – Holy Humor/Bright Sunday


Recently I read Tina Fey’s memoir Bossypants, recalling her days as a member of the Second City improv theater in Chicago. Did you know that there are rules for doing improvisational comedy? You wouldn’t think so to look at it. There’s no scenery, no props, and no script; it’s just made up as the actors go along.

Even though the Christian faith has a script (holy scriptures—what we call the Bible), some fabulous scenery (the whole of creation and the living of our lives), and a few props (the cross, bread, juice, the waters of baptism), the religious establishment is sometimes accused of making it up as it goes along. Indeed there are some tenets of Christian doctrine that seem as though they were conjured from the human imagination: original sin, the virgin birth, even the resurrection. For hundreds of years there have been rules about what is orthodox belief and what is heresy; rules about what makes a faith community the Church rather than just a social club.

Thankfully church life has loosened up some over the years. Indeed there are some who would say it has loosened up too much. In the United Church of Christ there are no tests of faith, no creeds we must adhere to. We recognize that everyone is on a journey of faith, that every relationship with God and with the church is unique. Yet there is also an ancient tradition that goes all the way back to Jesus and his disciples and it is this faith and this community that we strive to emulate.

If I didn’t know any better, from this morning’s reading from the gospel of John, I’d think that Jesus knew the rules of improvisational comedy. Not that he or Thomas are trying to be funny but according to Tina Fey, they are following the rules. The rules of improv are also pretty good for what it means to be the church.

1. The first rule is to agree, to say yes to whatever is being created. So if your partner says “Freeze, I have a water pistol,” you can’t reply with “No, it’s not. It’s your finger,” then the scene has come to a stop rather than going on. This rule reminds us to keep an open mind to what is going on around us. Thomas is not yet ready to keep an open mind about this risen Christ. He demands to see Jesus’ wounds and to place his hand in his side. Jesus doesn’t say, “Resurrection isn’t about the body” or “Get your filthy hands off me”. Instead he says yes to Thomas and the scene continues.

2. The second rule to is to add something of your own, to say ‘yes, and’, to agree but to also go on with what has been handed to you. If I say, “Gee, it sure is humid,” and you say, “Yeah…”, then there’s really no where to go. But if you say, “What do you expect from living inside a giant rice cooker?” or “Yeah, it’s so humid even my wrinkles can’t hold out” or “I told you we shouldn’t have crawled into the belly of a whale”, then we’ve got somewhere to go. When Jesus says to Thomas ‘put your hand in my side’, Thomas doesn’t say “Eew, yuck! No, thanks!” Rather, he adds his ‘yes, and’, his confession of faith: “My Lord and my God!”

3. The next rule is to make statements. If we ask questions all the time, we put pressure on our partner to come up with all the answers. If we point out all the obstacles, it then becomes up to our partner to solve them. Whatever the difficulty is, we need to be part of the solution rather than add to the problem. Jesus asks Thomas a question but he follows it with the answer, making a declarative statement: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Not having seen Jesus in the flesh presents a problem of faith: how are we to believe if we have not seen? Jesus reminds us that faith is not about what is certain but what is uncertain. Improvising is all about uncertainty and not knowing what is going to happen next.

4. Finally, there are no mistakes, only opportunities. Thomas wasn’t there the first time Jesus appeared to the disciples: rather than a mistake it was an opportunity for Jesus to teach and to help his friends understand what it means to believe and to be in community with those who may have doubts. Jesus and the disciples could have chastised Thomas for missing out the first time. Instead we have a beautifully improvised scene in which those who doubt are included and we receive the blessing of the words “come to believe”, illustrating that faith and living in community are not a place to arrive at but a journey, a process, an improvisation.





(After this point, members of the congregation took turns telling those religious jokes we get in our email--and some I'd never heard before. I should say that up until I preached the sermon I was wearing a squid hat, borrowed from my daughter's friend at school. It became too heavy to wear, at which point I took it off to reveal the tiara I was wearing underneath. It was also Communion Sunday, so we had milk and 'Nilla wafers by intinction!)

Jesus, Mary and joy

Mary at the Tomb, by Lisa Hornor

John 20: 1-20
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 24, 2011 – Easter Sunday


Have you ever heard the joke “What do you get when you play a country song backwards?” Well, you may have even heard the answer in Rascal Flatts’ song “Backwards”:




If the resurrection was like a country music song played backwards, it might sound something like this:

I was sittin’ in an upper room
Oh so far away from Galilee
When this beloved disciple walked in
And sat right down next to me
I could tell he’d seen some hard times
There were tear stains on his hairshirt
He said you wanna know what you get
When you play Jesus’ death backwards?

He gets his life back.
She gets her heart back.
The disciples get their teacher back.
The Romans get the thorn in their side back.
The darkness gets the light back.
That heavy stone gets rolled back.
Jesus is king; salvation bring.
The angels sing, sing, sing and the heavens ring
We get the way and the truth and the life and the glory
in which we tell that old, old story
Sounds a little crazy, a little scattered and absurd
but that’s what you get
when you play Jesus’ death backwards


Wouldn’t it be nice, we think sometimes, if we could play our lives backwards? If we could just rewind a few minutes, a few hours, days, weeks, years—back to that time before we did whatever it was? Or before the cancer, before we lost our job? Before the person we loved left us or died, before the fight and the hurtful words, before we lost our temper? Before that moment we were so scared we didn’t know what to do, before that moment we wish we had said or done what was in our hearts?

Regret is a terrible thing. It can paralyze us, make us crazy, and drive us to other actions we may also later regret. I read once that many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves—regret of the past and fear of the future. Even though Jesus was crucified for being fully human and fully God, I doubt he had any regrets about that. He may have been scared and full of sorrow, perhaps even a little relieved, but I don’t think he was regretful.



Regret, by Cyn McCurry


Every Easter we try to make sense out of the resurrection—something that makes no sense at all. And yet we often have difficulty making sense and meaning out of our own lives. What makes us think we can tackle a mystery like the resurrection with any less struggle?

One thing I do know is this: the resurrection is not Jesus’ death played backwards. It’s not our own lives moved back to some restore point before the troubles. The resurrection is a moving forward through the regrets and the fears, through our lives and our inevitable deaths, and doing so with joy.

Sometimes we are tempted to believe that joy is just not possible given the circumstances of our lives. But I’m not talking about happiness. Happiness is fleeting, dependent on whether or not we ate breakfast, what the weather is like, if our body is working right and all kinds of outside influences. Joy is what sustains us despite the conditions of our lives; as the poet Wendell Berry said, “Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.”

At the beginning of Lent we read verse 12 of Psalm 51: “Restore to me the joy of my salvation and sustain in me a willing spirit.” To me, that says to be joyful is to have a willing spirit. Though Mary had lost not only her best friend but her teacher and savior, she had a willing spirit to stand at the cross while he died, to go where her friend was buried and be persistent in finding him.




If her story was a country song, it might go something like this:

Jesus, Mary and joy
Jesus, Mary and joy
She sang the blues
But he brought Good News
And now she spreading the joy

She was a woman possessed
Jesus healed her
Then she confessed
That Jesus was Lord
He could not afford
To live a life that leads to death

He gave all that he had
Even then it wasn’t all bad
And despite that old cross
They gained what was lost
And now she’s spreading the joy

Jesus, Mary and joy
Jesus, Mary and joy
They both sang the blues
But he brought Good News
And now she’s spreading the joy

Even when we sing the blues
It’s then Jesus gives Good News
And now we’re spreading the joy

Amen.

Shake, rattle and roll

Skull with Cigarette (1886), Van Gogh


Ezekiel 37: 1-14
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 10, 2011


(Ezekiel is calling together the dry bones of the desert valley, except that no one is showing up. He and the spine are having a conversation about the reluctance of these bones to return.)


Ezekiel: Where is everybody?

Spine: Well, sir, not everyone is on board with this getting back together thing, this family reunion you’ve got planned.

Ezekiel: It’s not my plan. It’s all God’s idea.

Spine: Apparently so, sir. It seems everyone else has a different idea and has made other plans.

Ezekiel: I thought at least Radius and Ulna would be here – they’re usually ready for anything. Forearmed is forewarned, you know.

Spine: I know, sir, but they’re still out shopping with Tibia, Fibula and Femur.

Ezekiel: Let me guess…this is going to cost me…

Both: An arm and a leg!

Ezekiel: I thought for sure Skull would be here. He’s always head and shoulders above the rest.

Spine: Yes, but he’s been taking this separation on the chin—lost his head about it, I’m afraid. I think it’s affected all the dry bones the same way—taken the life out of them.

Ezekiel: So why are you here?

Spine: Evidently, sir, I’m the only one with enough backbone.

Ezekiel: But see, it’s not about standing before God in fear and trembling. God is going to knit you all together with tendons and cartilage…

Spine: God knows how to knit?!

Ezekiel: …and forgiveness and grace. God’s going to give you muscles for justice and peace, and ears to hear God’s word, and a stomach for the law and the prophets, and a heart of courage and compassion.

Spine: Sir, we dry bones have been apart so long we’ve forgotten what it’s like to live with God and each other. There were times when words like ‘obedience’, ‘surrender’ and ‘covenant’ made us stiff-necked. If you could have only heard the knees creak and groan when they had to kneel…

Ezekiel: God isn’t promising an easy life but rather new life. It’s not about bowing and scraping before God but about dancing in the presence of God, even in the midst of trouble.

Spine: Sir, do we get skin? Please say yes. And could you make it rather thick? With all these hostile takeovers—what with the Babylonians and now the Assyrians breathing down our necks—we tend to bruise easily.

Ezekiel: Yes, God will cover you but you’ll still be vulnerable—it’s really the only way to be compassionate.

Spine: Okay, so God will put us all back together again—make a body of us again. Is that it? Do we just stand there?

Ezekiel: Didn’t you hear me? I said dancing. I said new life. Weren’t you paying attention? You’ve got a lot of nerve!

Spine: If you’ll recall, I haven’t got any nerves right now!

Ezekiel: Oops! Sorry.

Spine: So just how is God going to accomplish this new life?

Ezekiel: God will put the Spirit, the breath of life into you. You think that it only happened once, back in the beginning? We may all be dust and to dust we shall return yet God will not leave us hopeless. God is always ready to breathe new life into us.

Spine: Great, just as long as God remembers to use Altoids!

Ezekiel: Hey, don’t complain! Anything smells better than a bunch of dead, dry bones coming out of their graves!

Spine: Okay, okay! Keep your hairshirt on! So, let’s get this party started!

Ezekiel: May I have the first dance?

Spine: As soon as I get my feet under me!




Watch the crowd and how it moves to the music, how everyone comes to life as the music begins.

Strange comfort

Psalm 23, by Irv Davis, (c) 2000.


Psalm 23
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
April 3, 2011


Security is a word we hear more often these days. The Department of Homeland Security, formed in 2002 in response to the attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, has increased access to our privacy in the name of security. We have security checks at state and federal buildings, at some schools, and at major entertainment and sports venues, like concerts and the Olympics, even in Bridgeport at Harbor Yard. Security at most airports has been increasing steadily, to the point of invading personal modesty with revealing body scanners. It is now customary to hand over briefcases, backpacks, laptops and handbags, take off our shoes, belts, jewelry, and even then we still might have to be checked with a wand or a pat down. And then there’s our Social Security system, originally intended to be an assistance check added to one’s own personal savings, but now it’s the only source of income for a great many folks with the funds dwindling rapidly.

Our obsession with security betrays our addiction to fear. Fear that we can’t ever be safe enough. Fear that we won’t have enough to live. Fear that the ways things are will come to an end. We want to know that everything will be alright, that we will be cared for, and we want it guaranteed.

Living with fear is very exhausting. It makes it difficult to sleep, makes it difficult to relax, to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy any sense of peace. A guarantee of security might make it easier to breathe and to go about our business but at what price? Ben Franklin said, “They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither safety nor liberty.” In our desire for guaranteed security we have traded our safety for our souls. And those who offer this guarantee think they have a window into our souls and our lives.





An ancient Chinese story is told of an old farmer who used an old horse to till his fields. One day the old horse ran off into the hills. Everyone said, “What a shame!” The old man replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” A week later the horse returned with a herd of wild horses. Everyone in the village congratulated the old farmer, for the measure of his wealth had been increased. The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” When the old farmer’s son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off and broke his leg. Everyone said, “What bad luck!” The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” A week later the imperial army was marching through the village, conscripting all the young men into the emperor’s war campaign. When they saw the farmer’s son with his broken leg, the army excused him from military service. Everyone said, “It’s a good thing that horse broke his leg.” The old farmer replied, “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

We are quick to judge, quick to secure meaning and at least a small measure of comfort in the events of our lives, to know why things happen the way they do. We want guarantees and certainty, the very opposites of faith and serenity. Faith is a trust not in what we know but in what we can’t know for certain; serenity is the state of being calm, peaceful and untroubled in the face of that which produces fear.

Have you noticed that in the past ten years or so, in political and other forms of discourse, a difference of opinion, viewpoint or belief is generally not tolerated? Increasingly there is a lack of trust in others who do not share our mindset. On the airwaves, on TV news shows, and in the public sphere we argue and shout more than we listen, consider and discuss.

It is the certainty of our religious convictions that often drives a painful, hurtful wedge between human beings. I believe that the next challenge of the church is that of interfaith relationships and working alongside those of no faith tradition. If we are honest with ourselves, it is not the form of our faith which gives us comfort but its content: peace and justice for all people and for the earth and all its inhabitants, extravagant welcome, wholeness, healing, forgiveness, and compassion. As Christians we see this most clearly in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. But not everyone sees in the same way that we do, nor should they have to in order for all of us to be compassionate towards each other and to share what we have.



Kashmir, India, 1999.

Psalm 23, the most memorized text in the Bible after the Lord’s Prayer, is one used mainly for comfort, especially at a funeral or memorial service. But it is a strange comfort if we read it closely. This is a paraphrase I wrote some years ago as a call to worship:

God is our guide and friend. In God we lack nothing. We come for restoration and strength to follow God’s way of narrow distance and wide compassion. God is always with us. Wherever we are, God is. We seek the ways of life though we fear change as though it were death. God feeds us at the same table with our enemy, holy love pouring down like oil on our heads, filling our cupped hands with mercy. We are God’s dwelling place, a holy tabernacle, the body of Christ.

The only comfort that is promised in this psalm is God’s presence, in good times and in the worst of them. God restores us because we’re going to need all our strength for the path of righteousness and justice. God leads us, but sometimes to places we’d rather not go, even unto death. God feeds us but at the same table as our enemy. God anoints us but God also anointed Jesus to be the Christ and look where that got him. A relationship with God has never been a rose garden. What we are promised is streams of mercy, meadows of restoration, and the presence of God along that path of righteousness that inevitably goes through the valley of death.

We all want to be comforted by our faith, by God, and by each other. Surely this is a purpose for church: to be loved and to love others. But God also leads us beyond ourselves to the world that is waiting to be loved; the world that is waiting to be shown what it means to feast at a table with enemies, with our worst fears; a world in which the only thing that is certain is change. We put our faith in a loving God because we want that change to be for the good of all and not just for some or a few.



A charcoal sketch of the valley of the shadow of death that I did in high school.


Think of this church, of the collective faith in this room. Where is God calling you that you’d rather not go? What is the perceived enemy with which you must sit at table and be fed by the hand of God? What is the path of righteousness that God has set before you as a community of faith? What interferes with your serenity and your faith in the uncertain? How have you experienced God’s presence during this interim time?

Is there a God? In truth we cannot say without a doubt that God exists. What we can say is that even with our doubts, when we open ourselves to the mystery we call God, we know ourselves to be comforted; that when we let go of certainty, we can be at peace with the unknown and journey through that dark valley in faith that God is with us; that when we put our lives in God’s hands, we can eat at table with our worst fears and know that we will be restored.

Amen.

What we know...

...is that we really don't know much.

Go naked for a sign

The Human Condition, Rene Magritte, 1933


Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-8; Psalm 32
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
March 13, 2011


The summer before my oldest daughter turned three, Andrea would not wear a bathing suit. It was the summer of toilet training, before she would begin preschool in the fall. She wanted to be free, to feel the sun and water and sand on her bare skin, and if she had an accident, she wouldn’t need to be changed. She ran on the beach with no shame, no self-consciousness about her body or her nakedness. As I wrote this sermon I looked at the pictures I took of her as she unabashedly looked into the camera. She was beautiful.

But I could tell that not everyone on the beach that day felt as I did. There were glares and stares, even a whispered comment that she was too old to be running around without a bathing suit. They didn’t understand how different this child was from the infant who screamed when we gave her a bath.

From her very first bath Andrea could not stand to be exposed and bathed, not even in the safety baby tub that barely contained any water. She would turn red from crying as she lay in the prone position, the only position allowed in this new-fangled way of keeping baby safe while bathing. David and I had to devise our own method in order that Andrea feel safe and comforted while we bathed her. What we did was to recreate some of the atmosphere of the womb, the first waters that Andrea ever knew.

First, we would warm the bathroom with a heater. Then we lit a few candles rather than use the overhead light. The bathtub was filled only halfway with warm water. Then either David or I would get undressed and get into the tub holding Andrea against our chest so she could hear our heartbeat, cradling her much in the same way as she was carried in utero. It was at about three months, after the colic dissipated, that she was able to sit up with assistance in a small tub and then in a safety chair in the bathtub.

When both my girls were born they were placed on my bare chest; not only to begin the nursing process but more so they would bond with me and I with them. When we’re born, much like Adam and Eve when their eyes were opened, we move from unknowing to knowing, from having all our needs met without even having to ask into a strange new world of light and sound, varying temperatures and naked vulnerability. That first skin-to-skin contact stabilizes the baby’s heart and breathing rates, helps keep the baby warm, and reduces crying, giving the child the earliest opportunity to nurse and to know that their needs will be met. This naked vulnerability between mother and infant is baby’s immediate education in the ways of trust and dependence.



Adam and Eve, Marc Chagall, 1912

When Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the tree, they were born into the world of good and evil. Rather than this naked vulnerability binding them to God, it drove them away into hiding themselves. From this point on, nakedness would be equated with shame, our bodies relegated to evil rather than good, our standing with God being on tenuous terms.

However, this is not a prescriptive story about how it should be; rather it is a descriptive story about how things are. We were created for the garden. We were intended to live in innocence, shamelessness, and in harmony with God, each other and the creation. If there was any original sin, it was in humanity’s ignorance and hubris that we could outsmart this mysterious power that brought forth life out of lifelessness, that we could have knowledge like that which created the heavens and the earth, that we could evade death. And throughout our evolution as a human race we have tried to hide ourselves from God and from each other, protecting our naked vulnerability, shaming what makes us unique, denigrating what makes us beautiful in the eyes of God.

How often do we hide our tears and keep our sadness and grief to ourselves? How many of us try to avoid seeing our naked bodies in the mirror at all costs? When was the last time we were with someone or a group of people and we were not afraid to be our true selves? How many times a day do we regret what we said or did not say, what we did or what we did not do? How bare do we lay our souls, the good and the bad, before God?



The Nakedness of Adam, Alan Falk, 2003

We might be able to fool others, and more likely ourselves, but we can’t fool God. It’s like hiding the liquor bottles at the bottom of the recycling bin, sneaking something we’re not supposed to eat on a diet, not telling our partner about that bonus check or the money we lost, buying things we don’t need and stuffing them in the closet for later. And no matter which part of us we hide, the good or the bad, we end up hiding the other as well—we might as well be invisible for all that! God knows us inside and out, sees us for who we are, and calls us to do God-work anyway. God knows that we are far from innocent and yet does not condemn. With God, the cat’s out of the bag and it’s okay!

This doesn’t mean we can do what we want and get away with it. Nor can we just let it all hang out, as they used to say. Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant reformation, wrote these words about sin and grace: “If you are a preacher of mercy, do not preach an imaginary but the true mercy. If the mercy is true, you must therefore bear the true, not an imaginary sin. God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong, but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world. …Do you think such an exalted Lamb paid merely a small price with a meager sacrifice for our sins? Pray hard for you are quite a sinner.” God’s mercy is infinite because our capacity to sin is also infinite but so is our ability to do and be good.

As I’ve said before, our ability to accept and love others as they are is directly related to our own level of self-acceptance. A church cannot give an extravagant welcome if its members are worried about where they stand with God, each other and themselves. What if the next time you were about to give yourself a piece of harsh criticism (or anyone else for that matter), instead you gave yourself or someone else a hug? What if, as Maggie Kuhn said, you spoke your truth even if your voice is shaking? What if instead of only seeing the bad or the good about yourself and others, you looked at yourself and at others the way God does?

Trust is...

(c) Kristin Noelle, 2011.

God’s eyes were already opened that day in the garden. Later in the passage we can hear the disappointment in God’s voice. God metes out some consequences for each of the players in this drama. But there is also tenderness—God clothes Adam and Eve with garments made from animal skins.

Even though they thought they could hide what they did and who they had become, God looked on this humankind made in God’s own likeness with clear eyes. God saw the mistakes, the tendency to be beguiled, to act without thinking, to hide and cover up, and to pass the blame yet also saw that original innocence, that naked vulnerability that resides in each one of us. God saw the whole package, and even so God still desired to be in relationship with these unpredictable beings of free will, even to the point of suffering and dying on a cross.


The Garden of Eden, Erastus Salisbury Field, 1865

God was and is willing to go naked for a sign. In creating humankind in the divine image God became naked and vulnerable to the creation. We witness this in moments of courage and greatness, in the many expressions of creativity and genius, in the simplicity of a meal for one who is hungry, clothing the naked, visiting those in prison, caring for the sick, clean water for those who thirst. God’s naked vulnerability can also be seen in the eyes of those who suffer from injustice, whose young bodies and lives are bought and sold and discarded, in those who bear the indignities of age without care, those who live through war, disease, poverty, natural disasters and their aftermath.

If we are to do God-work, then we must be willing to go naked for a sign ourselves: to be honest about who we are without shame, to love unabashedly, and allow the divine image within us to take its rightful place. When you look in the mirror, Woodmont UCC, what do you see? Do you see your beauty and your love handles? Do you see your openness and your hesitation? Do you see your greatness and your pettiness? Do you see your passionate spirit and your fear of failing? Do you yet have a measure of courage and serenity and wisdom to embrace all of who you are and serve God anyway?

Go naked for a sign. Be vulnerable and tell God everything. God knows it all and wants you still.

Amen.


August, 2007: US-installation artist Spencer Tunick and Greenpeace present a living sculpture: hundreds of naked volunteers symbolize the vulnerability of the glaciers under climate change.
(Aletsch Glacier, Switzerland)


[1] http://www.scrollpublishing.com/store/Luther-Sin-Boldly.html

[2] The sermon title is taken from avant-garde poet/author Hakim Bey. I also used this same term in last year's Transfiguration sermon.

Glory dazed

Transgfiguration

Exodus 24: 12-18; Matthew 17: 1-9
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
March 6, 2011 – Transfiguration Sunday


One day in the span of eternity, Jesus and Moses decide to visit their former stomping grounds for old time’s sake. While walking in the Sinai they come to a huge rock; Moses takes a wooden stick, strikes the rock, and water comes pouring forth. Jesus says, “Not bad, old man, not bad.” Upon entering a small village Jesus finds some jugs filled with water; he dips in a cup and the cup is miraculously full of wine. Moses said, “Still got the touch, huh?” Then they come to the Red Sea; Moses lifts his hands in the air, the waters part, and they cross safely. Jesus says, “Wow. That one is my all-time favorite.” After a few days’ journey they come to the Sea of Galilee; Jesus steps out onto the water and begins to walk across the surface. All of a sudden, he sinks like a stone. After he swims to the shore, he says to Moses, “I can’t understand it. I used to be able to do that, no problem.” Moses says to Jesus, “You putz! Now you’ve got holes in your feet!”

We love to relive the good old days, those days of glory when we were younger; things were familiar and comfortable, and seemingly more predictable. Though we would never admit to a desire to live in the past, many times we may find ourselves unconsciously trying to recreate the good memories and feelings we enjoyed in past relationships, events, and patterns of behavior. Even if some of Freud’s theories of psychology were a bit outlandish, he was right about one thing: we tend to project our myopic view of the past onto present circumstances as a way of creating a comfort zone to shield us from the unknown.

Look at what is coming out of Hollywood these days. Many big movies and TV shows are remakes of each other, or of Broadway productions, adaptations of popular books or earlier versions of a familiar story. Recent movies such as Tron: Legacy, Yogi Bear, The Green Hornet, The Green Lantern, and even True Grit are all examples of our longing for the familiar past recaptured by new technology and another generation of magic-makers. In the short term it generates a lot of excitement, but in the end, a steady diet of old-made-new produces a cynical viewing audience who think they’ve seen it all because they have.




When Peter sees Jesus in all his glory, together with Moses and Elijah from those good old days, it’s as if God were back in the house. Before Israel settled down and made a home, a temple for the presence of God, the Ark of the Covenant was placed in a tent that could be packed up and go wherever God led the people of Israel. As you know, the festival of Sukkot, or the festival of booths, is to remind faithful Jews of the wandering in the desert and of their dependency on God. Peter reacts to this holy event like any good Jew would: he wants to build booths for the presence of God revealed in Jesus.

But this isn’t the good old days of Israel. And what’s funny is that those good old days weren’t so good all the time. The people murmured and complained to Moses about the food and water. They turned from God and worshiped a golden calf. They were bitten by poisonous snakes. When Elijah was prophet, Israel was a divided kingdom and there was drought and famine in the land. He had to flee Israel because there was a price on his head from Israel’s foreign queen, Jezebel.

Though God’s people had not had a prophetic leader in a long time, even so they weren’t really paying attention to the new thing God was doing in their midst. Jesus wasn’t God’s version of “Prophet 3.0”—he wasn’t even behaving like the messiah that had been long-expected. God snaps Peter out of his ‘glory daze’ with words similar to those heard at Jesus’ baptism: “This is my son, the Beloved; with him I am well-pleased; listen to him!” It’s a new day! The Good News, fresh words of grace and mercy, peace and justice, are forthcoming—take notice!




Lately I have heard some murmuring here too. Excitement and anxiety levels are rising as the search committee begins to focus on a few talented candidates. There have been comments along the lines of: ‘I can’t wait for the new pastor to come in and take over’. In the most recent set of glory days your last pastor was a take-charge person. So, purposefully, I have not been a take-charge kind of pastor; in fact, that’s not even who I am. When moving on to new leadership it’s good to have another experience of leadership style, to open the community to other possibilities, other avenues of creativity and ministry.

When matching up congregations and pastors, it’s all about a good fit. There are different ways of being church and different ways of being a pastor and both can change in the course of their lives. It’s not about finding the right kind of pastor or being the right kind of congregation but whether or not you’re right for each other, whether or not you’re a good fit.

Receiving a new pastor can be a transfiguring event in the life of a faith community. Hopefully, though, it won’t be like the good old days before but like the new glory days ahead. Both the Exodus and Matthew passages refer to 'six days', recalling the sixth day of creation when humankind was created in the image of God. God is not done with you yet. God is still creating, still speaking.

Six days after Jesus foretells his death and resurrection he is transfigured into glory. Where Jesus leads, the church is to follow. You too will make sacrifices on your way to the cross. You too are called to carry your own cross and to die upon it. But you will also be resurrected into glory, into new life and yet-to-be-imagined possibilities. And not solely because of a new pastor but through the Holy Spirit working through your partnership in ministry.

What are you looking forward to as a church? What are your dreams, your hopes for the new glory days ahead? How open are you to the unexpected, to the surprising ways of the Holy Spirit? What past behaviors, expectations, and habits do you still need to let go of? What do you need to be doing in your own spiritual life to be able to follow Jesus wherever he leads?



Glory to God in the Highest by Cornelis Monsma


God is always coming into our lives in new and fresh ways, still creating, still speaking. We are made new whenever we listen, when we pay attention to Jesus and where he is going next. And when we go with Jesus, we’ll never be able to say that we’ve seen it all. It will be as the beloved hymn: “Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place, crowned as saints, we ever shall be lost in wonder, love and praise.” May it be so. Amen.