The word for the year is...

This morning when I awoke, I realized that it was the last day of this year, that it was time for another word, a new word to take me through the next year.

If you wish to see what were the previous words from these few years' past, click here.

Earlier this fall my doctor informed me that I am prediabetic, which means cutting down on carbs and sugar, substituting whole grains like quinoa and brown rice for white rice, drinking black coffee, you get the picture.

It also mean exercising more, which sounds dangerously close to a New Year's resolution.  These have a strong tendency to break, hence, the word for the year.  

So at first when I relaxed my mind and thought about the words in previous years and my doctor's prescription, the word that came to me was 'exercise'.  Too much like a resolution.  Not enough room for metaphor and multiple layers of meaning.  It's also good to have a goal with a higher likelihood of success; self-reinforcing.

The word for the year is...stretch.  




Stretch, as in when I get out of bed in the morning, do a sun salutation.

Stretch, as in find a yoga video I can work with.

Stretch, as in when I find myself and my spirit shrinking and shriveling, do something I wouldn't normally do.

Stretch, as in extend myself for the spiritual growth of another person (M. Scott Peck's definition of love).

Stretch, as in making myself more elastic, flexible, even as my approaching-fifty-years-old body and brain would like to remain static.

Stretch, as in reading something challenging every day.

One of my favorite Advent songs is "The Universe is Bending", and in its lyrics we are invited to stretch along with a universe that is stretching the way a woman's body stretches in order to give birth.
 
A new world is coming, and it is coming through us. Not through our passionate, inflexible convictions but through our ability to make room for something new, unpredictable, not-yet-imagined, life-giving.

We were made for this.

The Universe is bending,
Stretching long and stretching out,
Embracing all our struggles with
Gentle arms of Hope.

The Universe is bending, 

Stretching long and stretching out
And it’s leading toward Freedom
By the clear Light of Love

 

The word for this year is...

Jan over at Yearning for God is trying to discern a word for the New Year. Rather than formulating some useless resolution that will only be broken just in time for guilt-inducing Lent (now I really do have to give up whatever it is), why not instead have a word to remember for the year? A word to challenge, to guide, to comfort, to focus and bring me round again.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I prayed for a word; that it might come to me in a dream or be wandering in the fog as I wake up. My subconscious seemed to be lying in wait, because right on the heels of my request came the word: Forgive.

Forgive myself every time I make a mistake or fall off the pedestal of other people's expectations that I've put myself on.

Forgive all the drivers who cut me off, won't let me in, tailgate me, all of us in our own little auto-worlds.

Forgive folks for who they are not and love them for who they are.

Forgive the Church for the same reason as the one above. Love the Church for what it is.

Forgive my former stepmother and how our relationship ended but never had closure.

Forgive my father for smoking until the day he died of a heart attack.

Some of this forgiving work I thought I had already done and finished with it. But forgiveness is like an onion - there are many layers and as each one gets peeled away, sometimes it can make you cry.



And of course, the biggie....forgive God. For all the things I've ascribed to her and all the ways I've blamed him. Like most who receive my blame, God hasn't deserved it. Forgive me.

A church of one

Psalm 23; John 10: 11-21
******** United Church of Christ

May 3, 2009

I grew up in the United Church of Christ, in a congregation on the south shore of Massachusetts that was a new church start in the mid-sixties. It was and still is a very unusual church, from its architecture to its mission and energy. It was there that I began to hear the call to pastoral ministry.

During the time that I was there, from nine years old until I my second year in seminary, my pastor was the Rev. David Nordstrom.* Like the meaning of his name in Hebrew, he was nothing short of beloved. He was a charismatic preacher, an exceptional storyteller, a compassionate pastor who knew how to listen and how to give counsel, and an engaging person of faith. He knew how to inspire people, how to raise up leaders from the congregation, and how to build a community of transformation. Just by being in his presence you knew you were valued and loved.

It was a heady time for this church. During his 19-year tenure, membership increased from the original 151 charter members to over 600, requiring a doubling in size of the physical church. An Associate Pastor, the Rev. Judith McConaughey, was called and added to the growing staff of the church. When I was in the high school youth group, it reached an all-time high of over 100 kids. Mission and service were our fruits of the Spirit, forming hands-on connections to inner city missions, Habitat for Humanity, Alcoholics Anonymous, a mission in Mound Bayou, MS, eye care clinics in El Salvador and more. In that church people felt like they could accomplish anything.

The church had, however, become dependent on this gifted, spiritual leader without even knowing it. He was the apparent center from which the congregation’s energy emerged. When he announced that he would be leaving for another church in the Midwest, it was as though he had said he was leaving us for another woman. The church’s grief was palpable. He hadn’t been just our pastor but a fundamental aspect of our experience of God.

The anger at his leaving came during the interim period, when the church called as its interim pastor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Evans, a former president of the United Church of Christ. Hurting with rage for their former pastor, the congregation devoured this gentle, learned leader with such force that he stayed barely a year. Judith, the Associate Pastor remained at the church, now as Pastor. Soon a young graduate from Andover Newton, Doug Johansen, who had been a seminarian at this church, temporarily joined the staff also with the title and role of Pastor. Within two years, a settled senior pastor, the Rev. David Stromberg, was called. But as one might expect, the church still not having a proper interim period, there was conflict between the congregation, the new Senior Pastor and Judith, who had assumed the role of Pastor quite well and did not wish to be an Associate again. The church devoured David Stromberg and he also stayed only for a year.

David Nordstrom resigned in 1988. It was not until 1993, after Judith had resigned as well, after another interim pastor, that the church would finally be able to deal with its anger and grief and move on to a time of healing with the Rev. Susan Stone as a settled pastor. For the past ten years the church has been thriving under the leadership of the Rev. Dr. Chapman Gardner.

I share this story with you to demonstrate how very common it is that congregations who allow themselves to become dependent on their pastors, that when the pastor leaves, grief, anxiety and anger are to be expected, even when the pastor was greatly loved, perhaps even especially then. It can feel as though the bottom has dropped out of the church, that, in the context of the scripture readings this morning, that the shepherd has left the sheep to fend for themselves. Or that the shepherd was really only the hired hand, who ran off in search of other sheep to tend, in safer, more greener pastures.

The word ‘pastor’ is, in fact, defined as ‘herdsman’ or ‘shepherd’. It goes along with that old joke that ministers don’t retire, they just go out to pastor. And a pastor is a shepherd of sorts, guiding the congregation as though it were a flock of sheep, through the dark valleys and rocky climes to those places of spiritual nourishment and fulfillment. Lately though, leading a congregation, whether by lay or ordained leadership, has been referred to as ‘herding cats’, those independent creatures with minds of their own, who will do what they want to, when they want to and not when it’s your idea.

But in truth, the reading from the gospel of John is not speaking of pastors. The Good Shepherd is Jesus the Christ, the crucified and risen One. The shepherd is the owner of the sheep as well as their manager. The simplest of covenants is this: “I will be your God and you will be my people.” And it is through Christ that we know this claim upon our lives, my life as well as yours and our life together as a church. We do not own the church, we are not the head of the church—the church is Christ’s and we belong to him. We are his stewards, his caretakers, as well as his sheep. Sometimes we can behave like the hired hand who is not as invested as the shepherd, and we run when faced with thieves, bandits and wolves who would take the sheep and scatter them. Sometimes we act like thieves, bandits or wolves in our fear and anger, dividing and scattering the flock, devouring our leaders and each other, especially when it can seem as though the shepherd has abandoned us. And we are also sheep, who just want to be loved and cared for, in safety and peace.

The word ‘sheep’ is the same for both singular and plural. We can’t refer to one without referring to all. The welfare of all the sheep hangs together. When we act or when we pray or when we speak, we do so not as one individual but for the benefit or harm of the whole flock. And so often we can be like sheep: stubborn, timid, easily frightened, with a herd mentality, following one another into dangerous territory when we wander away from the voice of our shepherd.

Often in the church we talk a great deal about communication: about how we need to communicate better with one another, get the news out to everyone so no one is left out of the conversation. What we don’t talk about as much is forgiveness when that communication inevitably breaks down. Jesus came to teach us how to love and how to forgive. He did not come to teach us how to communicate, but how to have communion with one another, and not solely this sacred meal.

Indeed, Jesus, our good shepherd, our Lord, continually prepares a table before us in the presence of our enemies—and our enemies aren’t other sheep. Our enemies are self-absorption, self-deception. So often are we at the center of our awareness that we forget that others see themselves as the center of their awareness. Many times those around us are on the margins of our awareness.

In order to have communion with one another, ultimately we must be willing to lay down our lives for the sake of others, to place our focus on the welfare of all and to surrender to Christ’s claim upon us. Being a church is supposed to turn our bent toward politics on its head: rather than what’s in it for me and my cohort, following the other sheep and their fears, how can I listen to the shepherd’s voice and be of service to the shepherd and to the flock, the church, the wholeness of all? We are one not because we are sheep or because we are united in what we believe but because we are loved by one willing to lay down his life for us, that we might know how rare and precious we are, claimed and called as children of God.

At the end of the day, what we’re all about is the care of souls in a way that is safe and trustworthy for everyone. This church may be Open and Affirming, but is it a place where everyone is listened to with equal weight, where all feel safe to voice their opinions and feelings? The interim period can often bring out the worst in a church, because the church feels lost and insecure without a settled pastor, one who is as invested in your future as you are.

My role as interim pastor is to observe how you are a church, to perceive and to inform you of the patterns of dysfunction that are preventing you from being an effective witness to the risen Christ, the good shepherd. I am also called to be a non-anxious, loving, compassionate presence to guide you and build you up. I am invested in your future but only to encourage you to be even more invested in your own future as a church.

Sadly, sometimes thankfully, pastors come and go. But the Good Shepherd, Jesus the Christ, the risen One, is constant and his love for you never ends. Let this love enfold your grief, your anxiety, your anger. Allow this love to shape you, guide you, sustain you and hold you together. Any action, any word spoken that does not come from love can only serve to divide and scatter, to devour and ultimately, hurt. Love one another as Christ has loved and continues to love you. In this way will you find the right path, the green pasture, the still waters, the restoration of your souls. Surely then will goodness and mercy follow you all the days of your life and you will dwell in the house of the Lord your whole life long. Amen.



*All names have been changed, with the exception of the Rev. Dr. Joseph Evans, who passed away April 2008.

The word for the year is...

For the past few years, instead of making a New Year's resolution that would eventually own me, I have carried a word with me through the year, to guide and challenge me.  Click here to see the previous words.

I take some time to quiet my mind, yet still asking a question like "What do I need to focus on this year?" or "How can I move forward in my life?" or "What would bring me joy?"  Then I wait for a word to bubble up from within.

Another question that influenced me this year was "By what authority do I live?"  As I said in a previous sermon, will fear be my authority or love?  Certainly love would be a good word by which to be guided and challenged.  But I was also looking for a word that would help with fear.

The word for this year is...imagine.  Too often we project our fears onto others and into the world, when we could be using all that energy to fire our imaginations and kindle our hope.  And though John Lennon's lyrics come readily to mind, I'd also like to imagine some ideas closer to home.

Imagine my family all living under one roof.

Imagine growing into being the pastor of the New Ark.

Imagine the possibilities of ministry in this local UCC church.

Imagine new poems.

Imagine some art projects, especially congregational art projects.

Imagine singing with a chorale or some other group.  Gospel would be great!

Imagine something I have no idea about.  A surprise, a Holy Spirit maneuver.

Imagine new friends and keeping in touch with long-distance friends.


What will you imagine for you and for this world in 2014?

The word for the year is...

Two years ago (yeah, I skipped a year) I chose a word to remember for the 365 days ahead, to keep me on a path, to lead me toward a better self, a word around which to frame my mind and incline my heart.  In 2011 the word was forgive.  And yes, I'm still working on that one.  God, I hope so.

After the horrible, terrible, awful in Newtown, CT (only 9 miles from my home), I had posted this on Facebook:  "Consider this: individual freedom is like the right of way - it's not something we can possess but only yield to others for the sake of living peacefully, cooperatively in community."  Since Dec. 14, 2012 I have been even more disturbed by our seemingly unique American inability to yield, not only as it relates to the second amendment but in any way that infringes on our individuality.

The driving lane one chooses seems to be thought of as personal real estate, rather than something we use temporarily and share with others.

The language we use, even if filled with hate, is protected by the first amendment, so because we can means we should.

We inundate the web with our photos and the minutiae of our lives, yet we think we can still retain and have a right to, some measure of privacy.

We're all about the line, the queue -- God forbid someone cuts in front of us or moves too slowly but please, just let me squeeze in here, it's urgent, I'm having a senior moment, I forgot where I was going, I just have a few things, but I won't allow you the same mercy.

I'm entitled to what I have, I earned it, it's mine.  If you want what I have, work for it.  If you need help, work for it.  Otherwise, you're just a parasite.

If you haven't guessed already, the word for 2013 is yield.  Most of the time, resistance really is futile.  Unless you've been seized by the Borg, most of what we encounter on a day-to-day basis is pretty tame.  The only thing we truly can control is ourselves.  Resisting the idiocyncracies (I spelled it that way on purpose) of others only hardens our arteries and reinforces the cycle of misery, numbing behaviors, and self-loathing.

Ironically we don't resist with any great resolve the actual evil with a capital "E" that surrounds us.  We've yielded quite nicely to it in some ways, thank you very much.  There is always more to do in that department.  Thank God Lent is on its way.  For now, though, I'll stick with softening my heart rather than steeling it, like Kevlar.  I've had enough of that.

Yield, as in compassion, mercy, kindness, and patience.

And of course, yield to God - thy will, not mine, be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Maybe now those neck problems I've been having will go away.

Coming Clean

Christ Healing a Leper, Rembrandt, 1657-60

2 Kings 5: 1-14; Mark 1: 40-45
****** Congregational Church

February 15, 2009

In the United States between 1976 and 2006 there were 7,166 cases of Hansen’s disease or as it is more commonly known—leprosy. India, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Nepal and Brazil have the highest outbreaks. In 2006 the World Health Organization registered a total of 259,017 new cases worldwide but this represents a drastic reduction from the 500,000 to 700,000 cases reported each year for the past 13 years. However, there are millions of people that, though they have been cured, still suffer from physical disabilities and social injustice.

Of course it is the shame attached to Hansen’s that keeps the disease from being eradicated, among other factors. There is still the belief that one’s bad behavior is somehow responsible, especially in third-world countries. Many do not seek treatment because of fear, ignorance or social stigma. Those with Hansen’s are still shunned from community not only because of fear of contracting the disease but also because of the victim’s supposed lack of morals. Despite our post-modern world, sickness and sin still walk very much hand in hand on this earth.

But we all know from experience that when it comes to sickness, it doesn’t matter who you are. The greatest and least and everyone in between will get sick at some point in their lifetime. It’s the last thing we want to think about: the weakness of our bodies. And Naaman is no exception.

We read that Naaman is the commander of the army of the king of Aram, what would be Syria, that he was a great man, in high favor with his master, that the Lord had given him victory. Yes, it reads that the Lord had given Aram, a foreign nation, victory over Israel. Sin and defeat in battle also went hand in hand.

So we have this mighty warrior, this great man. Yet we can hear the “but…” coming: he suffered from leprosy. The word ‘leprosy’ is used in the Bible to convey any number of skin diseases. It was thought that any imperfection in the body was due to one’s sin and thus, one was considered unclean by the Levitical code of purity. In truth, having a skin disease was the equivalent of saying that one was covered by one’s sin. The psalmist speaks of his face being covered in shame, of his sin being ever before him. Though Naaman was a great man, he had been brought low by this leprosy and needed help in his suffering.

He receives help from the unlikeliest source: his wife’s servant girl, who was taken from Israel in a military raid. Naaman is to go the prophet Elisha who will heal him. To his credit, Naaman heeds this advice, even though it comes from a girl who is a servant and a foreigner. Status and station in society are observed in this communication: the servant girls tells Naaman’s wife, she in turn speaks with her husband; Naaman then goes to the king of Aram who then writes a letter of introduction to the king of Israel.

Now here’s where everyone’s egos start getting involved. First off, Naaman brings a treasure trove of gifts, presumably not only for the king of Israel but also for the prophet Elisha. Second, assuming that he is expected to cure Naaman, the king of Israel thinks this foreign king is trying to pick a fight with him. And third, none of this transpires the way Naaman thought it would, that he, being a great man, arriving with his chariot and horses, would be greeted by this great prophet, who would then show forth the great power of God in this great healing. Instead he receives a message from Elisha via a messenger, another servant, to wash in the Jordan, which was like a creek compared to the great rivers of Damascus. All of these unrealistic expectations are a recipe for conflict. Naaman just wanted to be healed; now everyone is ready for a fight.

Then the voice of reason and wisdom enters in from yet another unlikely source, from Naaman’s own servant. Notice that it is the servants, those in a weak position, that bring wise counsel and the key to salvation and healing. Naaman then washes and his skin becomes like that of a young boy, reminding us of Jesus’ instruction that if we want to enter the kingdom of God, we must become like a child, like one who is willing to trust, to put one’s life into the hands of another.

In the gospel reading in Mark we have one who is precisely that: one who is willing to trust, to put his life into the hands of another. “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Here is one who has been reduced in every way. Because of his leprosy, he has lost everything. He could not worship in the temple. He could not live with his family or in his village. He had to beg for everything. He had no dignity, no identity except for his disease.

Miracle 28: Leper cured, Ian Pollock, 2000

Author José P. Ramirez Jr. in his latest book Squint: My Journey with Leprosy details his own experiences. He tells a story of when he first returned home for a visit during his treatment for Hansen’s disease. He was one of thirteen children and was concerned for his family, that by sharing meals together he might communicate his disease to them. Early on his first morning home he went into the kitchen and began sorting out dishes, glasses and utensils that he would use, marking them with tape. When his mother saw what he was doing, she became angry and broke the plates, telling him never to do that again, that he was no different than his brothers and sisters.

In other translations of this story from Mark we read that when Jesus was faced with this begging leprous man, that he was not moved by pity but by anger. In Middle Eastern traditions, both pity and anger are emotions that come from the gut. Being begged in public to heal an outcast, which would also make Jesus unclean and an outcast, got Jesus in the gut. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me which emotion moved him, but that Jesus did choose to heal the man.

The verb ‘to choose’ or ‘to be willing’ in Greek is ‘thĕlō’, which means to delight in, to desire, intend, please, love. Jesus delights in healing this man, desires him to trust him. His intentions are to heal him, this man whose sin is ever before him. It pleases Jesus to heal this man who is covered in sin. It is the love of Jesus that compels him to touch this outsider, taking that social stigma upon himself.

It’s a very Jesus-y thing to do. We read countless stories of Jesus associating with sinners and outcasts, thieves and prostitutes, gluttons and drunks. Yet what if we substituted the word ‘Church’ for the characters of Naaman and the leprous man? If we believe that the Bible is still speaking fresh words of God, then what is the Spirit saying to the Church?

There was a great Church that suffered from a debilitating disease, one that covered the Body in shame. The great Church thought that the prophet, the leader, the minister would lay hands upon it, that the power of God would come down, that something great would happen. But it was the servants of the great Church, those in the weakest position, who had the wisdom for the great Church’s healing. Listening to the wisdom of the servants the great Church washed itself and became clean, like a child.

A Church with an unbearable disease, that had lost everything, came begging to Jesus and kneeling before him said, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus, moved in his gut with anger and pity, said, “I do choose. Be made clean.”

If we believe these stories to be true, then it is the Church that needs to be healed, both the whole community and the individuals that comprise it. We are a week and a half away from Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent and of our reckoning once again that we are indeed human, that we need help. I believe these readings from today’s lectionary are a way to get our hearts and minds jump started on that Lenten journey.

As much as the world needs to remove the discriminatory, hurtful word ‘leper’ from its lexicon, we the Church need to reclaim the word ‘sinner’. Sin also carries a huge stigma with it but that stigma, that shame, that fear also prevents us from asking for healing. We find it difficult to admit that we are weak, that sin has taken a hold of us, and that we have been brought low. We forget that it was for sinners not the righteous that Jesus came, freely sharing his life and his love.

One of the earliest prayers of the Church is also one of the simplest: “Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Jesus did not blame those who were sick for their illness, even though sin and disease were thought to be one and the same. Instead, Jesus saw illness as an opportunity for healing, forgiveness, and restoration, rather than guilt, blame or judgment.

Jesus comes to us in our weakness and desires that we be honest and that we trust him, especially with our shame, our fear, and our sin. By healing us, Jesus invites us to be part of his ministry, reaching out to those outside the Church, taking on the social stigma of the poor, the mentally ill, those with disabilities, extending the hand of justice to those still outside the full life of the Church.

How willing are you to let yourselves and your lives be shaped and cleansed and remade so that you might be restored? What ministry of restoration does this church offer to the surrounding neighborhood and community? In what ways do you need to come clean with your past, your identity, and your expectations of what it means to be a church? What areas of church life do you have difficulty trusting with God? When have you experienced the healing hand of Jesus, freely proclaiming that good news?

Admitting we need help is the first step toward healing, both as a church and as individuals. Often it is our pride that gets in our way. We need to come clean with our sinful nature. But Jesus and his healing are waiting for us. We need only to choose to put our lives in his hands. How willing, how delighted are we to trust God?

May it be so. Amen.

In the zone

The Transfiguration by Raphael

Exodus 34:29-35; Luke 9:28-36 (37- 43)
******** United Church of Christ
February 14, 2010 – Transfiguration


On a silent retreat I once spent two unchecked hours cheering and whooping the crashing ocean waves as they slammed against the rocks near the grassy edge where I sat, the deep cups of water shining against the hot white of the sun, the crisp blue of the sky, splashing their coolness on my hair and clothes and skin.

In a hot dirty garbage dump in Mexico a little girl shared a piece of stringy cheese with me, her grimy hand extended toward me with such faith and innocence and openness. I still have the lump in my throat from swallowing that sweet surprising gift.

Most times when I sing, whether it’s a congregational hymn or I’m singing in a choir or with a group or I’m going solo, I feel a physical sensation, a shiver, a light switch going on, a power surge, down my side or up my back, sometimes to the top of my head. When I seem as though I can’t contain myself and I’m all charged up after the first hymn, it’s because I am!

Almost twenty years ago I went to the ordination of Diane, a classmate from seminary. Everyone was invited to come up for the ordination prayer and lay hands on Diane’s head and shoulders as she knelt before us. After we said “Amen”, I offered Diane my hand to help her up. Her face was shining, her eyes were ablaze and she nearly crushed my hand with the power, the force, the Spirit that was coursing through her.

All of these are experiences of what are called “thin places”, a term taken from Celtic spirituality signifying that the veil between the visible and the invisible is so sheer that we feel as though we are experiencing both worlds at once.

At the leadership workshop I attended recently, author Brian McLaren used another term for these experiences: temporary autonomous zones. The instigator of this idea, author Hakim Bey, defines them as “a socio-political tactic of creating temporary spaces that elude formal structures of control.” In essence, the status quo or the usual, customary rules we live by are temporarily on hold, giving chaos its freedom to trigger individual creativity. Some examples from Hakim’s book: Weird dancing in all-night computer-banking lobbies. Kidnap someone and make them happy. Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation. Go naked for a sign.

Hakim Bey writes that “the audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by [these experiences] ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror— powerful disgust… superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough….if it does not change someone's life…it fails.” [1]

But McLaren gives these temporary zones an even deeper spiritual purpose. These are ecstatic moments, spaces where grace and Spirit can happen, enfused with the power to change someone’s life. Remember the bumper sticker “Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty”? That’s a spiritual temporary autonomous zone, where the rules we normally live by don’t apply. Unless, of course, that is how we live.

Jesus was the Master of creating these temporary autonomous zones for others. Whenever he pulled a child on his lap, healed someone, included them in his circle, called them out from a crowd, forgave them of their sin, fed them from a few fish and some bread, saved new wine for last, Jesus was creating a temporary autonomous zone, a thin place where the visible and the invisible were made one. Jesus himself is an eternal autonomous zone, that Word made flesh, God with us, God’s amazing grace breaking into the expectations of what we think “Messiah” is.

This is what Peter, James and John experienced up on that mountain with Jesus transfigured before them. They were in a thin place, a temporary autonomous zone where the two worlds collided with such power that Jesus’ face was changed and his clothes became dazzling white.

In truth Jesus went naked for a sign. He revealed all of himself, his glory, his power, his death, his purpose on that mountain. In the company of Moses the Liberator and Elijah the Prophet, Jesus the Savior is illuminated. Later, on another mountain, the disciples would come to know that that glory came at a price.

As followers of Jesus we hunger after these experiences of glory, these thin places, these temporary autonomous zones that we might find our faces shining with God. And like Peter we wish we could wrap them up and take them with us, set up a shrine we could visit, keep the wild glory of God as a talisman against despair. But perhaps what we lack are the practices that keep us fluid between the visible and the invisible, that keep us in the zone.

We expect God to be the one to break in and surprise us, yet God is always with us, within us, permeating each and every speck of the ordinary with light. Where are our eyes tuned and fixed? Do we ever keen toward the music of the spheres on a daily basis? How often do we “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34: 8)? Surprise and risk can be fuel for faith, yet it is we who must be willing to be surprised or even surprising, we who must risk what we see for what we wish to see.


Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

Perhaps you do not realize it but you have already begun to make your own temporary autonomous zones. You could also call them interim autonomous zones. You have a new Board of Stewards, a year-long experiment to see if combining efforts of finance, trustees, stewardship and fundraising into one committee will be more effective. You’ve suspended your by-laws as they pertain to the length of time one serves on a committee so that folks would not be daunted by a three-year commitment but serve for one year and see how it goes. A wonderful handful of you have signed up for the preaching class and for the women’s retreat. And next Sunday is our Appreciative Inquiry congregational workshop.

But being in the zone is more than suspending the usual way of doing things for something risky or unknown. It requires practices of faith: Bible or book study, prayer and meditation, discussion, mission and ministry, inviting in the ‘other’, and gathering with others for worship and support. We can’t be in the zone if we aren’t ready to experience God and all that wild glory.

So this Lent I invite you to get reacquainted with a regular practice of faith but to give it a twist to keep you engaged. No time for prayer? Put a prayer book in your bathroom or office desk drawer or sign up for the UCC daily devotional at UCC.org. Is reading the Bible too daunting? Get a paperback copy of Eugene Peterson’s The Message, a contemporary paraphrase that reads like a novel. Or come to our Lenten study on the book of Jonah on Wednesday evenings during Lent. Looking for a regular mission opportunity? What kind of mission would you like to see happening here on a regular basis that you would like to participate in? As for inviting the ‘other’, why not begin with asking a friend to Easter service and then Holy Humor the Sunday after?

And to kick it all off, come to our Ash Wednesday service this week as if you were meeting God again for the first time. If you’re going to move into God’s neighborhood, that is, the kingdom of God, God’s autonomous zone, what do you need to leave behind in dust and ashes that God’s light might shine through you and transfigure your life?

Live in the zone. Devise a subversive plot for hope. Go naked for a sign. Be willing to reveal everything to God, for God has already revealed everything to us and continues that revelation in Jesus Christ, God’s Beloved and Chosen One. This Lenten season, let’s really listen to him. Amen.


1. http://www.hermetic.com/bey/taz_cont.html

Stretch

1 John 4: 7-21
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
May 3, 2015

           Some of you may recall that my word for this year is stretch. Though there are days I may forget this word, this theme for the year, it has not forgotten me. If I choose not to do my sun salutation in the morning, or at least try to stretch out the morning kinks, the universe has many other opportunities for me to stretch in a variety of ways, most of them having to do with forgiving, accepting, and loving others.


           Author and psychologist M. Scott Peck defined love in this way: The will to extend oneself for one’s own or another’s spiritual growth. In other words, love is the willingness to stretch beyond our self-imposed limits that we might know and experience the immense and unconditional love God has waiting for us and for all.


           God is the one who makes it possible for us to love as God loves us. God stretches toward us each and every moment, open-handed, open-hearted. God extends to us the extravagant invitation to move in and live in this love all of our days.

           
           There is nothing we can do or are required to do to receive this gift. God’s love comes to us unbidden, unshackled, unreservedly. We don’t have to get our ducks in a row, eat all our vegetables, be the most valuable player, finish our to-do list, clean our house, give the appearance of being put-together. We can be our messy, feeling-broken, at-our-worst selves. God’s not waiting for us to pick up the phone and call. We don’t even have to believe in God for God to love us. That’s what unconditional means.
 

          

          Some things are true whether we believe in them or not. And why wouldn’t we want unconditional love in our lives? Unconditional love makes it possible for us to let go of shame and guilt. Unconditional love shows us how to put aside our grudges and forgive ourselves and others. Unconditional love softens our hearts and our eyes, takes away our need to be right and replaces it with kindness. Unconditional love removes our need to judge, to see what’s wrong with someone else and replaces it with the courage to examine the log we’ve been carrying around in our own eye. Unconditional love casts out our fear, our pain, and tears down the boundaries human beings have built between ourselves. Unconditional love makes what seems impossible, possible.


          Presbyterian minister and biblical commentator Matthew Henry wrote in 1700, "It is a sign that our love is far from perfect, when our doubts, fears, and apprehensions of God, are many." If our love is far from perfect, or complete, then we have an imperfect, incomplete idea of who God is. God is love. No one has ever seen God. But God can be seen through Jesus, who Jesus loved, how he lived and how he died. Even from the cross Jesus forgave those who cried out for his execution, those who carried out, and those who did nothing to stop it.


          It is also a sign that our love is far from perfect, when our doubts, fears, and apprehension of others are many. This past week we have seen images and heard stories of violence and looting in Baltimore, MD. We have heard the news that the state attorney general has brought charges against the six police officers connected with the death of Freddie Gray. Many have been quick to judge both the mob and the police. Occupying a place of righteousness takes away the need for us to change anything about ourselves, thus changing anything at all.

          The question that seldom gets asked is, “What would it look like for us to love these police officers, to love this angry mob, to love the disenfranchised among us, to love those who profit from others’ misery?” Talk about a stretch. It would mean we all have work to do. More listening. More understanding. More giving. More holding accountable, beginning with ourselves.


          Not only do we need more of us engaged in honest conversation about race but about justice, power, and money. Money has become our moral currency as well our monetary currency. Money shows us what’s important to us, what we love, and where we have begun to calcify and shrink rather than stretch and be willing. Love is what makes it possible for us to stretch, to be willing, to be open, to listen, to be honest with ourselves. Love is the stretch.


          And this Table is where it begins. Here Jesus reaches out to us and calls anyone who would approach this table his friend. Here we gather the strength to love the way God loves. Through bread and the fruit of the vine Jesus showed us the way of love that is willing to lay down life for friends. Mother Teresa wrote, “Intense love does not measure. It only gives.” At this Table we come to know the intensity of God’s love for each and every one of us. It is immeasurable. God’s giving never ends. Amen.
 

Sabbath Work

Isaiah 58: 9b-14; Luke 13: 10-17
First Congregational Church of ******, CT
August 26, 2007

Poet Wendell Berry is a lover of the Sabbath. In his book of poetry entitled Given he includes several sets of poems he wrote on the first day of the week, on this Day of Resurrection on which we are gathered, a day when he would find a quiet place outdoors to write, to rest, to observe the world, free from the tyranny of time. He writes of his love for stillness, beauty, for the sound of birds and of the Kentucky River near his home, for the eternity of trees, for the cycle of work on his farm; he records his griefs and joys and how all of this has shaped his soul. He names the Sabbath “the timeless we pass through”.

When I read his Sabbath poems I sigh and wish for a day like his: contemplative, quiet, restful, but also creative, imaginative and deepening of purpose and meaning. We dream of such a Sabbath yet we also struggle to give ourselves over to such a Sabbath. We feel the pull of tides within: the yearning for peace and the cessation of work; the revulsion of guilt and the compulsion to finish a task; the narcissism of entitlement, the rebellion against rules, and the comfort yet also gatekeeping of tradition. It seems there has always been a contest for the Sabbath and today’s gospel lesson is no different.

The division that Jesus said he would bring in the previous chapter of Luke is present in this morning’s reading. He is in the synagogue teaching on the Sabbath; he is at the center of the practice of his faith. To practice the Sabbath is to practice the way of God, to participate in God’s rhythms. A woman with, in the Greek translation, a ‘spirit of weakness’ enters, presumably to worship God. She is unable to stand up straight, only able to focus on the small square of floor her circumscribed vision will allow. She does not call out to Jesus, she probably could not lift her head to see him, let alone know he was there. Jesus is the one who calls out to her. Without asking permission of anyone, without changing any laws, without organizing a committee to talk about it first, he heals her and creates a crisis for the leader of the synagogue and his colleagues yet an occasion of praise for the crowd.

This healing on the Sabbath is meant to carry us back to the last time Jesus healed on the Sabbath in chapter 6 and further to the first time we read of him teaching in the synagogue in chapter 4. When he healed the man with the withered hand Jesus asked the scribes and the Pharisees, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” When he teaches in the synagogue in Nazareth, his hometown, he reads from Isaiah and we hear echoes of the lesson from this morning: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

In the eyes of Jesus, the Sabbath had become a system of rules rather than the gift of God it was meant to be. Jews were enjoined to refrain from 39 types of labor, not to ‘legalize’ the Sabbath but so that on that holy day the people of God would alter their hearts and minds from their agenda to God’s agenda. Human beings of recorded history have an apparent difficulty with an imposed communal day of rest; it does not seem to come naturally to us in our industrialized, individualistic age. So laws, both religious and secular, have been enacted to steer us toward a time of not just rest, but also toward moral behavior.

The blue laws, those that govern activity on Sundays, were written for those purposes. The Blue Laws of Connecticut and the Colony of New Haven date back to 1655, appointed by Governor Theophilus Eaton with the help of Rev. John Cotton. Though these laws were not actually on the books, they can be inferred from other statutes and codes of conduct. Here’s some idea of how the Puritans lived out not only their Sabbath but their daily lives in the Colony of Connecticut:

• Each freeman shall swear by the blessed God to bear true allegiance to this Dominion, and that Jesus Christ is the only King.


• No one shall run on the Sabbath day, or walk in his garden or elsewhere, except reverently to and from Meeting.


• No one shall travel, cook victuals, make beds, sweep house, cut hair, or shave, on the Sabbath day.


• No woman shall kiss her child on the Sabbath or fasting day.


• The Sabbath shall begin at sunset on Saturday.


• Every rateable (or taxable) person, who refuses to pay his proportion to the support of the Minister of the town or parish, shall be fined by the Court £2, and £4 every quarter, until he or she pays the rate to the Minister.


• Married persons must live together, or be imprisoned.


• A wife shall be deemed good evidence against her husband.

The drinking of alcohol was allowed so long as it did not lead to drunkenness. To be considered a freeman, and in order to vote, one had to be a member in full communion and in good standing in one of the churches of the colony. These laws strongly restricted behavior but for the purpose of aligning that behavior with God and God’s ways.

What is left of these blue laws is not much, and there is controversy over that as well. Retail laws were declared unconstitutional but we cannot buy liquor on Sundays in the state of Connecticut. Most of us can remember when all the stores were closed on Sundays. I myself learned to drive on Sundays, when there was not as much traffic on the highway, and I could practice in empty parking lots. I doubt if my mother got much of a rest on those Sundays (!) but it was a quieter day, a slower time, a permission given to put one’s feet up and refrain from the marketplace and the world’s sense of duty.

More and more these laws governing Sabbath are being repealed. One reason is because there is more than one holy day in our pluralistic society. Muslims observe Juma on Friday, Jews keep Shabbat on Saturday, and the majority of Christian churches worship on Sunday, with Seventh-Day Adventists and Seventh-Day Baptists worshipping on Saturday. In some areas there is the feeling that the government is intervening unnecessarily in people’s lives by requiring a day of rest. Also, with many professions and low-paying service jobs being 24/7, when a day off is taken is up to the individual.

Ironically, there is no dispute among Jews and Muslims as to whether the Sabbath should be observed, law or no. It is only Christians who seem to have need of a law in order for the Sabbath to be obeyed. Author Christopher Ringwald, in his book A Day Apart, says that “we’ve converted a blessing into a burden.” Often I have heard grumbling about the length of Sunday worship services. Our Puritan forebears went to Meeting in the morning for about 2-3 hours, returning in the afternoon for another lengthy assembly. My response has been, “This is the day for praising God in the company of one another—I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday. God is not ‘on the clock’.” But then clergy are considered part of the establishment, hence the guilt we encounter when meeting absent church folk in the grocery store.

The Enlightenment had its blessings but one of its curses was its effect on the Christian Sabbath. Somewhere along the way it became optional. Modern-day Protestants have often scoffed at the Roman Catholic Days of Holy Obligation. The Code of Canon Law states that “the faithful are obliged to participate in the Mass. Moreover they are to abstain from those works and affairs which hinder the worship to be rendered to God, the joy proper to the Lord’s day, or the suitable relaxation of mind and body.”

In fact, the word ‘obligation’ leaves a bad taste in our mouths. We want to come to God out of free choice; we don’t want to be coerced into worship nor the Sabbath. Indeed, Ringwald says that the Sabbath is “an experience, not a creed.” This is God’s desire as well, but knowing human nature, we need to be told to take a day off, to focus on God’s desires and purposes rather than our own, so that perhaps one day, the other six days of the week might start to resemble the Sabbath day, that is, God’s day.

We keep the Sabbath day holy as a poignant reminder that all days are holy, given to us by our Creator. We may be endowed with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but it is only because we draw breath from and have our being in that which made heaven and earth. Jesus loosens the bound woman on the Sabbath so that she might give God what is needful: worshipful, unbounded praise. And we are given a vision of our Sabbath work: to give justice wherever, whenever it is needed, to not hinder or burden others in the worship of God, and by so doing offer God our praise.

The Sabbath is a day for community, community that sustains and challenges us toward honest, humble living; community that builds justice and speaks peace to the world; community that strives to be the kingdom of God, God’s beloved community, which is the ultimate rebellion against the ways of empire. And as we participate in the Sabbath more and more, as our sense of community grows, we will surely come up against the ways of empire and all its seductions to leave behind our Sabbath work of justice and peace. But God promises us, that when we feed the hungry, fill the needs of the afflicted, when we honor the Sabbath and refrain from our own interests on the holy day, that our light shall rise in the darkness, that our needs will be satisfied in parched places and we shall be like a watered garden, a spring of water, whose waters never fail. We will take delight in the Lord and God will make us ride upon the heights of the earth, that earth which was created for us and hallowed with the Sabbath.

And so, First Congregational Church of ******, how is this Day of Resurrection a day of rebirth for you? How do you prepare yourselves to alter your agenda in order to follow God’s agenda? Sabbath and worship are to be directed within and beyond the self—is there a balance of Sabbath work within the congregation and beyond the congregation? What sustains you as a community? Are there any traditions or tenets that might hinder someone from worshipping here? When was the last time you ate together as a congregation with no other purpose than enjoying one another’s company? What are some social justice issues you would like to focus on as a congregation, as part of your Sabbath?

In the words of Wendell Berry:

Teach me work that honors Thy work,
the true economies of goods and words,
to make my arts compatible
with the songs of the local birds.

Teach me patience beyond work
and, beyond patience, the blest
Sabbath of Thy unresting love
which lights all things and gives rest.

Amen.

The Church Improv

General Association of Ministers in Connecticut
Silver Lake Conference Center, Sharon, CT
Sept. 23, 2013

(Every year since 1709 the clergy of the Missionary Society of Connecticut - now the Connecticut Conference of the United Church of Christ - have gathered for renewal and to conduct business.  This gathering is called, with no sense of poetry, the General Association of Ministers in Connecticut. It is even said that when the Congregational Church was linked with the governance of the state, that it was this body that nominated the governor!

Since its inception, the gathering now includes educators, members in discernment [those considering the ministry as their vocation], and church musicians.  This year I was asked to be on the planning committee and to give the Moderator's address.  The term 'moderator' simply means 'the one on the pointy end of  the ship'.  Anyway, here are the words I shared with my colleagues in ministry.)





Of the almost 22 years that I’ve been ordained in the ministry of the United Church of Christ, 16 of those have been spent in temporary ministry settings so that I could be home with my two daughters. I’ve served as an interim, filled in for colleagues on sabbatical, and offered pulpit supply in 24 churches in the CT Conference, not to mention a small handful in the OH Conference. I’ve had to remain light on my feet, be flexible, and willing. Maybe we ought to pronounce it ‘pulpit supplely’. You might say my ministry here has been a bit of an improvisation.

Our keynoter, Kirk Byron Jones, will be speaking about, among other things, stillness, awareness, and playfulness. Playfulness is something I can really groove with. A couple of years ago I read Tina Fey’s memoir Bossypants, in which she recalls 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, I’d think that Jesus knew the rules of improvisational comedy. Not that he was ever trying to be funny, sometimes I wish he was, but according to the comedy law laid out by Tina Fey, it seems like Jesus lived by these four simple rules. The rules of improv would also make for some interesting by-laws 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,” because then the scene has come to a stop rather than going forward. This rule reminds us to keep an open mind to what is going on around us. Jesus is God’s big “yes” to creation. “This is my son, the Beloved, with whom I am well-pleased.” And Jesus kept echoing that ‘yes’ throughout his ministry: yes to justice, yes to peace, to healing, to the poor and the marginalized, to women and children, to foreigners and strangers, to tax collectors and prostitutes, yes to the incarcerated, yes even to death on a cross and to those who died with him. And then that huge ‘yes’ to life and love on Easter morning.

And so we can experiment in church, we can say yes to what is being created and take a chance, risk looking foolish because we just might be surprised by the Holy Spirit, who is the queen of sacred improv if ever there was one. “Keep an open mind and remain supplely” helps us to be able to respond to the Spirit with a light heart.

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!”

So someone suggests that the youth group hold a car wash to raise money. No, not very original. But what if instead of saying no, we said “Yes, and we’ll all dress up in costume or wear funny hats and take flyers to work, I know someone who could DJ, we could do a cookout too.” “Yes, and” allows the creative energy to flow.

3. The third 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. People were always asking Jesus questions, expecting him to have the answers. Sometimes he would ask a question in return but he usually would follow it up with not only a statement but a story. A story that left his hearers sometimes in a quandary, that is, having received an answer that sounded more like a mystery. 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. Which sometimes can turn all that vision planning on its head.

4. Finally, there are no mistakes, only opportunities. The disciple Thomas, who always gets a bad rap, wasn’t there the first time Jesus appeared to the rest of 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.

Like any good improvisation, Jesus worked with what he had and created something new. He had fishermen, tax collectors, zealots, a woman healed of her demons, sinners galore, and he made community out of them, community that would not only survive his horrific death, but would proclaim him risen from that death. He had some bread and wine and from them came a meal to whet our appetite for justice and righteousness and to remind us that we do not do this alone. He had a death that looked like a monumental mistake, the biggest failure history had even seen, but was actually a transformational opportunity for rebirth and the galvanization of a movement that has not seen its equal.

But do we leave room for improvisation in our faith communities? I often wonder if our expectations for worship and leadership have gotten a bit out of whack. We want to fill our spirits, what Anne Lamott calls our ‘God-sized hole’, but nothing ever seems to be enough. It feels like we keep upping the ante, increasing our desire for the transcendent experience of God, when the immanent is right in our face.

Worship is often more like a thoroughly-scripted performance, and when it’s not, we get nervous. We strive for perfection, when the Greek word for perfect is better translated as complete, and it is God who completes our improvisation, working with us like a jazz master. If we really want to have an experience of God in our worship, then let us be willing to tell the truth about ourselves and accept one another and ourselves as we are; let us forgive one another as God has already forgiven us; and if we really want to step up our game, let us love our perceived enemy for surely we have been a thorn in someone else’s side. Jesus heals us and sets us free to leave the armor and the weapons and the façade at the door and then abandon them after our worship.

God is the one who completes our improvisation. If we want God to play with us, we have to leave some wiggle room, some room for stillness, some room for playfulness, to just be. Which makes it possible for us to become aware that the love of God has always been shining, just waiting for us to come out and play.

Immediately

Isaiah 43: 18-25; Ps. 41; Mark 2: 1-12
******** United Church of Christ
February 19, 2006

We live in a culture of impatience. We want whatever it is that we want, and we want it right now. Having to wait is a waste of time for us. So we invented cell phones, Palm pilots, hand-held video games, DVD players in cars, and any number of items to insure that we are not wasting our time by waiting. In Carrie Fisher’s book Postcards from the Edge, about Hollywood life, the since-famous mother says to her troubled daughter in a drug rehab that she’s too impatient, that her fuse is too short, that’s she’s only interested in instant gratification. The daughter glibly responds, “Instant gratification takes too long.” That’s our culture in a nutshell. Immediately, or even “I want it yesterday”.

Immediately: we think that’s a word that can’t be quantified. “Immediately” means “without interval of time”. That’s a human definition of the word from a dictionary. I think God has a different way of viewing “immediately”.

Take for instance the speed of light. The speed of light is 671 million miles per hour or 300,000 kilometers per second. A light year, the distance light travels in a year, is about 6 trillion miles or 9.5 trillion kilometers. Light, coming from quasars, can travel as far as 12-15 billion light years to reach us here on earth. It takes 12-15 billion years for the light of a quasar to reach Earth. We also have a measurement of interstellar space called a parsec. A parsec is 3.26 light years or 19.2 trillion miles. Then we also have a kiloparsec, which is 1,000 times as far as a parsec. Or a megaparsec, which is a million times as far as a parsec. Whoever said science has nothing to say about God? Even the speed of light, which seems immediate, is not instantaneous. It takes time for light to get from one place to another. Even with God, it takes time to do what God will do.

In Mark’s gospel, the word “immediately” is used more often than in any other gospel or book of the Bible. It shows up 17 times in Mark, with Luke a close second at 13. Let us remember, though: the author of Luke, when writing his gospel, had a copy of Mark in his hand. The use of “immediately” is found in many of the healing stories in Mark. And Mark is also not only the shortest gospel, but also the most expedient in terms of Jesus’ ministry. Mark starts immediately with John’s preaching and Jesus’ baptism and moves on from there. There truly is an immediacy to Jesus’ ministry in the gospel of Mark. What can I say—he’s on a mission from God. Other gospels use birth stories, genealogy, and even a theological spin on the creation in the gospel of John to instruct us, the readers, about the authority of Jesus. For Mark, the authority of Jesus rests in his baptism and his ministry—simple as that.

“Immediately” has more to do with Jesus’ authority than it does with our expectations. Don’t we all wish we could find that job immediately, be healed from a chronic illness immediately, get out of debt immediately, immediately find that faith that sustains in bad times as well as good ones, that all this war and violence and terrorism would just resolve itself immediately. But the “immediately” in this story comes about as a result of what Jesus does, not the expectations of the paralyzed man and his friends.

Or does it? Perhaps not their expectations, but certainly their actions have something to do with this healing happening “immediately”. Certainly the man would not have been healed at that moment in time if it had not been for his friends who carried him to Jesus when his own two legs could not. Certainly if it had not been for his fast-thinking friends, the man would not have been lowered down through a hole in the roof by the pressing crowd. Certainly if it had not been for the faith of his friends who believed that if not Jesus could do something for this man but at least in their friendship with the man, we are left wondering what faith would this man have on his own.

God’s “immediately” happens in God’s time, but also in the community of faith, wherever that may be found. The authority of Jesus to do as God wills is to act in the community of faith, to free it from its paralysis and its sin so that it might proclaim the good news to the world, the good news that we are God’s children, that there is no place we can go where God is not. And the community of faith has to be a willing partner in all of this, to carry each other, depend on each other, trust each other, that maybe a hole in the roof isn’t such a bad thing after all! Or a hole in the way we do things. Or a hole in that armor we sometimes wear over our hearts and our faith. It’s through that messy hole that Jesus is found, seemingly waiting for us, ready to act and to show mercy.

Now don’t confuse me with the message I’m giving. I’m as impatient as they come. I tell my girls that waiting and waiting well makes their patience muscles strong. If they’re being impatient, it means those muscles are getting flabby and they need a workout. I say all this stuff because I need to hear it myself. Then one day I came across this prayer in The Christian Century written by Walter Brueggemann, a Hebrew scripture scholar at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia. There was one section that stood out and glared at me.

“We pray to you this day, for ourselves and others like us who are genuinely good people, who meditate on your Torah day and night, who are propelled by and for your best causes, who are on the right side of every issue, who wear ourselves out in obedience to you, and sometimes wear others out with our good intentions. Be among us ultimate enough to make our passions penultimate, valid but less than crucial.”

In the end, we can do all that we can for justice, for peace, for love, for our church, but it is up to God when that will happen. We can’t force God’s hand. And no matter what side of an issue we’re on, we can’t force others to our way of thinking. We must wait and wait patiently with each other. What is ultimately crucial in the community of faith is that we learn to love each other despite our differences and then bring that same accepting love out into the world. If it is one thing that is paralyzed in this world of ours, it is the power of love—to heal, to forgive, to lay down whatever weapons we are carrying and simply open our hands.

We all know from experience that hindsight is 20/20. When we look back, we can see how God was acting in our lives. Yet when we were living through it, it was difficult to perceive it. God spoke through the prophet Isaiah, saying, “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” Sometimes we can be so mired in our paralysis that we do not see the friends of God who bear us up, or notice even ourselves as the scenery changes from day to day.

Change is the way of God. Perhaps things look like they are staying the same because they’re moving so slowly. God moves in the seasons, in the tides, in the phases of the moon, in the resurrection of Jesus, so we have faith; our lives, our world, our faith, our church will change, too. In the mean time, we are to be friends of Christ, friends of one another, friends of the friendless, friends even with our enemies, that when change happens seemingly in the blink of an eye, the kindness and love we have shared will make that change all the more wonderful and blessed and miraculous. May it be so. Amen.

Chosen

Psalm 85: 8-13; Ephesians 1: 3-14
First Church of Christ, Cong’l, *******
July 16, 2006

Chosen. What a powerful word. Think about what it means to be chosen. You have been chosen. It feels grand to be chosen, doesn’t it? Well, if it’s something good, yes. Remember back in elementary school, when teams would be chosen for kickball during recess? It felt great to be among the first ones chosen; it was humiliating to be chosen last. You knew what kind of player your friends thought you were based on when you got picked for the team.

There are so many wonderful opportunities to be chosen: a part in the school play or local amateur production, class president, singing the national anthem at a ballgame, graduation speaker, prom date, friendships, relationships, the one who wants to marry us, scholarships, teaching fellowships, awards, job interviews, promotions, college applications and essays, sports and academic teams, a published book or poem. It’s thrilling when we are chosen, when we are needed, accepted, desired, wanted, required. It’s as though our purpose in life has been suddenly illuminated for that brief instant and we think “Wow, me?” or “I’m glad you finally saw the light of day!” We know ourselves to be joined in creating something special, which may not have been the same if we were not a part of it.

There are times we’d like to think that we’re important, that somehow our corner of the world hinges on our participation in it. Then we are chosen for something we’d rather not do and the measure of our importance conveniently shrinks. Sometimes our talents are matched perfectly to the chosen task; often we can be chosen to do something for which we feel wholly unqualified and we wonder just who is in charge.

When we are chosen for something in the church we oftentimes feel the latter: feelings of inadequacy, that we’re not the right person for the job, they should find someone who is more faithful, who knows more about the Bible, who is a better public speaker. We may wonder if God’s hand is really in our being chosen. What can God be thinking, asking us? What plan does God have in mind?

In today’s epistle lesson, Paul tells us that God is thinking about grace and has been doing so since time immemorial. Grace has been the plan all along. God “chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. He destined us for adoption as his children though Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.” Even though we are made in God’s image, even though we are of God’s creation, we are in need of adoption because we rejected this image, this creation when we sinned against God and chose our own way. God gave humankind free will and we did not choose God and the way of love. But before the foundation of the world, God adopted us, chose us in Christ, even before we had an opportunity to reject God.

Any of us who are parents know what it means to choose our children, to choose that they will be ours, no matter what, long before they are born, whether they are born to us or to their birth parents. We know we will never stop being their parents, come what may.

Recently, a longtime friend of mine, Andy, wrote in his weblog about when he was adopted, or as his parents told him, chosen. He writes, “My mother explained that after the adoption process was complete (a two + year process) my parents were asked to ‘select’ their child. Apparently there were ten babies, all chosen to match up with my parents heritage, who were ‘available for adoption’ and my parents were asked to choose their first child from this group. Now, I was a goofy looking child. I was cross-eyed and had ‘creative’ hair that went wherever it wanted to. I've seen the pictures. Believe me, it's true. Goofy goofy goofy looking child. How they chose me I figured that I would never know. So one anniversary I finally asked my Mom, ‘If I was so silly looking, then how come you chose me?’ And my mother smiled and said, ‘We chose the baby that needed the most love.’” And each year his family would honor (and still does) the day that he and each of his siblings were chosen as well as the day they were born.

But not all adoption stories are so happy like my friend Andy’s. In some cases children do not attach or bond themselves readily to their new parents, no matter how much they are wanted, no matter how much they are sought after. If they are at an older age, they may be afraid that they will be abandoned again. They have difficulty trusting anyone. They believe that they don’t really belong, that they aren’t anyone’s son or daughter. They act out their anger with their parents, their siblings, their teachers, with anyone they might feel tempted to be close to. It can leave parents at their wits end, knowing they have done everything to tell their child that they love them and that they are wanted.

But we can’t give back our children, nor do we really want to. All any parent can do, when their child is in pain, whether adopted or not, is love that child even when they don’t deserve it; especially when they don’t deserve it.

It is this grace that God offers us, each one of us adopted as God’s child, as the apostle Paul puts it. And it is God who does the choosing, not us. We do not choose who is adopted, who is among the chosen; God is the chooser, the ‘decider’. And through the life of Jesus the Christ we see who God chooses: the poor, the outcast, the sinner, the weak, the forgotten, the oppressed, the meek, the peacemakers, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, those who mourn, those who are pure in heart, the poor in spirit, those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. Jesus didn’t hang out with, or make himself out to be one of the insiders, the winners, the eloquent, the brightest, or the star. He traveled with and lived as one of the outsiders, the losers, the plain-spoken, the simple, and the ordinary.

Are we with those whom God chooses in Christ? Are we with those whom this world rejects, yet God chooses? Like the story of the sheep and the goats, about feeding the hungry, visiting the sick and imprisoned, clothing the naked, as if we were serving Christ himself, we all score as goats. Even though we, the apparent insiders, live apart from those whom God chooses in Christ, still God chooses us too. Even so, God chooses us too. Not only chooses us but lavishes on us the riches of God’s grace, forgiving our sins and redeeming our lives, and calling us sons and daughters of grace. In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance…so that we might live for the praise of his glory.

This kind of choosing shows us at once how insignificant and how precious we are. We are chosen not for greatness in the eyes of the world but chosen so that we might live for the praise of Christ’s glory.

Jesus the Christ is called the ‘only begotten son of God’ because he did not turn from God. He did not have to be adopted into God’s family through grace because Jesus was faithful to God and God’s way of love for all people. And it is through this Chosen One, through this particularity, that God reveals infinite grace and chooses us. When we sin, when we choose one kind of person over another; when we choose to live separate from God and God’s love and power to heal, when we behave in such a way as to think we don’t deserve love, it is especially then that God does love us and adopts us, chooses us once more to be children of love and grace.

One of the slogans of the Still Speaking campaign is: No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here. We, who have been chosen by God and God’s grace, cannot deny anyone God’s choosing of them in Christ. If you’ve seen either of the ads, both are about how the United Church of Christ doesn’t reject anyone. I’d like to see an ad that shows what it means to be chosen, that illustrates the power of being chosen by God’s grace to transform lives and congregations. There are some who have suffered abandonment from the world, who have been orphaned from their family of faith, yet they desperately want to belong to a community that accepts them as they are, who would adopt them as they are, just as we, who were once orphans, who were not a people, have been adopted into this family of faith and now know ourselves as belonging to God.

In response to being chosen by God, how might we live for the praise of Christ’s glory? In your life together as a family of God, what would bring glory to Christ? Who is missing in the family of faith, the Church universal? Who are the chosen, the adopted children of God’s grace not present, not welcomed? Redemption was God’s plan all along; not just for some but for all. When we come together to worship, our gathering is incomplete. The family is not whole, thus, neither are we. For that reason, we are chosen to be sent into the world, to seek out our adopted sisters and brothers, to extend God’s grace to all people, giving the Good News that we are all children of God, chosen by God before the creation of the world. Amen.