Saved

Numbers 21: 4-9; Ephesians 2: 1-10
******** United Church of Christ
March 26, 2006

Click on the link below, scroll down until you find the "River City Men's Chorus", click on "Hospodi Pomilui", and listen:

Hospodi Pomilui

This chant, “Hospodi Pomilui”, written by Russian composer Lvovsky in the 19th c., is sung in Russian Orthodox churches in worship on the Eve of Holy Rood or Holy Cross. It means “Lord, have mercy” and the words are sung seventy-five times, reminiscent of the scripture when Jesus tells his disciples that they must forgive not seven times but seventy-seven times or seven times seventy. In the service the bishop stands in the center of the church, holding the cross above his head. As he lowers the cross, the choir sings in decreasing volume, to the point of pianissimo—as the cross touches the floor. Then the cross is raised again and the choir rises in a crescendo of triumph.

Christians venerate the crucifix and the empty cross as potent reminders of God’s action to save us through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In the gospel of John Jesus says that just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, first on a cross, then from the dead. As a bronze serpent on a pole was lifted up so that those who looked upon it might be healed, so we who look upon Jesus lifted up on the cross might also be saved.

The story of the rebellious Israelites in the wilderness and Moses lifting up the bronze serpent is given to us to remind us that sin, rebellion against God, has its consequences. The Israelites connect the appearance of the poisonous snakes with their rebellion, that this is God’s punishment for their sin.

We in our modern world rankle severely at the thought that anything dealt to us from nature is God’s punishment for human sin. In a warranty I recently viewed, the words “acts of God” had been changed to “acts of nature”. Most notably, the rantings of Pat Robertson over the recent hurricanes have provoked others to declare a more merciful view of the Almighty: God does not punish some sins but let others slide. God does not use nature as a tool of punishment.

Yet we would be fools if we did not acknowledge that sin has its penalties. We all suffer the consequences of the collective sin of humankind. Those snakes may not have been sent by God but in the appearance of them and the subsequent suffering they caused, the people recognized their sin and repented. When we are in the face of suffering, it is difficult to for us to recognize that we need to repent of our sin, our rebellion against God, even if it is not connected to our present circumstance, and admit we need saving.

“Saved” has become a dirty word in our mainline Protestant lexicon. We are put off by the question “Are you saved?” and would never dream of asking it of anyone else. I once read a plaque that gave the answer to that question: “Yes, and I know what day it was and what time: it was a Friday, at about 3:00 in the afternoon.” Such knowing proclamations about being saved rank right up there with altar calls and giving personal testimony and witness about the saving power of Jesus. Christians who say they’ve been saved can sometimes come across as though they’ve got all the answers to life’s problems and yours too, thank you very much. Instead of drawing us into a new dimension of the Christian life, this attitude usually repels us.

There’s darkly-humorous movie entitled “Saved”, about the goings-on in a conservative Christian parochial school. One of the high school girls begins to see through the veneer of the faith of her friends to the intolerance that lies beneath it when she finds she is pregnant by her now-declared homosexual boyfriend. On one particularly depressing day she and her mother are sitting in a walk-in closet, of all places, eating Hostess snowballs and other junk food. Her mother tries to scrounge some morsel of her own faith for her daughter and says, “When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.” To which the daughter replies gloomily, “Yeah, so we can have something to jump out of.”

Being saved doesn’t mean we won’t suffer and have hard, perhaps really bad, times. Neither faith nor that bronze serpent on a pole nor Jesus on the cross is a panacea for life’s ills and tragedies. Instead they proclaim a very real, very hard truth that has the power to save us: that in sin we are dead without God; spiritually dead and physically dead.

In the letter to the Ephesians we hear “You were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived.” The Christian formula we have always heard: Jesus died to save us from our sins. But if God is so forgiving, so full of grace, then why did Jesus die? And how then are we saved from death by Jesus on the cross?

The theological term for payment of trespasses and sins is atonement or payment for injury, like one of those lawsuit firms you see advertised on TV almost any given day. We’ve been taught that sins must be paid for, especially those sins that have been done unto us. “Nothing but the blood of Jesus can wash away our sins”. In the Lenten book I recommended, If Grace Is True, it states: “The forgiveness of sin [doesn’t] require the death of Jesus; it only [requires] God’s resolve to forgive. Grace isn’t about Jesus’ paying for our debts. It’s about God’s removing our transgressions, as far is the east from the west.”

Jesus did not have to die; it was not God’s will. God’s will, God’s desire is for all of us to be in the kingdom of God—that place of grace, peace, justice, and love for all of God’s children. Jesus dying on the cross is a graphic reminder of humankind’s resistance to grace and our defiance to being saved from our tendency toward self-absorption, self-hatred, self-pity, fear, pride, prejudice, shame, anger, and plain old stubbornness—ways that lead to death, spiritually and physically. When we look upon Jesus on the cross, we are reminded of the cost of living a life of God’s grace in an ungracious world. We are literally saved from ourselves. In the empty cross we realize that it is by God’s grace that we are made alive together with Christ.

In some Greek Orthodox churches there is an amazing mural of the resurrection painted on the right-hand wall of the sanctuary. In this 15’ high x 25’ long picture Jesus is standing in triumph, one foot on top of a shattered, ancient coffin lid, the other foot on or near the chains, lock, and keys that were on the coffin. With each hand he is pulling an old man and an old woman from their graves. When Jesus was raised from the dead, he also raised Adam and Eve from death, as a symbol of his power over sin and death for all time, for all people.

Imagine every Sunday, coming into church, and being constantly reminded that Jesus saved us and continues to save us each day of our lives.

Recently I saw the movie “Walk the Line” about the life of Johnny Cash. In one scene he is recording his famous live album at Folsom Prison. During a break in the show, the warden asks Johnny if he would mind not singing any more of those songs that remind the men that they are in prison. Mr. Cash retorted, “What, you think they’ve forgot?” We don’t have many songs in our particular Protestant tradition that remind us that we are in a prison of sin and that we need to be saved from that. “Amazing Grace” and “Just As I Am” come to mind, songs that are often used with altar calls in other churches.

But this is why we have the cross and hymns about the cross, to remind us that we need saving, that without God’s grace, we are dead. And so we cry out to God, seventy-five times, seven times seventy, “Lord, have mercy”, not because God requires us to do so, but to train our hearts and minds toward the Lord of mercy rather than toward the ways of death and sin. We’d like to think we don’t need saving, that someone who needs to be rescued by God has to be at the end of their rope, at the bottom, the absolute lowest of human existence: a drug addict, an alcoholic, a violent, angry person, someone who is prejudiced, arrogant, driven by greed, a sex offender, a criminal.

In the story of the prodigal son the father explains to the petulant, older son that he thought his younger son was dead, now he is alive. We’d like to think we’re the older son, the righteous one who’s always done what’s been expected. But we are not saved by our own merit nor by what we think are our righteous works. If God’s grace is for everyone, including the lowest of human existence, then it is also for us. We all need to be saved from our ways of living that lead to death. We all need to be made alive, and why? So that we may be what “[God] made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.”

So, are you saved, ******** United Church of Christ? What are the ways of living that lead to death that you continue to need to be saved from? What self-imposed prison still contains you? Who do you have more difficulty forgiving, another or yourself? What does the cross of Jesus mean to you? What are the good works that God prepared for you to be your way of life?

Thanks be to God, that even though while we were dead through our trespasses, God loved us and by grace made us alive with Christ—and continues to save us from destruction and lead us toward life. Amen.

Bush in the Bible

Yes, I know it sounds incredible but I found a thinly-veiled reference to "W" in Ecclesiastes, of all places. Read it and LOL:

"Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one bungler destroys much good."-- Ecc. 9: 18

It's also the same book in the Bible where we find that "all is vanity and a chasing after wind", that what is happening now has happened before, and that there is a time for everything under heaven, including peace and healing. "Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone. For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every secret thing, whether good or evil."--Ecc. 12: 13b-14

Pardon My Lenten Smile

Isaiah 58: 1-12; Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21
******** United Church of Christ
March 1, 2006 – Ash Wednesday

Fasting is a spiritual discipline that is lost on most people today. The only time we fast these days is when we have to have some kind of medical test for our blood sugar or cholesterol or something more invasive. After the test or procedure is completed we may be ravenous but we are hardly starving for nutrition. When my kids are hungry and declare that they are starving, I remind them that they know nothing about “starving”; only being hungry. Then we talk about where people are starving and what we can do, if not to help directly, then how to be responsible with what we have.

The season of Lent is a season of fasting. The period of forty days, not counting Sundays, mirrors the forty days that Jesus spent fasting in the desert, with Satan challenging him in a tempting battle of wits. Jesus emerges triumphant, though perhaps not unscathed, as angels minister to him afterward. He is now ready to begin his ministry with a well-disciplined spirit.

The phrase “spiritual discipline” is another concept, like fasting, that leaves a bad taste in our mouths. I prefer “spiritual practice”. I go to a yoga class three times during a good week, once a week at the very least. It’s called a yoga practice because our bodies are different every day, allowing us to do as much as is possible on any given day. We do our best in our practice and come back the next time and practice yoga again. We never actually get it right; the important thing is showing up, giving it what you have, and being thankful for being able to do what we can.

I read an article recently that referred to motherhood as a spiritual practice, which instantly lifted my spirit and deepened my thought at the same time. Though the government and social structure may not acknowledge all that mothers give to society, it does not matter; motherhood is a spiritual practice of not only raising caring, loving young men and women but also using our passion to create a better society. And if motherhood, then why not all of life as a spiritual practice? What if everything we did, our work, our families, the choices we make each day, we did as a spiritual practice? I think this is the true purpose of Lent: to realize our lives, all of it, as a spiritual practice, an offering to God and to God’s world.

In Lent it’s not that we have to give up something or take on something, but that we get to do this spiritual practice. We get to unburden ourselves from whatever monkey (or King Kong!) we’ve been carrying on our backs. We get to do something for others that can make a real difference in someone’s life. We get to turn away from the noise of our lives and turn toward God and God’s desires for us. In wondering what to do for Lent, there is the question to ask: what is God’s desire for us these forty days?

Choosing our own sacrifice or devotion for Lent really does seem a little too undemanding. The other night on NPR a Catholic priest, Father James Martin, told the story of how his Jewish friend from college named Rob, calls each year on Ash Wednesday to tell him what he must do for Lent. In college Jim Martin’s Jewish friends were fascinated with his Catholicism. He would teach them about genuflecting, the confessional and how to put the kneeler back without creating a commotion. One evening at a local pub the subject of Lent came up. His friends said that self-imposed sacrifice was too easy; how about if they chose his penance?

And so the deliberation began. After a heated discussion it was resolved that beer was an impossible choice. So the decision was that Jim would give up orange soda, which he consumed in copious amounts when studying on those long nights. Since then his friend Rob has made some interesting choices. Some years it has been certain spices. One year Rob made him give up oregano, which seemed pretty harmless at first until Jim realized he wouldn’t be eating pizza for the next six weeks. Jim feels that having someone else choose for him keeps him honest. Because it is not within his control, it feels more spiritual than automatic. The things beyond our control are the most difficult to deal with; they are a cross that ultimately needs to be accepted. As a priest said to Jim when he was dealing with a difficult illness, it wouldn’t be much of a cross if you wanted it.

Whatever we choose to do this Lent or someone else chooses for us, it is not intended that we accept this fast, this cross with the sound of “ugh” on our breath, slumped shoulders, and a broken spirit. This is the other part of the fast, that we do it quietly, privately, without show, as though it were a little secret between us and God. And this is where the smile comes in. We smile because it is between us and God; because we get to do, give up, take on, and conspire with the Almighty, as subversives for God’s kingdom of righteousness; we smile because we get to practice being like Jesus, which what being a Christian is all about. Being like Jesus means the cross but it also means resurrection, and there is not one without the other. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Parable of the Talented

What do you do when your favorite author dies an untimely death?

Science fiction author Octavia Butler dies at the age of 58

You read all of her books again, which is what I'm going to do.

Fledgling (2005)
Lilith's Brood (2000)
Parable of the Talents (1998)
Bloodchild and Other Stories (1995)
Parable of the Sower (1993)
Imago (1989)
Adulthood Rites (1988)
Dawn (1987)
Clay's Ark (1984)
Wild Seed (1980)
Kindred (1979)
Survivor (1978)
Mind of My Mind (1977)
Patternmaster (1976)

This woman was a genius, even though she would deny it. I got hooked when I read Parable of the Sower. I dare you to read one of her books without wanting to read any of the rest.

You don't start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it's good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it. That's why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence. It's just so easy to give up!

— Octavia Butler, 2000

A Time to Teach

Weekly sermons are not only an opportunity to witness to faith, to empower worshipers, or to challenge assumptions and long-cherished opinions; it is mostly a time to teach, especially about the Bible, a mysterious book if ever there was one. Many folks who come to church do not know many of the stories therein or the traditions that surround them. The following sermon is an effort toward that end.

Revealed

2 Kings 2: 1-12; Psalm 50: 1-6; Mark 9: 2-9
******** United Church of Christ
February 26, 2006 (Transfiguration Sunday)

Elijah was one of the greatest, if not the greatest, prophets in Israel. A prophet was someone who was chosen to read the signs of the times of his people and then proclaim to the king and to the people what would happen in their relationship with God if events continued to unfold, what could happen if they changed course; the kind of preaching that happens when one has a Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, as William Sloan Coffin puts it. Elijah was prophet to the people and to the kings of the northern kingdom of Israel in the 9th century BCE. Because of the miracles he performed and the miraculous events that followed him, his fame grew beyond legend to the point of being regarded as the one who would usher in the Day of the Lord, the end of time when God and righteousness would reign.

Now we join his story at its end, after he has walked the length and breadth of Israel, when he is to be taken up into the heavens. He is with his disciple and chosen successor, Elisha. Both know somehow that Elijah’s time has come, but neither of them will speak of it. Even so, their emotion is palpable; even though it is not stated outright we can glean a sense of how close their master/student relationship has been. Elijah gives Elisha (and perhaps himself) a way out this painful goodbye three times; three times Elisha vows to stay with Elijah as long as he lives. It is a scene reminiscent of Ruth and Naomi, when Ruth promises to go with Naomi to a foreign land to be her daughter.

When they finally reach the Jordan River and cross over, imagery we now use for passing from this life into the next, Elijah grants Elisha a final gift of their friendship. By his answer we can hear what he is not asking for: “I’ve learned everything I can from you about being a prophet, a leader, how to turn the people toward the Lord, except how to be a prophet without you. I can’t beg you or the Lord that you should stay. I’ll ask for the next best thing.” Elisha asks for a double-share of his spirit. A son would normally receive a share, a third of the father’s possessions as an inheritance; to double that might put the rest of the family in jeopardy. It is a hard thing for Elijah to grant for it is not up to him to decide; God will make the decision if Elisha is to receive this.

As they go, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separate the two of them and Elijah is caught up in a whirlwind on the hot breath of God. Elisha calls out to his beloved master “Father! Father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” When he could no longer see him, Elisha performs an act of mourning and tears his clothing in two. Having seen his master taken into heaven, we now know that Elijah’s spirit is with Elisha. In the next verse he picks up the mantle that was Elijah’s and carries it, wears it as his own.

I wore my father’s robe when I was ordained about 14 ½ years ago. I’m wearing it today. But he was not the example of prophetic ministry to me in the way that Elijah was to Elisha. My father was an alcoholic and was asked to leave his position as a minister of Christian Education. He was not very happy as a minister because he was not a happy person. When I told him that I was thinking about going into the ministry, he said why would I want to do that to myself. I think he went into the ministry as a way of healing the pain in his life. Within a year of leaving ordained ministry he quit drinking and began a crisis counseling center in the church where we had begun worshiping, the church I would eventually be ordained in. But his body had already taken enough abuse from drinking and smoking and buried sorrow that the counseling work took its toll and he left ministry altogether. He died of a heart attack when I was nineteen.

To say the least, my mother was concerned when I told her of my plans to attend seminary, not to mention the same seminary my father attended. She was afraid that I was trying to live out my father’s life, to redeem it somehow by following in his flawed footsteps. Later she came to see that indeed I was happy in the ministry and enjoying my vocation.

What I did not realize until I was older is that I did receive a portion of my father’s spirit. In reading reports that he wrote while in his intern year I saw that he was passionate about the kingdom of God and justice for all people. So am I. He questioned authority. So do I. He was a person of deep feeling to the point of wearing his heart on his sleeve sometimes when it came to caring for others. So do I. Though he was not an ideal example, I still learned from him, both about myself and about what kind of minister I wanted to be.

All of us, leaders, parents, teachers included, are formed in the crucible of our experience. We learn not only in the light, but in the dark as well. God is revealed not only in the bright light of the transfiguration, a mere glimpse of the resurrection, but also in the darkness of the cross.

In the gospel lesson we see that Peter is beside himself, terrified at the sight of Jesus and the sound of God’s voice. Like Elisha, he seems to know what is being asked of him by being allowed to witness such an event. With Elijah and Moses present, it is a sign that the Messianic Age is at hand, that the end times are near. When the moment is over, they are alone with Jesus again, signaling that it is Jesus who is the harbinger of the Day of the Lord, that Jesus is the new Elijah, the new Moses of God’s people.

But then Jesus tells them not to say anything until the Son of Man has risen from the dead. There is an even greater glory to come but at the cost of the cross. God’s greatest love is revealed not only through healing but also through pain; not only through life but also through death.

It is easy for us to associate light as a gift of God, as well as love, healing, peace, and life. It is much more difficult for us to see darkness and pain and death as gifts or as having anything to do with God. We love to learn from good examples but shun or ignore the bad or painful example. Yet God is still with us in the darkness, in pain and in death, and none of these can separate us from God’s love. God’s love is still at work, revealing to us how far God will go to keep us close.

One of the most well-known and most-beloved sayings of Jesus is said by him at night, in the darkness, when he reveals who he is to Nicodemus the Pharisee when he says “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” It is not only through Jesus’ life and teachings that we learn the depth of his love but much more so through his death on the cross.

The Church came into being because Mary Magdalene and other Easter morning witnesses, the disciples, the apostle Paul, and many others were captured by the story of the events of Holy Week; of how one man sent by God, preaching justice and the forgiveness of sins, was arrested, tortured, crucified, was buried and rose on the third day to live again. Their imaginations were so enraptured that they were willing to suffer pain to remain a part of this salvation story and to share it with others.

Reinhold Niebuhr, one of the great Protestant theologians of the 20th century, said that it is not easy to resist the offer of a gospel of success, an invitation to “a kingdom without judgment through a Christ without a cross.” In the movie “The Last Temptation of Christ”, Jesus has a vision while being crucified of climbing down off the cross to settle down with Mary Magdalene, to have a family, live out his days, and die an old man. But in the end he realizes that the cross is inevitable, that it cannot be escaped. The only way to escape darkness is to take part in the light, to love, but there is no love without pain in this world. And the only remedy for love is to love even more.

The life of the Church is where love and pain, where darkness and light meet, in the shadows. We are called to go to those who live in the shadows. U2’s lead singer Bono put it this way: “God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives. And God is with us, if we are with them.”

The bright light of the transfiguration reveals the darkness of the cross, creating a long shadow that extends through all life, showing us the depth of God’s love and the path for God’s people. What are moments of insight, when you as a church both saw God’s glory and heard God still speaking to you, calling you to the path of discipleship? What are the shadows, the challenges that face you as a congregation as you strive to be the church in the world? What are the gifts, both painful and healing, that have helped you be the church you are now? How has God been revealed to you in Epiphany, this season of light? What are you going to do this Lent to keep God’s presence so very real in your every day life?

Let’s keep our eyes and ears and hearts open these forty days of Lent. When we see and feel pain, let us look also for the healing that Christ gives. When the darkness creeps in, may we turn and find the light of God’s glory poking through a crack. When we hear of war and rumors of war, let us also witness to peace and justice and hope. When we reflect on our past, as a church and as individuals, may we have grace enough to learn from painful lessons as well as from times of joy. Let us be on the lookout, that when God is revealed in this wide wonderful, crazy world, we will be there as witness, that we too may become a revelation of God’s love in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sermons, She Wrote

This week I wrote two sermons but preached only one. This particular Sunday all ages were in church, so it was supposed to be a briefer service and a shorter sermon, one that everyone could relate to. The first sermon, "Immediately", uses some material from a sermon I wrote three years ago (the lectionary readings are on a 3-year cycle). But I didn't think it was one for all ages. So I wrote "Fuhgeddaboutit!" which is about saying sorry, forgiving others, and being forgiven, something the whole world could use a dose of.

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.

Fuhgeddaboutit!

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

You don’t have to raise hands but how many of us need to say we’re sorry to someone? How many of us are waiting for someone to say to us that they’re sorry? How many of us are waiting for someone to forgive us? And how many of us need to forgive someone?

Which is easier to say: I’m sorry or you’re forgiven? I don’t know about you but I find it easier to say “you’re forgiven” than to hear it. It’s more comfortable for me to hear “I’m sorry” than it is for me to say it. In the play “A Thousand Clowns”, one of the characters, Murray, stands on a street corner in New York City, saying “I’m sorry” to everyone who passes by. Just about everyone responds by forgiving him: “It’s okay, buddy. It’s alright. I forgive you. Fuhgeddaboutit.”

Imagine, though, if he was offering forgiveness to all those New Yorkers: “I forgive you. You’re forgiven. I forgive you.” He probably would have gotten some hard glares, some snarls, if not a threat to his person. We’re all in need of some forgiveness but it’s not easy to hear when we haven’t even considered apologizing for something we’re not sure we did wrong.

Saying we’re sorry and forgiving someone are a way of bringing our lives back into balance. We are in debt to someone we’ve hurt or we are holding onto a debt that we feel is owed us when someone hurts us and we are no longer on equal footing with each other. I’m alright when God forgives me because I know God understands. Have you ever had someone forgive you and it seemed like they were doing you a favor rather than offering you understanding and mercy? Or had someone apologize with an edge in their voice instead of a touch of humility? When we have difficulty hearing forgiveness or saying we’re sorry, it’s almost as if we think we’re on the losing side of a battle, that we’d rather be right than happy.

In the book of Isaiah the prophet tells the people that their sins are a burden to God, that our injustice to one another wears God out. Have you ever heard your parents say (or you who are parents, have you ever said…) “You are wearing me out!” especially when you were testing their patience and misbehaving? God also gets weary when we remember all the bad things someone did to us and hold it against them or when we have hurt someone else and have not apologized nor sought out their forgiveness. Yet the prophet says to the people that God will not remember their sins, that God is going to do a new thing and will make a way where there is no way. Instead of bearing the burden of guilt that has kept us down, we now can bear the burden of responsibility for making things right which ultimately sets us free. God will make it possible for us to find the forgiveness we have been looking for; God will make real the ability to forgive someone who has hurt us and to remember their sin no more. God does not want any of us to hurt. God wants all of us to live and to love with joy.

Needing forgiveness, holding onto a grudge, being reluctant to say we’re sorry can cause us suffering. It hurts when we feel separate from someone we love. And we can feel stuck too. We can’t seem to get into a good mood or really enjoy something or serve God faithfully until we say we’re sorry, forgive someone, let go of that grudge. It’s almost like we’re paralyzed, like that man in the gospel story. Sometimes we need the gentle nudging of some friends to bear us up so we can get to that place where we can let Jesus touch us and release us from being stuck in our hurt and guilty feelings.

And the beauty of it is we don’t have to say a word when it comes to getting God’s help but we do have to show up and allow ourselves to be put in God’s care. In the gospel story it is the faith of his friends that catches Jesus’ attention. Ten to one we all have someone praying for us, praying that we can let go and forgive, say we’re sorry, so that we can make room for joy and get on with our lives.

We’re not in this alone. We have our families and our friends who stick with us and love us when we feel unlovable. We have this community of faithful people who love us despite our ability to get stuck sometimes. And this church is not alone. This church has brothers and sisters that we can lean on in those times when we are in need of healing. And the relationships go both ways. We’re here to bear each other up, to bear with each other, to practice what it means to be loving and forgiving so we can take that gift out into the world that is crying out for love and mercy.

Most of all, we have the companionship of Jesus the Christ, who heals us, forgives us, releases us and gives us the strength to move on with our lives. So, fuhgeddaboutit! Amen.

Due to a blizzard...

There was no church yesterday, that is, the worshiping community wisely stayed home and communed with God each in their own way.

Which means no one heard this sermon but I hope persons will go online and read it. I had considered not finishing it since I figured I'd be staying home anyway. But just because we wouldn't be together does not mean that the Word need not be proclaimed. God and the Good News do not take days off. I may not have preached but the work of God goes on. So here it is in all its undelivered glory.

Inside Out, Outside In

2 Kings 5: 1-15b; Ps. 30; Mark 1: 40-45
******** United Church of Christ
February 12, 2006


I would venture to say that most, if not all, of us have been excluded at least one time in our lives. We were judged by our appearance or by the clothes we were wearing. We said something that was misunderstood or hurt someone. We couldn’t control our feelings of grief, anger, or sadness. It was the color of our skin or a language we didn’t speak. It was our attraction to the same gender, persons of both genders, our transgendered or intersexed nature, our confusion about our identity. It was our weight. It was depression or bi-polar disorder or those two weeks we spent in detox, the years we spent in and out of therapy. It was the wheelchair, the crutches, the cane, the walker, the missing limb. It was a speech impediment. It was difficulty with hearing or sight. It was our age. It was an illness or disease. It was our religion. It was whether we had money or an education or a job; it was where we lived, where we grew up, what family or background we came from. Whatever it was, we were judged on the surface, only skin deep, without someone getting to know us inside and out.

It is difficult for human beings not to judge in some way. It is our ego that sorts and categorizes all of the information that our brain gathers: it’s a cold day, this room is warm, she’s wearing a heavy sweater, he’s tall for his age. We then take that information and attach some kind meaning or an association to it in some way so that when we come across the same or similar piece of information we will recognize it and it won’t have to be sorted in the same intricate way.

Imagine going through your day and not associating anything with the color blue. You’d look up at the sky and say to yourself, “It’s blue”, and then go onto the next thing, without thinking about whether it’s azure or cerulean, how bright the sun is, a lighter feeling inside, days on the beach or on a mountain, the poem you read that described a blue sky as though it was ironed, and on and on. Everyone associates something with something else—for good or for ill. Most of the time we learn these associations from others and from our own experiences; these responses are often conditioned.

In the movie “Trading Places”, Eddie Murphy plays a con artist street bum who gets “adopted” by two filthy rich brothers who have a bet as to whether they can recondition this reprobate into a gentleman while turning their cultured, equally snooty associate, played by Dan Ackroyd, into a gun-toting, poverty stricken criminal. What’s truly rich about the movie is that the two victims of this plot overcome their assumptions about each other and work together to bring down the scheming brothers.

For its day that movie poked fun at our assumptions, exaggerated them a bit to show us how real they are, and in the end we had a good laugh, if a bit raunchy. But nowadays those assumptions and crash judgments are getting our world into trouble. Listen to this contemporary analogy of the reading from 2 Kings:

“Saddam was an Iraqi military general, praised by all as a valiant warrior and a great man. In fact, the God of Israel and our God had granted victory to Iraq through Saddam.” This is how the story of Naaman begins. Imagine how it would end given this contemporary interpretation. Naaman is given a second chance in that he is restored to health, his skin like that of a young boy; like a baby’s bottom, I was thinking. I looked up the word “clean” as it is used in this story; it means to be unadulterated, pure and bright, physically sound, as though one were restored to a state of innocence, as though the past had been erased.

In Jeremiah God promises to make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, even though they broke the old one, even though they didn’t deserve it. God promises to forgive their iniquity and to remember their sin no more.

We give the past such power and permanence. Our ego is never so active as when it is sorting over the past and keeping it very much alive in the present. One of my nasty habits is rehashing those times when I have said the wrong thing or thought I said the wrong thing or wishing I had said that witty or cutting remark or hadn’t said it or when someone hurt my feelings or excluded me or accused me. Lately I have been trying to stop when I catch myself doing this and ask God to heal me, to help me to remember the lessons but to forget the sins of my past, and those who trespassed against me, as God is so willing to do.
Letting go of past hurts, past wrongs is a lot like letting God change a light bulb that doesn’t work anymore.

How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb? What? Change the light bulb? My grandmother donated that light bulb.

How many times does it take for a pastor to change a light bulb? We don't know, everyone fell asleep while she was giving a sermon on it.

How many United Church of Christ members does it take to change a light bulb? How dare you be so intolerant! So what if the light bulb has an alternative light style?

How many Assembly of God church members does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, he already has his hands in the air.

How many Pentecostals does it take to change a light bulb? 1 and 99 to cast out the spirit of darkness!!

How many TV evangelists does it take to change a light bulb? One, but for the message of light to continue, send in your donation today.

How many Worshiping Musicians does it take to change a light bulb? One, but soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.
Why did I just tell all those jokes? Laughter reminds us of the joy of being in this community, the joy we feel by having been touched by Jesus. Laughter has the power of healing, to mend and bind together a community, to renew our minds and our spirits and turn our mood inside out, to make the past a thing of the past. We are no longer outcasts, strangers, loners excluded from the inner circle. We who were on the outside have been welcomed in. Jesus has reached out with pity and compassion, in other ancient authorities, with anger at our exclusion, chosen us and touched us with healing power and restored us to life and to community.
You see, the people of Jesus’ time expected that where the messiah is, there is no misery. Jesus gave them and us a more meaningful expectation, that where there is misery, there is the messiah; and where there is the messiah there is healing and joy that cannot be contained. Only God was believed to heal at will. When Jesus chooses to heal, he reveals that compassion is the root of God’s power and that God’s power is with him and is in every place where there is anger at the human condition, every place that pity and compassion move across boundaries that exclude.

Jesus redefined what it meant to be pure; not ritually or religiously pure or morally or socially pure or physically pure but pure in heart: to be loving, extravagantly and unconditionally so. He took the purity laws and turned them inside out. They were created to put the community and its members right with God and to set the Jews morally and spiritually apart from those who worshiped other gods. Instead these purity laws were abused and were used to exclude persons from the community of faith because they were considered unclean and impure. When Jesus healed the man of his skin disease he released him from a past of exclusion, unemployment, beggary, and poverty. He restored him to his family, his faith community, and to life itself.
So, ******** United Church of Christ, what in your past that is holding you back do you need to be released from? How has Jesus restored you to life? When has this congregation been moved to extravagant love? Who are the outcasts, strangers, and loners that need your healing touch? Who are the insiders, the popular powerful folk, outsiders in a place like this, who also need your extravagant love and gentle nudging? To what misery can you give witness to the healing power of Jesus?

It is important to remember that with anyone, we don’t know the whole story. Sometimes all we can see is what a person or group or nation presents to us on the surface. It is up to us to choose to go beyond whatever boundaries or obstacles and reach out with love, the extravagant love of Jesus that reached out to us when we were outside the gate. We have been turned inside out, pure and bright and new each day, that we might reach others who are outside and invite them into this joy that cannot be contained. Thanks be to God.

Fat?! Phat is more like it!

I am 5'3", 137 lbs. (size 10) and recently declared healthy by my primary care physician. Friday morning I was listening to a story on NPR about how French women are now on the average 5'3" and 138 lbs. I thought, "Wonderful! Now one of the most fashionable countries has some real women for whom they can design real fashion!" Instantly I felt more affectionate toward my belly and hips and trés française.

Imagine my shock and horror when I looked up the story on the website and found this title:

French Women Can Get Fat, It Turns Out

I have since written an e-mail to Morning Edition and am awaiting Thursday morning when they read letters from listeners. Woe to the writer if he be male...and pity if she be female.

Gospel Liberty

Isaiah 40: 21-31; I Corinthians 9: 16-23
******** United Church of Christ
February 5, 2006


One of the things I love to do best is to go to the movies and watch movies at home. I love stories that invite me to be a part of them, that weave the characters’ lives into my imagination and have it all affect me in a profound way, whether the movie be drama or comedy or fantasy.

One of my favorite black and white films is “Sullivan’s Travels”, starring Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake. It’s about a Hollywood film director who thinks his comedy work is a waste of time. In his quest to make a serious, tragic, truth-telling film about the plight of the impoverished, the film “O Brother, Where Art Thou”, he decides he has to live such a life in order to tell it on screen. But it’s just an act, with a studio RV trailing him the whole way, and a comfortable life just waiting for him when he’s done. It’s not until he goes out a second time, is robbed, assaulted, and his identification stolen that he learns what it means to be at the bottom and how brutal life can be. He winds up in prison. On a particularly dark day, when he is despairing whether he will ever get his life back, he and his prison comrades are guests of a black congregation in their church and shown a comedy movie. He realizes, only by inhabiting this cruel life, that it is indeed laughter that lifts one out of the murky depths and restores one’s hopes.

In his first letter to the church in Corinth, Paul is inviting these new Christians into the story of Christ in such a way as to become a part of it. While their imaginations have been captured by Jesus’ life, his death and resurrection so much so as to be baptized, now it is time for these newly minted Christians to move into the world to persuade others to come to Christ. Paul is engaging the Corinthians by using himself as an example. Paul has not only listened to the message of Christ, that of love, mercy, and justice but has also put himself in the life of those he is trying to reach, as Christ put himself in the life of humanity, in the life of those who needed him most.

Many people have heard this message and taken it to heart. Mahatma Gandhi, when he returned to India after being educated in England and practicing law in South Africa, wore the simple homespun clothing of his fellow Indians. When he saw that most of India was poor and depended on the mercy of the British government, he decided that he must live as one of them but also show them how to support themselves, how to make their own cloth, how to be independent of the British, that one day they would not take their freedom by force but would earn it.

I think Paul and Gandhi would have been great friends. Gandhi said, “You must become the change you wish to see in the world.” This is the meaning of “To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some.” Paul is not saying that the Church should be so accommodating and versatile that the Church be all things to all people but that we need to place limits on our human freedom, to relinquish our inalienable rights to reach those who are alienated, who need Christ’s gospel of truth, mercy, love and justice. Paul is urging the Church to take its relationship with Christ and make relationships with all people and not just some.

In our culture it is expected more often than not that we be educated, employed and secure so as to advance ourselves rather than to bring justice and mercy to others. Even when we as a society do help others there is usually something in it for us and our position in society has not wavered. As a society we have not risked anything nor stepped out in faith. The church in Corinth may have had similar concerns; Corinth was a prosperous city and shipping port, famous for its pottery and bronze work, with cosmopolitan, knowledgeable citizens. Paul is instructing the Corinthians in what it means to have a congregational lifestyle and not just an individual one. In other words, for the Church and its members to become weak is to adopt a cruciform way of living, that is, to live the way of the cross.

A hog farmer decided one morning to attend a church in town. He went into town in his work clothes smelling remarkably like his hog pen. The church folks were outraged at the smell. The pastor said to the farmer: "The next time you come here, ask the Lord what you should wear." The farmer agreed. The following Sunday the farmer returned to the same church ...in his work clothes. The pastor asked: "What did the Lord say?" The farmer replied, "The Lord said he had never been to this church and didn't know what to wear."

How do you welcome home one who has been in exile? You who are Open and Affirming, what stranger or guest would test your skills of hospitality? Relationships are never easy, including those we make at church. At church we’re expected to act a certain way because, after all, this is church. This is the place where we have to take you in. Henri Nouwen said that community is “that place where the person you least want to live with always lives.” The way of the cross limits us in that we give up our human freedom for gospel freedom: freedom to love with abandon, to forgive, to help others with no thought to ourselves. We are called to sacrifice our way for God’s way. Usually it’s the way we see things.

Isaiah calls upon his listeners, the exiles who have been living in captivity in Babylon, to lift up their eyes on high and see; see what God sees, as God sees it. We worry about what we can see right in front of us; God’s concerns are all that is. God calls each one by name; not one is missing. God stretches out the heavens like a curtain and spreads them like a tent to live in. For a desert people this is good news. How has this church, this tent to live in as community, been good news for you? How can it become good news for those who are not here yet?

Someone once said if we seek healing, we must become healers. If we are searching for love, we must become love. If we want to be helped, we must help others. We must become good news to one another and to our community. If we are looking for new life, we must come alive as Jesus is alive.

It’s a tall order for those of us who feel as though we do not need to become weak because we already feel weak. But we who band together in the name of Christ are strong because of God’s strength. We do not live only in our individual bodies; we live in the Body of Christ. We who are also exiles on our way home to God are told to wait upon the Lord. We who feel powerless are asked to commit ourselves to God in hopeful expectation of God’s power. Everything does not hinge on our efforts alone. Each day, for some, each hour, we must decide to trust God, to have faith, that the One who calls us to this “gospel liberty” is also the God who created the heavens and the earth, who is never weary, whose strength goes to the helpless and gives them the power to fly.

I want to close with a poem written by Carol Wimmer in 1988, entitled “When I say…I am a Christian”. First, hear these words about the poem by the poet herself, followed by the poem.

“My heart was heavy as I wrote the poem. I had begun to sense an increasing societal resentment toward the attitude of self-righteousness that has been adopted by so many Christians. I knew such behavior was and is a perversion of Christianity. Thus, the sentiment of the poem was born out of my personal awareness of this perversion and the heartache it can cause in our pluralistic society. I jotted down my thoughts with an inner determination to define the Christian spirit as I wished to experience it. …Four years later, I sent the poem to 5 different publishers. As a result of its first publication in 1992, someone placed the poem on the Internet where it miraculously began taking on a life of its own. From Manila to South Africa; Australia to Singapore; Finland to Bahrain—I’ve received e-mails from people all over the world who express a common desire to walk humbly with God. Therefore, I owe a sincere “Thank You” to the unknown person who originally posted the poem on the Internet and the countless number of readers who have subsequently passed this simple expression on to others.”

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I am saved"
I'm whispering "I get lost!"
"That is why I chose this way.

"When I say..."I am a Christian"
don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and need someone to be my guide.

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
and pray for strength to carry on.

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
and cannot ever pay the debt.

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
my flaws are too visible
but God believes I'm worth it.

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain
I have my share of heartaches
which is why I seek His name.

When I say..."I am a Christian"
I do not wish to judge.
I have no authority.
I only know I'm loved.

by Carol Wimmer © 1988


Our citizenship in the kingdom of God is nothing to boast about; it is a gift that we are to share humbly and freely with others. Thanks be to God, for this limiting Christian life that ultimately sets us free: to be empowered and to give power, to love and be loved, to serve and be served, to forgive and to be forgiven, to heal and to be healed and be made whole. Amen.

Be careful what you pray for...

The minute you take your sticky fingers off the controls....(see New Year's Day entry)

I got a job.

I'm filling in for a pastor for three months while she goes on sabbatical.

And in March I'm leading the women's retreat at my own church.

And I'm working with another pastor to organize a regional Lenten service of prayer and healing for a Sunday afternoon in April.

And I'll get to preach my very first Easter sermon.

So, because my time for writing will be signifigantly occupied with writing sermons, I'll be posting my weekly sermons here. The first one is from this past Sunday at another church for whom I was guest preaching. My regular gig begins next Sunday.

A Driveway Moment

Psalm 111; Mark 1: 21-28
***** Congregational Church
January 29, 2006

In a 2003 report from the National Survey of Children's Health approximately 4.4 million children aged 4--17 years were reported to have a history of ADHD diagnosis; of these, 2.5 million (56%) were reported to be taking medication for the disorder. 60% of those diagnosed continue to have problems well into adulthood.

In the past few years I have wondered if there is a spiritual component to this disorder that we are neglecting. In this age of multi-tasking when there are so many activities, ideas, so much information, not to mention marketing and advertising, that have the power to hold our attention and to divide it, I sometimes wonder if having an attention disorder is a way of the body and the spirit rebelling against the madness with which we have surrounded ourselves.

Some folks who have ADHD have the unique gift to be able to shut out all the extraneous clutter and focus on a task or thought process. Those of us who have tried to meditate know how important it is to be able to quiet our minds and focus on just the simple breath. When I paint with watercolors or crochet or work with beads I tend to lose track of time because I am so focused in doing something creative. Any of us who are avid readers may have alienated our families when we are “in a book”.

In our culture what would you say is the number one thing that captures and holds our attention, that is, has authority and power over us, to the exclusion of all else? (One answer was money.) In my opinion I think it is information. Every morning we can turn on the TV, the radio, the computer, open a magazine or unfold the newspaper and know what is going on across the country and all over the world. We hear of disaster, war, elections, brutality, violence, death, and the small corner reserved for good deeds, cooperation, and valor. We may have free speech in this country, but we use it so freely that it whirls willy-nilly around us and into our minds where it reverberates in an endless tumble of anxiety. And we can become bound inside; bound by our fear not so much of what has happened or what will happen but our fear of what could happen. Our spirits become unclean and bound up, from the Greek word “akathartos”, meaning the opposite of catharsis. To put it bluntly, we are full of it, we allow ourselves to become overcome by “stinking thinking” as they say in 12-step groups, and our minds need to be healed.

In the gospel of Mark the people in the synagogue hear of a new teaching, some new information, that which can give release to the unclean spirit. Listen to the unclean spirit. It says “Have you come to destroy us?” The response to the very real presence of Jesus is one of fear, destruction, and violence. Resistance.

We’re all awfully good at giving Jesus resistance. Especially when we are in group form; you know, Church. Take for example annual meetings. Fear usually raises its head at one point or another in an annual meeting. I heard one church had on its agenda a deficit budget. One member exclaimed in so many words, “You mean you expect us to pass this budget on good faith that we will find the money sometime this year?” And another member responded, “Yes. That’s what we’re all about is faith. All we have are pledge cards. We don’t have any money in hand right now. We always pass a budget on faith: faith that people won’t lose their job or get sick or move away. Every year we have to trust that people will keep their promises.”

As a community of faith we also need to trust that God will keep the promises made in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, that is, the promises of forgiveness, mercy, healing, rebirth, and love. When we hear news about the war in Iraq, the latest insurgent attack, about Hamas winning a majority in the Palestinian parliament, about people losing their jobs to the latest restructuring, about the high cost of health care and prescriptions, about anything that can tempt us toward despair, it can be easy for us to have our imaginations swept up by fear and dread. When our church family murmurs to itself and has difficulty imagining its future we can sometimes lose our attention from Jesus and the promises made to us.

I am an avid listener of public radio. One of the news programs, “All Things Considered”, has a phenomenon referred to as a “driveway moment”. It’s when a news feature or interview or story captures the listener in such a way that they are compelled to stay in the car in their driveway for just a few extra minutes to catch the end of the story. Jesus is giving the people in the synagogue just such a driveway moment. He is giving them new teaching, new information that is so compelling that his listeners acknowledge the authority with which he gives this new teaching, this new information. We do not hear what Jesus has said to them but we do hear only a few verses before that he proclaimed that the time is fulfilled, that God’s reign of love has come near, that those who listen and hear are to repent, to return to God and believe the good news.

This would have been quite a gripping driveway moment for the listeners of Mark. Mark is often referred to as a “wartime gospel” in that it was written during the war of revolt between Israel and the Roman occupation when the temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, around the year 70 CE. Jews who followed the Way of Jesus still thought of themselves at this time as Jews and would have seen the destruction of the temple as a sign of the end of the world.

Having witnessed yet another temple in Jerusalem destroyed would call to mind the times of exile in their past and might have led them to despair. The gospel writer of Mark, through the teaching of Jesus, is giving his listeners a message more convincing, more persuasive than that of the Roman lord Caesar’s edict of utter destruction and death. The new authority of Jesus over that of the Roman Empire, the power of God over the power of evil, that authority, that power being love, is the gospel, the truth that can heal our minds, release our unclean spirits, and center our attention on Christ. When our attention is centered on Christ, we are able to accomplish far more than we can possibly imagine.

We may have convinced ourselves that it is our weakness, our powerlessness, our darkness that makes us fearful to be the Church in the world. Marianne Williamson, in her book A Return to Love, writes:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we’re liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

In the letter to the Ephesians Paul prays that his listeners may be strengthened in their inner being with power through the Spirit, that Christ may dwell in their hearts through faith, that they may have the power to comprehend and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge so that they may be filled with all the fullness of God. He then praises God “who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can possibly ask or imagine”. God is more than able but able through the power at work within us. When our spirit is unbound, when our minds are released from fear, we can then be in the mind of Christ. We can then tap into that power that God has placed within us that the glory of God can be made manifest, be made visible, in our lives, in the Church and in the world.

Worship is our “driveway moment”. It is our time to be in community and to remember we are a community not a crowd, to confess our lack of attention on Christ and our need to be healed of our fearful thinking. Jesus comes to us as a people; his very real presence commands our attention and says to us: “Be not afraid. I am Lord.” The way of domination, of empire, war, death—these are not lord. The way of injustice, exclusion, strife, shame—these are not lord. The way of scarcity, poverty, slavery, disease—these are not lord. The way of fear is not lord. Jesus is Lord; his Way is love, mercy, forgiveness, peace, justice, and resurrection.

So, ***** Congregational Church, in what ways do you need to be healed of fearful thinking? What are you full of that you need to be emptied of? How do you see yourselves as church? Where do you witness the power of God in your life together? What aspect of the good news of Jesus Christ captures your imagination and moves you to action? How can you be a source of Christ’s authority of love and justice in a frightened world?

Worship is our catharsis, our creative moment to be out of time, to be healed of our “akathartos”, our unclean mind, to let go of all that binds us and to refocus our attention on Christ. So we surround ourselves with sights and smells, rituals and rites, the proclaiming of the good news and the praise of God, that we would remember again and again the simplest of confessions, that Jesus is Lord, not only of our lives but of our life together as a people of faith. We have been set free: to serve, to love, to be the very real presence of Christ in a fearful world. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Hoarfrost

From the car I saw
a thin line of frost on the horse fence
curling on the pale wisps of tall grasses
bending wiry thorns to its fierce whisper

I didn’t see the sun
until I was driving home
a waxing disk of white and gold
tucked in its wintry
slant southern corner
its rays wrapped in the
chill of a January fog

In about half an hour
it would all be gone
The fence gray and damp
grasses wilting under crystal tears
thorns released from their ardent genuflection

I drove slowly that morning
anxious for nothing
for once content to see
but dimly

A Patriot Act

Test your simple civics knowledge

Some answers to the questions are patently obvious. Others take some serious thought. But the intent is simple: being a patriot has more to do with knowing the polity of our government, thus what is expected of us as citizens, than it does with political fervor and from which side of the aisle a vote is cast.

Also, listen to a former Speaker of the House and his new contract with America:

Newt Gingrich's NPR commentary on needed GOP reform

And if you haven't seen the movie The Contender, with actor Joan Allen's speech about the chapel of democracy, rent the DVD.

After you've taken the short quiz above (30 questions), post your score. I got 25 out of 30 correct.

P.S. Cost of the Iraq war

Another day to make new

Janus: the Roman god of beginnings and endings, of gates and doorways; the first day of his month is the pivot around which we turn.

When the year 2000 approached, I reminded folks around me that this was an arbitrary date, constructed by humankind, and given meaning by the same. Each day is the beginning of a new millennium, a new year. But we hallow New Year's Day if for no other reason (and no other day) than to take stock of our lives and perhaps reorder our priorities.

Many people make a resolution: diet probably being No. 1, get another job, learn a new skill, spend more time with family and friends, take that long awaited trip. The best advice I've heard is to make it something specific: don't just lose weight but set a goal; not just get another job but network, redo the resume, spend some time thinking about what you really want to do; sign up for a class; set aside time every week for family/friends; save for the trip, get vacation time, and buy the tickets.

I once performed a wedding ceremony on December 31 because the bride and groom wanted to start the new year as husband and wife (an ancillary benefit: they could still take the tax deduction for the 364 days that they weren't married). Other people make fresh starts of their own: a journal, an exercise regimen, a new attitude, new sheets on the bed, organize the desk at work or at home, renew an old friendship, repair a broken one, clean out closets, come out of the closet, whatever little prison we've locked ourselves in. It's a time to look at the past, see what hasn't worked and try something new.

Me, I'm going to relax. I don't mean couch-potato-let-the-dust-bunnies-procreate-do-nothing relax. I mean lighten-up-take-my-sticky-fingers-off-the-controls-and-let-go relax, especially as it relates to my vocation and whether or not I'm working. I've spewed a lot of angst on-and-off for the past almost nine years and I can't continue like this.

I came across a quote that shook me out of my warm and cozy navel. It was used in a rather unusual context (the recent Coach Carter movie) in that it's from Marianne Williamson but it works nonetheless:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. ...Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are meant to shine... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (from A Return to Love, p. 165)

Whatever you do this new year, do it with love and from that place of light within you. Peace be with you in 2006.

Holding promises

In fourteen years of being an ordained minister I have never preached a Christmas sermon. Yes, that's right, I am a virgin when it comes to such matters (quite fitting, don't you think?) yet I have been ready to conceive of such a sermon by the Holy Spirit for years. So come out of your post-holiday stupor and pour yourself a tall nog, snag the last Christmas cookie and join me here by the virtual fire for a Christmas meditation.

One of my many pet-peeves is the saying "Children are our future". Bah, humbug! Ever since I gave birth to the first of two, I have known with all my heart, soul, mind, and especially body that they are our right now, this minute, can't wait any longer. Forget that Hallmark nonsense about today being a gift that's why they call it the present. Usually having children is nothing like a Hallmark card. If it were, they'd sell them ripped and torn, with greasy fingerprints all over them, and when you opened it, an explosion of dirty laundry and the sound of milk bubbles being blown through a straw would greet you.

The beauty of the Christmas story, whether you believe it really happened that way or not (and it probably didn't), is that the One who set this universe and you and me in motion revealed the power of love in a tiny, helpless baby (and thus every baby)--right now, this minute, can't wait any longer. We hope and pray that our children will take care of us when we are older, but we know the truth is that they saved us from the moment we knew they were on their way to us. And they save us each day of our lives. They save us from being self-absorbed, greedy, depressed, angry, and lonely. If nothing else, Christmas reminds us of this as we attend a birth in a mean and lowly place.

Christmas is a salvation story as much as Easter. Toward the end of the birth story in the gospel of Luke, a priest named Simeon holds the baby Jesus in his arms and proclaims that he is now ready to die for he has seen the salvation of his people, the promise of God. Jesus hasn't done a thing yet but be born yet he has saved this old man from despair that he may die in peace.

Hearing the birth story of Jesus (which is easier for my children to believe than believing their parents were infants once) reminds us of all the children who need saving right now, this minute, can't wait any longer: children being conscripted into armies; children orphaned by AIDS, war, floods, earthquakes, and last year's tsunami; children sold into slavery and prostitution; children who need nutrition, health care, education, and a home; in some cases, a legal marriage for their parents. In short, children remind us that we are all worthy of love, simply because we draw breath.

Simeon told Mary that a sword would pierce her soul. Yet I would bet that Mary already knew that the moment she looked into her son's eyes. What we don't realize is how often that sword will drive home its dual edge of pain and love. Our world needs to have its soul pierced, to see that we still practice child sacrifice of the worst kind--the kind we choose to be blind to.

We are our children's future. We are the ones who create policy, social structure, decide what is truly valuable and what is just dust in the wind. The trouble is, we spend more of our energy chasing after that wind than on what is right in front of us, right now, this minute, can't wait any longer. God is watching us but through the eyes, ears, hearts and minds of our children and they are taking copious notes.

Are you ready?

Yesterday in the grocery store, a friend asked me that question. I answered her that no, I was not ready for Christmas and all its attendant shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleaning, etc. but that yes, I was (and am) ready for Jesus.

Does that mean I've got all my spiritual little ducks in a row? If you've been reading this blog, you know the answer to that is "hardly". Being ready for Jesus means that, despite my spiriutal little ducks running all over the place, quacking their heads off, I'm ready to stop chasing after them, thinking that I have some kind of control over any of this. I'm ready for Jesus to save me from me.

At least, I'm ready today. Tomorrow may be a different story.