And their eyes were opened

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

It was a good Mother's Day.

The church improvisational

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, Caravaggio, 1601-02

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

Jesus, Mary and joy

Mary at the Tomb, by Lisa Hornor

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


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




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

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

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


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

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



Regret, by Cyn McCurry


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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Shake, rattle and roll

Skull with Cigarette (1886), Van Gogh


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


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


Ezekiel: Where is everybody?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both: An arm and a leg!

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

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

Ezekiel: So why are you here?

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

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

Spine: God knows how to knit?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ezekiel: Oops! Sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

Ezekiel: May I have the first dance?

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




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

Strange comfort

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


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


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

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

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





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

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

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

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



Kashmir, India, 1999.

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

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

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

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



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


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

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

Amen.

What we know...

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

Go naked for a sign

The Human Condition, Rene Magritte, 1933


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


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

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

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

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

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



Adam and Eve, Marc Chagall, 1912

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

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

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



The Nakedness of Adam, Alan Falk, 2003

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

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

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

Trust is...

(c) Kristin Noelle, 2011.

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

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


The Garden of Eden, Erastus Salisbury Field, 1865

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

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

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

Amen.


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


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

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

Glory dazed

Transgfiguration

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


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

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

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




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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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



Glory to God in the Highest by Cornelis Monsma


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

Going deep

Psalm 119: 1-8; Matthew 5: 21-37
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
February 13, 2011


I can’t stand it when Jesus does this. For the past two weeks we’ve heard his gentleness, his compassion, his pastoral side. I guess he was softening up the crowd, turning over the hard soil of their hearts, killing them softly with his words, with his beatitudes song. Then Jesus added some salt and light to the mix, building up the people with a sense of purpose and mission, preparing them for these hard seeds necessary for the kingdom of God.

But before he directs them down the difficult discipleship road ahead, Jesus assures his listeners that the law of God is not going anywhere; that though he has come to give the people the good news, it does not change God’s expectations of us. In fact, it seems that God’s people were just skimming the surface of what God wanted from them, obeying the letter of the law without going to the heart of it. Even though they were living in the land of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, in truth they had made their home in exile. They had become estranged from God and from each other. They had treated God’s law as though it were a to-do list, their salvation as check marks.

Eugene Peterson in his paraphrase The Message tells it like this: “Trivialize even the smallest item in God's Law and you will only have trivialized yourself. But take it seriously, show the way for others, and you will find honor in the kingdom. Unless you do far better than the Pharisees in the matters of right living, you won't know the first thing about entering the kingdom.” When it comes to Jesus and God’s law, discipleship is all about right living, right relationships. If we aren’t right with God or with each other, how can we do and be what God needs for the beloved community, the kingdom of God?




We’d like to think that when we’re angry or frustrated, in any conflict, in any trouble we might be having, that it’s the other person, the clique, the other team, the competition, the government, other nations that are the problem. Gandhi once said that the only devils running around are the ones in our own hearts and that is where all our battles ought to be fought. Sounds like something Jesus would have said, what he is saying as he delves beneath the surface of the law and goes deep into it.


When we were kids we used to say “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” as a way of warding off the sting of whatever insult was being hurled our way. The truth is, words do hurt. Jesus is saying that words said in anger have the power to kill. We know this from the media attention given to bullying and from the young people who ended their lives. The internet was flooded with messages and resources about how to deal with the bullies in our schools, work places, even in our worship communities.

One of my pastors and my colleague, Rev. Jennifer Gingras, talked about bullying this past fall with the junior high youth group at the Monroe church. Through discussion and role play and telling their own stories they created an art project entitled “In Our Shoes”. The kids brought in an old shoe and decorated it with paint and glitter, writing their truth in fabric marker in the open spaces. Phrases like “Their words will always hurt me” remind us of the responsibility we bear whenever we speak, that hate or angry speech is not really what we mean by free speech. They wrote story cards that were randomly assigned to each shoe and wrote a litany that they then led the congregation with in worship. Through this project, eleven-, twelve- and thirteen-year-olds learned to not turn the other cheek meekly but with active resistance to the bullies in their lives.

Truly, Jesus is making perfect sense when he follows his ‘salt and light’ message with this one. Often when we shine brightly, when we give our unique flavor to the world, it is then that we can become an object of bullying. But bullies aren’t born that way. A bully is someone who suffered some sort of abuse; who never learned to defend themselves nor did they heal from their wounds. We all have our wounds; therefore, we are all capable of bullying, of lashing out at those who are actively being brave and authentic in the midst of their woundedness.




In all these difficult sayings and interpretations of God’s law, Jesus is telling the crowd and us that we can’t treat people as objects, as though it doesn’t matter what goes on in the hamster cage of our minds; as though it doesn’t matter what we say or don’t say. But we all know from personal experience, from being on the receiving end that it does matter. It does hurt to be treated as if we were made from sticks and stones, not the flesh and blood person we are.

So what is Jesus’ solution to this problem? Plucking out our eyes and cutting off our limbs? Making peace with the person who has something against us? At first glance it sounds pretty extreme—and focused solely on the offender rather than on the victim. But it’s not as if Jesus divided the crowd into victims and offenders, telling the victims that they were excluded from this part of the sermon. Offenders were once victims themselves. We’re all capable and culpable. We’ve all had our 15 minutes of bullying. If we’ve scoffed at or discarded someone else’s opinion, tried to close down a discussion, judged someone else’s efforts without offering to help, or taken 10 minutes to say what could be said in two (no wonder it’s called the bully pulpit), then we’ve been a church bully.

It all begins with us: whether or not we’ll put up with bullying, whether or not we will engage in it. Ironically, most bullies are met with more bullying, with angry words said in a whisper, sneering looks behind one’s back, cold shoulders, or by staying away completely. We tend to interpret Jesus’ words about turning the other cheek as being too kind in the face of injury and injustice, so either we flee or we fight back.



Counterprotest signs at a Westboro Baptist Church protest

Actually, when Jesus says to turn the other cheek, in today’s language it means that we need to set boundaries, to clearly communicate and expect what are acceptable behaviors and those that are not. To turn the other cheek is to say that hitting the first time was unacceptable; the second blow reveals the hardness of heart of the offender and the willingness of the victim to show compassion.

The ability to be compassionate and loving toward others is directly related to our ability to accept and love ourselves as we are. If we’re having problems being compassionate toward those who have hurt us, we’re also having problems loving ourselves. The poet W.H. Auden wrote in his poem “The Age of Anxiety”:

“We would rather be ruined than changed.
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the present
And let our illusions die.”

Through his radical interpretation of God’s law, Jesus is reaching out to save us from ourselves and offers an opportunity for us to change. Trouble is, we have to know we’re in need of saving, that indeed, there is no greater enemy than ourselves. 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich believed that sin is necessary in the life of faith because it leads us to self-knowledge, which leads to the acceptance of God’s role in our lives. Here it is again, the first three of the twelve steps: admitted we were powerless, that our lives had become unmanageable; came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity; made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God.

If you think these steps are only for addicts, you’re right. A bully is someone who is addicted to their own way, and we all have that demon running around inside us. None of us are immune. If we think to ourselves ‘that’s not me’, the only person we’re fooling is ourselves.

How deep are you willing to go with Jesus, both as a person of faith and as a Body of Christ? How have you been hurt by being a part of a church and what part of that hurt are you still holding onto? To whom do you need to go and come to terms with your accuser before offering your gift at the altar of God? What if during the passing of the peace we actually made peace by saying we’re sorry and asking for forgiveness? In what areas of church life and in your own life are you insisting on your own way? What makes it difficult for you to let go of the outcome and trust God?

After I posted my word for 2011, which is ‘forgive’, a blog friend shared a brief, blunt prayer with me that cut like a knife through my ego: “Forgive them. Change me.” May we all be blessed with the courage, humility, and the serenity to offer this prayer each day.

Amen.

A new blog on the rolls

Through an online workshop I'm taking with Mondo Beyondo, I've found a creative blog to follow:


Loved: A Ritual, by Kristin Noelle, 2011

You can sign up for 30 days of sketches based on the theme of trust here. If you want to see a sample of what you'll be getting, click here and here. It's like the New Yorker cartoons, but with kindness and grace.

I have her listed under "People to See" as Life Beyond Fear.

Enough

Salt Shaker 2, Craig Stephens, 2008


Isaiah 58: 1-12; Matthew 5: 13-20
Woodmont United Church of Christ, Milford, CT
February 6, 2011


From when my girls were about 5 or 6 years old to even now, every so often, when we’re eating out at a restaurant, they like to sprinkle a little salt from the shaker into their hands and lick it off. How many of us did that when we were young? Most of us like the taste of salt on our food, but we all know the warnings about too much. We tell ourselves and our children to ‘go easy on the salt’.

Another basic element that Jesus uses in his lengthy sermon in Matthew is light. Our parents would tell us not to look at the sun too long or it would damage our eyes. We have to be careful when we’re out in the sun, making sure we use sunscreen and a hat, perhaps limiting our time outside. And yet we love light: how it causes living things to grow, the way it creates long shadows and colors and warmth. Many people suffer from seasonal affective disorder because of the decreased amount of daylight during the winter months.



Both salt and light are necessary for a good life. Too much or too little of either one can be harmful. Sometimes we wonder how we know how much salt or light is enough. However, in this morning’s gospel lesson Jesus isn’t talking about balance. Jesus is telling the crowd that they can never be too salty or too much light. Eugene Peterson, in his paraphrase The Message, puts it this way:

“Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

“Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father/Mother in heaven.”

‘Be generous with your lives.’ That can sound daunting on some days. How often do we feel less than equal to our lives, let alone have what it takes to be generous with them? Time and again we feel we’re not enough, that our days are more apt to take the stuff out of us, leaving our lives bland and gray. Salt and light? We wish.





And yet wouldn’t it make sense that God created us with what is not only necessary for our lives but fill us to overflowing? God is extravagant with grace; it’s we who can be cautious with it sometimes. God’s love is unconditional; it’s we who set limits on how far our love and compassion can go.

In her book The Soul of Money, author Lynne Twist speaks to the myth of scarcity that we repeat to ourselves every day. When you wake up in the morning, what are the first thoughts you have? For many folks it goes something like this: “I didn’t get enough sleep. I don’t have enough energy or time to do everything that has to be done today.” She writes that the thought ‘not enough’ occurs to us automatically, without little or no critical thought as to whether it’s true. We tell ourselves things like “I don’t get enough exercise, I don’t have enough work, my company is not making enough profits, I’m not organized enough, I don’t have enough money, I don’t have enough time off”.

Then it gets personal: “I’m not thin enough, pretty, handsome, successful, smart, educated”—add your own to that ever-growing list. Before the day even begins we’re found wanting, unable to rise to whatever challenge that has been set before us. We’re always behind the 8-ball, like Sisyphus pushing that mighty boulder to nowhere.

We do this at church as well: we’re not big enough, we don’t have enough money, we don’t have enough members, we don’t have enough time to do everything. Hence we can’t be generous with the life of the church, the Body of Christ, because we’ve convinced ourselves we don’t have enough to give, let alone have enough for ourselves.

What would happen if we operated from a place of sufficiency, that is to say, what if instead of a mindset of scarcity, we came from a place of faith that declares we are enough? Do we really believe that God could be so cruel as to give us purpose and mission and yet not give us power equal to our tasks? Of course not! Then why do we choose to focus on lack rather than on the many gifts and blessings God has sent our way?



The Extravagant Generosity of God, Ruth Tietjen Councell, 2008


Author Marianne Williamson says that “[joy] is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.” Some might think of that as a Pollyanna way to live, but I think Pollyanna has gotten a bad rap. Joy and gratitude are what make it possible for us to live through the tough times, to have faith that God does have our best interests at heart, and yes, that things are actually going to be okay.

The prophet Isaiah tells us that God isn’t interested in our wasted spirits, our drawn faces, our souls empty from always being busy yet having enough energy to whine and complain. Curiously enough, when we occupy ourselves and our hearts with the problems and needs of others, rather than our need to look busy or so worn out no one will ask us to do anything—that’s when our light shines. When we feed the hungry, when we put warm clothing on those who need it, when we welcome the homeless into our homes, when we put aside our work, the phone, the computer and we make ourselves fully available to our families, that’s when the light comes on and stays on.

Again, Eugene Peterson, from the prophet Isaiah:

“If you get rid of unfair practices,
quit blaming victims,
quit gossiping about other people's sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
firm muscles, strong bones.
You'll be like a well-watered garden,
a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You'll be known as those who can fix anything,
restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
make the community livable again.”

You are enough, just the way you are. Be generous with your lives. So go ahead and shine! Don’t worry about losing your flavor. With God, there’s plenty more where that came from.

Amen.