My Election Day Sermon

I don’t know how I could have possibly gotten through seminary without learning about the colonial New England custom of the Election Day sermon. It’s a fascinating bit of our history. Sermons back in those days were preached at all significant public events—anniversaries, thanksgiving days, fast days and election days. Most colonial ministers did not mix religion and politics on Sundays. However, when they were asked to preach an "Election Day sermon," it was very different.

Election Day sermons followed a typical pattern (which generally lasted over two hours!). First, they asserted that civil government is founded on an agreement between God and citizens to establish political systems that promote the common good. Scripture states that government is necessary, but theologically we know that no human-led system is perfect. Second, the people were encouraged to promise to follow those they had elected, and those who were elected were to promise to act for the good of all. As long as elected officials acted "in their proper character," citizens were to obey. On the other hand, if rulers acted against the terms of the agreement, people were “duty bound” to resist.

In all civic actions, voters and officials were charged to promote virtue, suppress vice and support people of "proven wisdom, integrity, justice, and holiness." As we approach Election Day 2012, we might still do well to measure our actions by these criteria.

One way we might do that is by refusing to bear false witness against our neighbor who might be making a different choice that we do in the ballot box. These are difficult and challenging times for our local communities, our country, and the world.  Divisive and heated rhetoric dominate the public dialogue, and the power of money is shutting out the voice of the average voter.  More and more people are withdrawing from engagement in the political process out of a growing sense of cynicism and mistrust.

In an age of partisan politics, what we need are more bridge-builders and conversation-engagers. As people of faith, we can play a unique role in this election cycle by encouraging civil, respectful dialogue that builds community and offers a hope-filled vision of the future for all people. May it be so, friends, and may it be soon.

The Loom of Democracy (Chapter 4)

You might know where my head is at by my admission that the first time I read the title I thought of the usage of loom as a verb, as in "to appear to the mind in a magnified and threatening form". Perhaps that is because everywhere we turn it seems that someone is trying to make me more anxious and something than I need to be in that moment. As I continued to read, however, I became more convinced that Parker was in fact using the noun form, as in, the machine that weavers use to weave fabric out of threads. This, of course, makes much more sense.

Democracy is designed to hold tension and dissent so that divergent problems can be addressed creatively. Some of us may feel that creativity slipping away. I'd really like someone who is involved with politics more than I am to weigh in on this. Is this creative tension a good thing? Can you tell us a story of reaching across the aisle to enact positive change?

The Heart of Politics (Chapter 3)

What does it mean to be a "living democracy"? Palmer suggests that after September 11, 2001 many of our nation's leaders promoted consumerism to promote our democracy rather than citizenship to restore our democracy. Do you agree? Why or why not?

As Americans, Palmer suggests that we are often lead by our hearts when making decisions about how to govern ourselves. When we disassociate our intellect (minds) from our heart (feelings) we are prone to making serious mistakes, (the Alan Greenspan example was a perfect illustration of this!). We also do a great job of shutting down communication and finding creative solutions for our problems when we fail to see the bigger picture. We enter either a dangerous game of being unaware of real human need or wallow in excessive emotional manipulation and mistruth.

I was not surprised to learn that Americans are first among the nations in per capita giving to charitable organizations, and I might just use that Farmer's Heart illustration in an upcoming sermon - reminds me of Mark 10:16-31.

Heartbreak... was there every a more intense motivator and game-changer than heartbreak? Palmer's question about what we do with out heartbreak is an important one to ask. May we have our hearts break open, not apart. Democracy is a delicate balancing act between individual freedom and collective responsibility (not unlike the local church!).

Confessions of an Accidental Citizen (Chapter 2)

Hello online study participants!

Chapter Two opens with an admission of sorts from Parker Palmer. As a privileged, white American male since birth he admits that citizenship was an automatic kind of thing for him. He also questions what most of us see as citizenship, and wonders if we boil own our citizenship to partisan political activities that many (if not most) American citizens find unsavory, instead of considering our citizenship every day in our normal activities. He thinks that many of us believe "what's good for me and mine comes first" before we begin contributing to the community. Do you agree?

In the section, Faith and Doubt in politics, Parker states that he believes in three things: Democracy, American Political Institutions and the Human Heart. Do you?

Parker eloquently describes his visit to Americus, Georgia where he attends a church Bible study with three congregation members. What struck you the most about his story? Have you ever been in a situation when you have dramatically underestimated the dignity of "the other"? What happened?

Parker claims that at their core, Christianity, Islam and Judaism have compassion and hospitality as founding principals. Why do you think we have so many problems living in a religiously pluralistic democracy here in the U.S.?

Parker claims that we are a people that are inherently pulled between individualism on one side, and interdependence on the other. Do you agree? Where, in society, do you see this played out?

It is true that we are interconnected, and there are so many places where we can do more for the good of society than we can do alone: healthcare, education, roads, social reform. Yet, we are also separate individuals with different gifts and abilities. We group ourselves in tribes with others who are kinda like us. Often our first and best efforts go towards the "like us" group rather than the "other". It's a constant juggling act to balance needs of wider community with self, something I struggle with all the time. How about you?

With humility and chutzpah,
Pastor Jenn

Welcome to the online study!

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a book written by one of my favorite modern theologians, Parker J. Palmer called "Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit".  Finally (I thought), a resource to help me navigate the waters of the next three months - you know, the ones leading up to the presidential election.

My job as a Christian minister is to stand before a couple of hundred people each week and say a little something about the Gospel, about following Jesus, listening to the Holy Spirit and watching for signs of God 's love in the world. And sometimes, those themes skate pretty close to being political speech (or, at least that's what some people tell me).

I find it funny that the two things my mom told me was impolite to discuss at a dinner party - religion and politics - can be so related to each other, and so very polarizing. It makes me sad that we cannot seem to have civil conversations about either without jumping to conclusions, many of them misguided and erroneous. What are some of the conclusions that people have made about you, when you have been brave enough to share your views in a public space?

In the Prelude and First Chapter of this book I was struck by the story about Lincoln and his depression. I found hope in the way that he refrained from labeling and polarizing the South at the close of the Civil War. His ability to pay them respect, despite their clear and deep disagreements, was what some historians believe kept the country together, at a time when we were deeply broken as a nation. And George Carlin is a genius. What did you think about his treatment of shell shock on through to PTSD?

I hope that you take the time to read the prelude and first chapter and leave a post here. Tell us what impressed you, what you struggled with, what you will remember as we continue reading together.

What DO I Believe?

You wouldn't think that is a question that someone would ask me at this point in my life. And it's not something I can boil down into one 1500 word sermon, or probably even a book. Although I would like to try that someday. As a professional clergy person it's only fair that I share with you my spiritual perspective before I ask you to share yours. So here goes.

As a child, I was clueless. Many, many hours playing under the pews as my parents were in this or that board meeting made me resent the building at times. However, I knew the people loved me like a little sister.  I felt like I was closest to God at Silver Lake, our church's camp. When I was a young adult and turned away from that ministry for a time, it hurt and I felt spiritually alone. I "found" God again when my kids were little, because I wanted them to have a place to become formed as people of faith. God called me through the voice of a woman preacher looking for a substitute so she could take a well deserved vacation. But that will confuse many of you, and it's a story for another time.

One question that I am often asked is how do I connect with God. The answer, every time, is nearly the same. When I am writing or studying scripture or in direct conversation with someone I am ministry with, I connect with God. When I am paying attention to the people who are crossing my path, I know that God is present. Something moves in me and through me. Maybe that's compassion, or empathy or something else. I call it Spirit. And I feel transformed. Because of this I am quite certain that I will never be done speaking or teaching or caring for another in whatever way that I can because I really do believe that is God's call on my life. And I mess up ALL the time. We all do. That's the thing about being a broken vessel.

Garden Party

One of my favorite summer pleasures is a really simple one. On some afternoons, I like to sit next to our garden and watch the vegetables grow. No, it’s not possible to stare and see them actually change before my eyes (although that would be really cool!). But I do notice, each day that I spend time there, that the plants have gone through changes.  

This year, our tomatoes, cucumbers and herbs thrived but our zucchini and beans withered and failed. Our eggplants, beets, corn and carrots will hopefully be ready to harvest soon. But the strangest results in the entire garden came from our peppers this year. We grew very tall, leafy and strong plants with maybe one or two small peppers. Hardly a worthwhile harvest for the time and attention invested in the plants.

I was talking about my pepper plant conundrum with the adult son of one of our older members as we visited together in a nursing home facility. I remarked to him how strange it was that we got such different results from different vegetables since the soil and sunlight in the garden is so remarkably similar. He told me that peppers are a kind of plant that produces flowers ONLY when under duress.  With ample water, sunlight and nutrients the plant will thrive, but it won’t feel a need to reproduce itself unless it feels like it could die soon.

We are so much like a pepper plant! We might feel like we have it all – wealth, health, steady faith, intelligence, a fulfilling job, a vacation, great relationships with those we love, a home. Maybe those are the times when it’s easy to forget to reach out, to be thankful, to bring some of what we have to other people.

Most of us will struggle at some time in our life, just like a pepper plant in need. We go through unemployment, health scares, break-ups, loss and grief. It has been my experience that these are the moments when reaching out to someone else can be the most healing. Having a cup of coffee with a friend who is also going through something, volunteering your time in a food pantry or soup kitchen, giving your fervent prayers to God - all of these opportunities can turn our hearts outward and help us feel hope. Sometimes we grow the most when we come through difficult times then turn to help a neighbor do the same.  

Spirit for All

I Corinthians 12:1-13, Acts 2:1-21
There is something about open flame in church that makes me a little nervous. On Christmas Eve, when we burn hand held candles together and sing Silent Night my pulse quickens. Yes, it is a beautiful but there is something more to it than that. I feel, in that moment, so aware of the sacred wildness of the flame.
Clark and I were married in 1992 in my home church, which had a little white sanctuary with big open windows. The wedding too place in mid-October when the leaves on the trees were fiery red and bold yellow. I remember looking at the sky and thinking that the sky had never been bluer.

My family has always teased me a bit on my ability to over plan. I’ve been that way all my life. It was a skill that came into good use as I prepared for the wedding. The joke of that day was that I had planned so thoroughly that even God had received the memo in time to send the good weather! (which is really horrible theology, if you think about it!)

On my wedding day I really tried to set all that aside and live in the moment. The planning was over, and the time to celebrate had begun. To signal the beginning of the ceremony, I arranged for a string quartet of my high school friends to play Vivaldi’s “Spring” as first Clark’s mother then my mother lit a taper candle on the communion table.

The plan was that from these two taper candles, Clark and I would light one large candle in the center in a Unity Candle ceremony. This moment would symbolize the coming together of our families. But there was a problem when my mother tried to light her candle. The fancy lighter we had purchased for just this occasion would not work. She tried and tried to light that candle, to no avail. My dad, standing in the back of the church with me, whispered in my ear “Why did we think your mom would be able to work a lighter?” and we laughed.
 
My soon-to-be mother in law was kind enough to jump out of her seat and give her a hand. Now, that would have been a funny, sweet moment to capture on film, if only my uncle had remembered his video camera like he was supposed to. We carried on with the service, said our vows, lit our unity candle, and exchanged the rings.

At the end of the service, we bowed our heads and prayed with Pastor Jim as he said the benediction. Suddenly, one of our groomsmen Kevin rushed towards us, screamed “Excuse me, Father!” dropped our minister to the floor and quickly removed his preaching robe. The acrid smell of burnt polyester filled the room. My heart was struck with terror as I turned around and clutched my best friend’s hand in a tight grip. “What do I do?” I asked her. “Just breathe!” she said.

I don’t believe that any amount of preparation and planning for the day could have prepared me for my minister catching on fire at my wedding.  Fortunately, the quick thinking and vigilance of our friend Kevin (who was also a volunteer fireman) saved Pastor Jim from serious injury. Polyester preaching robes are pretty flammable, but they are also replaceable. I have learned to be very cautious around Unity candles when I am involved in a wedding ceremony. And to keep a bucket of water handy!

On a day like Pentecost, when we are celebrating the birthday of the church in the upper room and imagining tongues of flames over all of the disciples  heads I remember that moment in the little white church. While fire, as a metaphor for the Holy Spirit, can be sacred and meaningful it can also be somewhat dangerous.
Earlier in this service we welcomed seven new people into our congregation as members. All of them were baptized at some moment in their lives in the name of the Trinity, God in three persons. A great metaphor for thinking about the Trinity is considering the three states of water. Water can be solid (as ice). It can be liquid, and it can be a vapor. Just as we have three ways of knowing water, we have three ways of knowing God: there is the one who created us, whom Jesus called Father. There is the God known to us as Jesus Christ, our teacher and redeemer. And there’s the God we know as Holy Spirit.

Or do we? Ask the average churchgoer (who isn’t Pentecostal) to talk about God and you might hear a lot about the Creator and Jesus, but probably not as much about the Holy Spirit. I think a lot of Christians are really not Trinitarian, but effectively Dualitarians: we’re good with God and Jesus but we’re not really sure about the Holy Spirit. Well, friends, today is all about the Holy Spirit, both because it is Pentecost and because we are celebrating new members. So I want to offer you another image for us to work with to try to better understand the Holy Spirit. The image is Fire Water.

Paul talks about us all drinking of one Spirit, a Spirit which refreshes us like water on a hot day. This Spirit gives us the energy and compassion to bring refreshment to others. When someone says to me that in the midst of a trauma or difficulty that they had a strong sense that God was with them, then they have known the Holy Spirit and been strengthened by living waters. When we are thirsty in life, thirsty for love or hope or joy or reconciliation or peace or justice, we cry out to the Spirit, trusting that a drop of water will fall into our dryness and bring us life.

But that’s not the only way to describe the Holy Spirit; the Pentecost story brings us another image: Fire. As in getting “all fired up” like the disciples did that day. They got fired up to tell the good news of Jesus’ message of love and forgiveness. They got fired up and insisted that God intended to shake the world up a bit. They got so fired up they left the room in which they had been safe and secure and went out to the streets to make some holy trouble.

The Spirit’s presence in our lives can make us feel “all fired up”. We are called out of comfortable ruts and pushed and prodded into speaking or acting as God’s servants when things are not right around us. The Spirit forces our eyes and ears open to see the pain of those who suffer or are persecuted or face injustice. The Spirit gives us words of truth to speak to the powerful. The Spirit moves our voices to sing, our feet to dance, and even pushes our lives in directions we don’t think we wanted to go.

When fire existed all on its own on my wedding day it was a little destructive. But the fire and water of the Holy Spirit has a different end effect. Their purpose is to construct the world as God has dreamt it, as God created it to be: just, loving, whole.

Sometimes in a construction project there is some demolition that needs to happen. Sometimes in our lives and in our world change comes painfully, even change with love at its base. The Spirit is involved in that, like when someone struggles to cast out an addiction that controls their lives. Ultimately, the Spirit is in the business of building up people and communities. Soothing waters and powerful fire come together in miraculous ways, and we are the vessels for that melding of elements. That’s what the Holy Spirit is all about.

So today, to remind us that the Spirit is not just about cleansing, refreshing water, or uncontrollable, dangerous fire I’m going to put some fire in the baptismal font. For our new members, and for all of us as we remember our baptism, this is the day to claim the Spirit not just as a character in a story from the Bible, but as a presence in our lives. This is a day to remember that there is Spirit for All. Amen.

...and the Holy Spigot!

An eight year old girl with pigtails used to wander through the woods behind her parent’s house, down to a bubbling stream. This stream was one of her favorite places in the whole wide world. She would bring a book with her sometimes, and sit upon a large boulder just on the other side. There she had the chance to think about many things, and sometimes even dream. In the late summer, sunlight flickered through the trees in an almost-magical sparkly way. Bullfrogs chanted a loud chorus as she hopped from stone to stone, water sloshing into her sneakers. After sunset, the fireflies would come out and coax her towards home.

The girl had a brother, a roly-poly little imp of five. The boy was loud, and always running around the house, which set the girl’s nerves on edge. Her mother, bless her heart, called the boy “hyperactive”.  The girl? Well she had other names for him which I won’t share in polite company. Suffice it to say that the children’s parents spent much time of their day refereeing their squabbles.

The girl would daydream from time to time about who this child, her brother might really be. “Maybe he is a gypsy, left on our doorstep” she would say, “and his real family will come back for him soon”. Or, “perhaps he belongs in a circus, and it is my job to train him to do tricks so he can go back to the big top!” But no, her mother and father insisted that the boy really did belong to them and whether she liked him or not she was his sister and was responsible for him!

That morning in church the girl heard words like “Jesus” and “baptism” and “water” and in her 8 year old heart she really wanted to love her brother as herself. But she struggled, mightily. So on that clear spring Sunday afternoon the girl and the boy held each other’s hand and walked down to the stream behind the house together. They stood on a river rock and the girl bent down and cupped her hands full of icy cold water. “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spigot – Amen” and with a dramatic flourish she dumped the water on his head and turned her face to the sky, waiting for a dove to land on his shoulder like it showed in her children’s Bible. But the dove never came.

What did come was a big cold splash to her face, and a squeal of giggles as the boy returned the favor. Many, many more splashes came from that first volley and soon they were both trudging towards home, fully dressed, covered in mud, wet and happy.

I think that Peter and his community held that same kind of joy with one another in the story we just read. They were just beginning to “get it”. After the baptism of a Roman Centurion named Cornelius, the movement continued to struggle a little bit with the idea of who was in and who was out.

But the apostle Peter, like the little girl at the stream, understood that nothing could get in the way of God’s abundant love through the waters of baptism. God’s grace, like water, is free-flowing and abundant and no one – not me, not you, not anyone, can get in the way of that. The problem is that people try to get in the way of that all the time.

We live in a world of boundaries which can mean different things to different people. Boundaries can be helpful, like when they keep the Huns from invading China (think of the Great Wall). But there is also an ugly wall dividing Palestine and Israel. Israelis argue this wall is to keep people safe. Palestinians argue that this wall keeps them from their jobs, their ancestral lands, their families.

Some boundaries are more subtle. They are a part of our identity and help us know who we are in relation to other people. If you see someone wearing a Red Sox shirt, you’ll know that they are not a Yankee fan, and vice versa. For Peter and that earliest community, boundaries protected them and helped them understand their world. The Jews and Gentiles who were joining the movement each came from cultures with clearly defined boundaries and expectations. The earliest practices of the Jesus movement was to keep the boundaries, the distinctions in place. If you were a Jew who followed Christ, you hung out with other Jews who followed Christ. If you were a gentile, you hung out with other gentile converts.

Are we that different today? We tend to gather with people with whom we can identify. So, when we think of this story, don’t just think of it as history. Think of this story as here and now. Our text has Peter preaching, and the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. Then, (catch the prejudice embedded in the text). "The circumcised believers (translation: Jewish Jesus followers) who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles."
How often do we do that? Invite people to join us, but then assume that we are still the only ones with the gifts? They believed Jesus when he said to take his gospel to the whole world. But they seemed to operate as if those new converts had to act exactly like them to belong.

Back at the turn of the 20th century there was a church in Tucson, Arizona that sent money to many Native American Reservations in their area. The gospel told them to take care of the poor. So they did. They sent money, clothing, and food. But then, people started leaving the Reservation and came to the cities, including Tucson. Where did they go? They went to the church that had so faithfully supported them.

But the white congregation in Tucson wasn’t quite ready for integration. Sending money and support to the Reservation was one thing but having those people show up to worship was something else entirely. So the Tucson congregation started a new congregation so the Native Americans would have their own place to worship. While that story makes me sad on many levels, it is not all bad news.
The Holy Spirit was not to be deterred. This new congregation became a beacon for social justice, a place where all are welcomed and a reminder that God’s ways are not in our control. Nor will they be held back by our boundaries and walls.

The Spirit challenges our assumptions. She keeps putting us in situations where we are not comfortable. Listening to the voice of the Spirit is not without risks. It will certainly put you in uncomfortable situations. It will cause you to reconsider, maybe even get you in trouble. But it will also help you break down the boundaries that either you have built for yourself or your society has built for you.

The question for you is this: where is the Holy Spirit calling you to break down your boundaries? Who is out there in the community, or in this very congregation, that might be waiting for an invitation from you before they can cross their own borders and live into what God is dreaming for them?
How do we listen for the voice of the Holy Spirit and live into the future God is dreaming for us? Because if we listen to the voice of the Spirit, we need to be ready to be disrupted. We need to be ready to give up control of the outcome. We need to be ready for things to change and to be different.
When boundaries seem too hard to overcome, when the walls that divide seem to be too great for us to break down, take heart! God’s Spirit will not be limited by them as we are. Lizards can scale a wall without a thought. Butterflies will float right over the top, riding on the wind currents. These walls that seem so insurmountable to us are not so to the Holy Spirit.

In the final verses of our text this morning, the narrator makes an interesting comment. "Then they invited Peter to stay for several more days". The Spirit brings people together for relationship, where healing and grace can happen.

Even in the lives of two children like my brother Mike and myself. I know deep in my heart that it was the Spirit that led the two of us to the stream that day. As adults, the road hasn’t always been smooth for us, but at least we are still on it together. I am thankful that the voice of the Spirit brought us together here today. May we continue to be surprised by the directions she would have us go. Amen.

Our Complicated Lives

I've been waking early each morning with a pit in the center of my stomach. Not a literal pit, but a figurative one. With one child launching off to college soon, and another heading ever closer to teenager-dom I feel like I am running out of time with them. Those of you with young adult (or grown adult!) children are likely nodding your heads in agreement remembering those days.

It's like we are in a quirky movie about a Minister mom and Teacher dad living with two nearly fully grown kids that are more mature than their parents are. And the movie is on a fast forward.

Time is short. Wait, that's a load of BS. Time is complicated. With one parent working two part time jobs, and the other working what feels like two full time jobs, we are struggling to maintain our priorities. One of us leaves at the crack of dawn and the other comes home after kids are in bed. We pack bag meals and blow each other a kiss in the parking lot as we try and make two cars fit a three driver reality.

I know, first world problems, right? The added guilt in this honest complaint is almost enough to keep me quiet. Almost.

But I sat in a meeting yesterday with some potential new members in the church and what I heard time after time was: "we're such a BUSY church", "there is so much to choose from", "programs, programs, programs..." and I was exhausted just hearing the possibilities. Granted, this was in the middle of a 14 hour day of ministry without a break where I skipped two of the three scheduled meals most of us take (no, potato chips on the lawn with the JrPF doesn't really count, or so I've heard. And yes, I am a little annoyed that with the meals I skip I am still such a substantial person!).

I believe that the people in the meeting were coming to learn more about a wonderful, quirky, faithful, active church family that does really love each other, even if that love feels sometime like blowing kisses in a parking lot. And I am incredibly grateful for the gifts and their willing hearts, and see these new families fitting in wonderfully.

But I also wonder if we are somehow making our lives together more complicated than they need to be. Jesus talked alot about going off to a quiet place to pray, do our lives together give us that opportunity? Maybe that's what summer is all about, but I crave it now. I also wonder if in the flurry of activity we are missing the still small voice of God's justice in the world. Or is there something else we are trying to avoid dealing with?

Lessons from the Early Church Part Three: Love is a Verb

Acts 2:42-47 For the past two weeks we have been considering together what life might have been like for the early church. The Raising of Lazarus reminded us of the resurrection hope of the community then and the new life we embrace together today. Stephen’s bravery last week suggested to us that we too can be bold in our living and our giving as a faith community.

In today’s final installment, we will hear a little bit about how the early church got along with one another, how they held all things in common and supported one another. How the strength of their love for one another helped them spread the gospel to a world that desperately needed to hear the Good News.

But first, I just need to ask you: Seriously? Are we to believe these early church folks were really like this? Especially that bit about the selling what they owned to give to those in need. Do you feel even a little bit skeptical that life for them was really that way?

On the western shores of the Sea of Galilee, at the foot of Mount Arbel facing the Golan Heights lies the kibbutz at Ginosar. Founded in 1937 by the Young Socialist Party, a kibbutz is an experiment in communal living. Once an active farm, the site has become a tourist location featuring a museum which houses the 2,000 year old “Jesus Boat”.

Here on the kibbutz, young Israelis and Jews from all over the world gather to live and work together in community. Presently there are about 106,000 people living on the 256 different Kibbutzim. Residents share everything they own, and hold all property in common with one another. No one earns a paycheck, but they do earn food, clothing and housing.

During my visit at Ginosar I had the opportunity to meet some of the young people who live and work there. They spoke to me with great optimism about the community and its many benefits, and the depth of friendship among its members.

They told me things like:
…“I always know that my sisters and brothers here have my back.”
…“It’s wonderful to live closely together, sharing these experiences with one another.”
… “Each new person arrives with their life stories. We stay up late learning from and listening to one another.”
… “Holding everything in common helps us to keep the peace, no one has any more or less than he or she needs.”

I have no idea if these statements the youth shared with me were really true or not. These outgoing young people might have been from the Kibbutz Welcoming Committee for all I know, trying to get me to sign up and live there with them.

It’s a tempting thought, but I am not so sure my family would be into the move.

Speaking with these earnest, happy young people reminded me of my youth and the time I spent living in community at Silver Lake Conference Center. A part of me longs for those teenage years when I had such a close group of friends and the world was bright and beautiful every day.

Sometimes when we remembering times gone by we forget all of the bad stuff we’d muddled through. When I think about those years living at camp with so many others,
… it’s easy to forget that I shared a bathroom with nine young women for the summer,
… or that we argued about whose turn it was to use the washer/dryer,
… or which one of us borrowed another’s sweatshirt

It’s far easier for me to remember that we shared a common space, that when one of us received a care package we shared it equally, that when one of us cried we dropped everything to comfort that person, and that we covered for one another when we were exhausted. When I think back to the memories of my summers living at camp, I remember best the moments when we were a blessed community.

I wonder if being young has something to do it. Is it harder for adults to pull off living in community well? I mean, we’ve got – well – stuff! Most of us bring years of emotional baggage which we either suppress or use to keep others away. We’re established in life! Adults are concerned with who is in charge, and who has the authority in the system.

Both of these communities I describe: the kibbutz and Silver Lake are filled with mostly idealistic young people who are ready to change the world. But young people in any community, when they can be real with one another, share their sorrow as well as their joy. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean that you haven’t felt pain, rejection and grief.

Christians, and Congregationalists in particular, have always had a bit of an idealistic streak. We want peace in our church community, without any tension or arguments. We try and balance our ministries so that everyone has a share of resources according to their needs. We serve in places like Monroe, Bridgeport, Sharon, South Dakota and Cleveland so that all God’s children might have food, shelter, education and friendship. And we go on living our regular lives here in this regular town striving for a higher love.

What is clear is that at the heart of this church community is relationship. How we treat one another as brothers and sisters is the way we live out the commandment to “love one another as we love ourselves”. Those words we say each week from our covenant: “in Christian Love, we will care for and support each other” mean something real.

At coffee hour last week, I wandered over to say hello to some of our church school children. They were eating a quick lunch between church and Junior Choir rehearsal. I approached one of them and remarked about what a yummy lunch she had. And so, this child offered me half of her sandwich. What a loving heart that child has (for the record, I settled for a carrot stick)! For me, in that moment, the love of God here in this place was tangible.

Love is really what life in community is all about. Today’s text is a snapshot we who are shaped by the Christian tradition are meant to be. Our ancestors in faith took their meals in common, because there is nothing more satisfying than breaking the bread of life with those you love. They shared their possessions and resources, so that no one would be left out. All were welcome at the table. There was always room for one more. This, dear friends, is the realm of God!

I hope that this short sermon series has been helpful to you in considering our lives together. It isn’t easy living in community, but that’s what we are called by Christ to do. May we here at the Monroe Congregational Church learn to:
… Live as a community of resurrection people, with hope and possibility;
… Speak with courage as disciples;
… Remember that God’s love is the center of all that we do and all that we are.  Amen.

Lessons from the Early Church Part Two: Costly Faith

Faith costs something. Depending upon your perspective, that is either so obvious that it is trite, or a powerful reminder that discipleship is not without a price. Last Sunday we addressed the resurrection of Lazarus as a defining event in the Christian faith, a story that gave those early communities great hope and our community a sense of the possibilities of a faith life together today. In this the second week of our sermon series we turn to a story about the first Christian Martyr, Stephen.

Many of us enjoy being first in line, first in a race, or first to be promoted, but few of us wish to place first in martyrdom. It is too high a price to pay for faith. Acts tells the story in the style of great legends, and in the words of his speech it is clear that Stephen must have been considered a person of bold faith. After all, his ability to speak with unwavering conviction led to the confrontation that ended in his death.

The account we have in Acts has all of the elements of a Hollywood classic where a hero-figure is the object of injustice and evil. I mean, honestly – who would you cast as Stephen? Surely one of the best lines in this story is when he calls those who have gathered to judge him “stiff-necked people”! I need to remember that line when I become frustrated. And how interesting is it to know that Saul is waiting in the wings about to have an amazing transformation of his own?

Stephen, we know, ultimately pays the price for his strong convictions. Depending on where you live, religious persecution is still very real today. This past week, the Jerusalem Post published an article about the thousands of Palestinian Christians denied access to the holiest of Orthodox Easter sites by the Israeli authority.   In Nigeria, a suicide bomber killed 36 people and injured 13 others in Kaduna on Good Friday this year, after church security workers turned him away from the church they were guarding.  Perhaps even today Bibles are being smuggled into regions of Columbia where many outspoken Christians have been imprisoned for their beliefs by the FARC, a Marxist paramilitary group.

Granted, these situations I mention have a multitude of other social, economic and political issues to deal with. And I’ll also agree that there have been plenty of times in our history and when Christians have committed atrocities and persecuted others. Sometimes we Christians even persecute one another because we may have deeply held convictions or interpretations that conflict with one another.

What I do want to suggest to you is that no matter where we live or who we are, eventually our faith will cost us something.

When the 1992 Los Angeles riots broke out, 15 year old Karla was on the bus heading home from school. She could smell the smoke and see the fires. When she looked out the window she would see looters running down the streets, their arms full of things they took from vandalized stores. In fear and terror she was let off the bus to run home from safety that day. It was about a week later that Karla worked up the bravery to leave her family’s small apartment.

Her neighborhood was like an abandoned warzone, everywhere she looked were piles of burnt rubble, twisted metal, and smashed concrete. The streets around her looked nothing like southern California, but more like her native El Salvador which her family had fled when she was a child. The city and its people seemed lost, unable to begin putting the pieces back together. Everyone was afraid.

Karla’s high school biology teacher, Tammy, was deeply upset about what was happening to her students and how they had suffered during the riots and their aftermath. She wanted to empower Karla and the others and help them regain their sense of community with one another. Before the riots, you see, students easily crossed racial, ethnic and religious boundaries. But now, that kind of coexistence was shattered. Tammy wanted her students to know that they could live peacefully together again.

So this teacher had an idea. Behind their classroom was a cluttered, weed-filled vacant lot. Tammy invited her students to farm this quarter acre plot of land and plant a community garden. The students pulled the weeds one by one, creating a place for new life to grow. They planted herbs and tomatoes. Next came cabbage, lettuce and carrots. Soon the vacant lot was transformed from wasteland to wonderland.

The students were thrilled to donate 25% of their first harvest to their local homeless shelter. They sold the rest to farmer’s markets. Eventually, the profits from this adventure in urban gardening became a scholarship fund which sent many of those inner city kids on to college and successful careers.

In November of 1994, Prince Charles accepted an invitation to come and visit the program they now called “Food from the Hood”. And guess who gave him the walking tour? Karla. The young woman afraid of leaving her house after the Los Angeles riots was now the one that was chosen to lead the way. Karla’s faith in her community, after experiencing such devastation and fear, led her to a life of commitment, service, humility, and sacrifice.

When we respond to any great love there will be calls for our time and energy, as well as our money and resources. Just as any significant relationship can stretch us and challenge us to grow as a person, so our relationships here in this faith community stretch us as Disciples of Christ. One of the opportunities for that to happen here is when we gather in worship.

Some of you come to worship to be comforted, something in your life is causing you sadness or pain. Others want our time together to challenge their assumptions and beliefs; they want to be inspired, to have something to think about going out into the week ahead. Some of you want to know that your contribution to this community matters, and others are waiting to hear an invitation to serve. To follow through on such connections requires us to be bold.

There are other ways in which we are bold together. When I think of the cost of faith here in this community, I am reminded of our commitment to OCWM – Our Church’s Wider Mission. Every year around budget time we ask ourselves why we are being so generous. It costs so much to be in relationship with the wider church. Why do we do it?

We give to OCWM so that churches like ours have help in times of transition and conflict. MCC needs help to find our next Associate Pastor. Our regional minister, who spends countless hours helping us sort through resumes, is paid through OCWM. We give so that new churches can be planted, so that God’s love may be shared in a dry and weary land. We give so that missionaries in conflicted places like the ones I spoke about earlier can help existing Christian communities live and worship without fear. We give so that young lives may be changed at Silver Lake Conference Center. All of these bold witnesses for our wider church are supported through the generosity of churches like ours with OCWM financial support, and yes, it has taken a lot of courage in lean years to make such a costly gift.

In this congregation, we hold in front of us both a personal and communal discipleship that is rooted in love and grows through faith. This sense of discipleship compels us to move out of the shallow waters of daily living and into the depths of true life. This much we have in common with Stephen: Our lives are not always made easier by being a disciple; but they are made more fulfilling when we are together, moving into the deep waters of faith.

Lessons from the Early Church Part One: Unbound

Today I will be preaching the first of three installments of a short sermon series called “Lessons from the Early Church”. I hope to lead you through three different stories from this era. The themes of death and resurrection, the cost of faith, and the necessity of love are among the most important messages that Jesus shared with those who had ears to hear. Together we will look at how some of the themes they wrestled with back then and relate them to our covenantal life together today.

The period of time that I am calling ‘early church’ is from the sacking of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. until Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire in 313 A.D. The apostles and other followers of Jesus had scattered following the first Jewish Revolt. Many of them became martyrs and died for their faith, others founded religious communities in far-flung places like Antioch, Alexandria and Rome. At first, these communities followed the Jewish Law and the Prophets of the Hebrew Bible and some of the Psalms. There were no formal creeds or confessions. They began to use simple affirmations of faith, such as "Jesus is Lord". Worship was unstructured, held in secret locations throughout the Mediterranean, and existed in a variety of forms.

This early community anticipated the imminent return of Jesus Christ, and yet the first generation of believers had begun to die. So they decided to write down all the stories that were being told in their communities, those that had been passed down by their apostolic founders. The Gospel of John which we read from today came together around 90 AD. Sometimes I think we forget how radical a story the Raising of Lazarus might have been to those who heard it first. Given the very real problem of living in a violent time of religious persecution, I imagine that hearing these words brought comfort to those who feared for their lives. I also think that telling a resurrection story about one of Jesus’ closest followers gave them a lot of hope. I think it opened the door of possibility for them, it unbound them from the expectations of death and turned them towards life.

When I think of what it means to be unbound from limitations I am reminded of my son Zack. Before I go any further, it’s really important to me that you know I have his permission to talk about him today. If he had told me even ten minutes ago that he changed his mind, I promise you that I would stop. Many of you know Zack as a sensitive, tall, twelve year old boy. What you may not know about him is that when he was a small child we began to suspect something was different about him. Most babies begin babbling at about a year, but Zack didn’t really speak until he was three. He had sensitivity to light, sound and touch, so much in fact that when we would go see a movie I knew to cover his ears during the sound test because he would panic. When he did finally speak, he could tell you with amazing clarity everything there is to know about dinosaurs, bugs and spiders whether you wanted to know about them or not. But when he spoke he couldn’t look you in the eye. We began taking him from one specialist to another when he was five. They ran a battery of tests to try and understand what it was that was causing some of his social skills to be delayed. His behavior seemed to slip further and further behind his peers.

Finally, in Kindergarten, we were given a diagnosis. Zack lives with a very mild form of autism called “Aspberger’s Syndrome”. Some of the characteristics of ‘Aspies’ include: delayed speech, trouble with reading facial cues and emotions, obsessive behavior and clumsiness. Our next job as his family was to learn everything we could about how our son related to the world. We found out that autism is a spectrum that presents itself differently in each individual. Although he would have to work hard to learn things that many of us take for granted, there was hope. We advocated for special education at his school and enrolled him in social activities that he could handle. We taught him very specifically how to communicate with another person. We even quizzed him on things like sarcasm and metaphor – which to his logical mind is still a little bit like learning a foreign language. Possibly the very best thing we did for his development was to enroll him in a martial arts program. I remember in 2008 when he took his first Tung Su Do class he was unable to do a jumping jack. He struggled that first year, but kept up with it. Zack practiced at home and attended 2 or 3 classes a week. He studied his Korean terminology and forms. He even demonstrated his progress at last year’s MCC coffeehouse!  In a few short weeks he will test for his black belt. When I think about how far Zack has come, and how hard he has worked, I am overcome with gratitude for all of the people who have helped us. We know that he will always have to work a little harder in social situations, but there are also gifts to be found in someone living with Aspberger’s. Delayed speech can become thoughtful response. Obsessive behavior can become a thirst for knowledge. Being taught to interpret emotions can lead to a deep sense of empathy. I can’t wait to see what is possible in his life as he continues to grow.

I think that when the early church told the story about Lazarus being raised from the dead by Jesus they were speaking about new life and possibility – same kind of possibility I see in my son. Jesus says to the crowd surrounding Lazarus at the edge of the tomb: “Unbind him and let him go”. Just when his family thought there was no hope, Jesus is there. Just when the disciples felt their faith had been in vain, they discover that hope never dies when God is involved. Lazarus becomes for them, and for us, a symbol of new beginnings, of hope and possibility, not just for an individual but for the entire community.

We know that many churches like ours are facing overwhelming difficulties. Shrinking mission budgets, apathy, overwhelmed lay leaders, interpersonal conflict, power struggles and a desire to “keep things the way they have always been” are just some of the struggles we face. We say that we are “resurrection people” one moment, but that “our hands are tied” the next. I want to suggest to you today that our life together need not be this way. We belong to God; we belong to one another. In his book, Reaching Out, Henri Nouwen tells of a reunion with a former student, an experience that revealed to him the meaning of community: “It is the Christ in you, who recognizes the Christ in me… From now on, wherever you go, or wherever I go, all the ground between us will be holy ground.”

Let us be a community that walks on holy ground, practicing the radical hospitality Jesus modeled. Starting with our most personal relationships and moving through expanding circles – of friends, relations, church family, co-workers, and others with whom we come in contact. And then, let’s widen our circle, reaching out to unknown neighbors. As a center of hope and transformation, of possibility… let us be a church that shepherds people onto holy ground. There is life and hope. There is joy and love. There is compassion, and generosity, goodwill, energy, and passion. All these things are gathered here, in this community of faith. And there are people outside our walls that need to know that MCC has these things to offer. They need to hear that in this place we have been unbound, set free, able to lead a new life of bold possibility.

Tikkun Olam

OK, clearly not an elephant.

There is a well-known story of an elephant and a group of blind men that goes a little something like this: A group of blind men touch an elephant to learn about what it is like. One touches an ear and says, “an elephant is like a wicker basket”. Another one of the men touches the elephant’s head and thinks it the elephant must be shaped like a large cooking pot. Yet another grabs the tail and believes that the elephant must look like a broom. You can see why the blind men were having some difficulty interpreting the whole elephant, can’t you? The animal was so enormous that the best they could do as individuals was understand the unique part they held.

The blind men could only interpret what was directly in front of them. Let’s think about this elephant-touch dilemma as if it affects the life of today’s church: If we think of the elephant as representing MCC’s mission, do all touches have the same value? Is there a place that we all must touch? Finally, can we touch the mission at different places, disagree, and still work together? Sometimes the wide, expansive need is overwhelming and too much to bear. We don’t know where to get started, so we limit ourselves or come to believe that there really isn’t an elephant in the room! N.T. Wright has said: “What you do in the present – by painting, preaching, singing, sewing, praying, teaching, building hospitals, digging wells, campaigning for justice, writing poems, caring for the needy, loving your neighbor as yourself – will last into God’s future”. Each of us individually, and our congregation as a whole, needs to touch tikkun olam, which is a Jewish concept that loosely translates to “mend the world”. My prayer is that each and every one of us touches the elephant. Whatever we do to mend the world has a lasting value. Everyone contributes. God blesses richly each and every gift.

What Do You Expect to Find?

It occurred to me as I was reflecting upon these Easter texts that it was only about a month ago that I was in Jerusalem, visiting the locations where pilgrims believe Christ’s resurrection to have happened. I say ‘locations’ because Christianity has never been an exact science. In the Holy Land there often are at least two places that an event described in scripture might have taken place. In the beginning of my time there, this really bothered me. I wanted some kind of historical or archeological proof to be sure that the place that I was visiting was really the place it claimed to be.

Annointing Stone

The first location that claims to be the place where Jesus was crucified, died, was buried and then resurrected is the Church of the Resurrection in the heart of Old Jerusalem. This is the traditional site that the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches believe to be the true location.
Just inside the main entrance of the church is a large, smooth stone. This stone is reported to be the remains of the stone table where Joseph of Arimathea would have prepared Jesus’ body for burial. Any given moment of the week modern day pilgrims bring their burial shrouds and rub them on the stone and pray.

To the right and up a narrow flight of stairs is Calvary. Lines of the faithful file past to see the place that held Jesus’ cross. They speak many languages, many carry rosaries and medals and other religious items. Ancient icons, glimmering with gold leaf, stare down from the walls. Frankincense burns and fills your nose and mouth with its sweet pungent scent. Here in Calvary I was able to kneel down and place my hand in the spot where it is thought that the cross stood. In the center of the Church is the Sepulcher, believed to be the tomb of Jesus. I tried to gain entrance to the sepulcher a number of times, but the throngs of pilgrims pushed me back. In fact, the noise of the crowds and the busyness of the place was almost too much for me, and both times I visited the church I had to find a quiet hallway in which to gather my thoughts. I had expected to find peace there in the church, but instead found myself enthralled by the great expanse of humanity I encountered. If I was looking for Christ in the faces of other pilgrims, this was the place to be.

Golgotha at Garden Tomb

The Garden Tomb is the second location that claims to be the execution, preparation, burial and resurrection site for Jesus Christ. It is located about a block outside the old city gates. It was discovered by an archeological dig in the 19^th century. A cliff face was found here that, if you squint and turn your head, looks like a skull. There is what appears to be a first century tomb, and a garden with an ancient wine press. It’s the very image of what you’d expect it to look like if you’ve ever seen a picture in a Children’s Bible. And it has a great gift shop.

My time at the Garden Tomb was spent mostly sitting at on a stone bench, listening to the birds, feeling the sunlight warm my face. What I had hoped to find, when I visited both of these places, was something that would deepen my faith. I wanted to feel the presence of Christ. Witnessing the devotion of the pilgrims at the busy Church of the Resurrection and sitting quietly outside the Garden Tomb both brought me deeper into the mystery of what this Easter story is all about.

It’s a harder story to tell than the Christmas story. Instead of a bunch of shepherds joyfully racing across the fields to see a newborn child, here at Easter we have only a small group of women who timidly head off early in the morning to care for a dead body in a cold, damp tomb. Instead of a sky full of singing angels, here at Easter we have only one angel, at least we guess he’s an angel since he’s wearing a white robe. When those women went to the tomb early that Sunday morning, they were going there to finish the burial procedure which had been put on hold because of the sabbath. They went, expecting to find a dead man. But what they found was a little bit of cloth and a whole lot of hope. Just like those first women, we come with little or no expectations. We come to honor a man who lived up to his teaching, to honor someone who died a horrible death on a cross. But as we huddle around the grave, that lone angel comes to us and says: “He is not here. He is risen.”

Today, the living resurrected Christ stands before us. He knows us and He knows our fears. We’re afraid of economic hardship, we’re afraid of debt, we’re afraid of diminishing resources, and environmental destruction. We’re afraid of racial tensions and the increasing gap between the rich and the poor. We’re afraid of the hurt between men and women, between people of different nations, and we’re afraid of endless war. We fear for ourselves and those we love. Like those first disciples, we’re afraid of the power of the systems of the world with their armies, their courts, their prisons, and their threats. Like them, we fear our own powerlessness, weakness, and sense of inadequacy. We’re insecure, frightened by our feelings, and wary of trusting each another. We feel both the guilt of our sin and the vulnerability of our broken places. Above all, we fear pain, suffering, and death. Like those first disciples we too are hiding behind locked doors, afraid to come out. Jesus lived and died to liberate us from our sins, our doubts, our fears, and the addictions we use to medicate and numb ourselves. And now, Jesus calls us to boldly pick up our crosses and follow Him! But He wants us to do so knowing that no matter what, God will make things right in the end!

So, what about us? What about you and me today? Does Jesus’ way of love make much sense in this modern, competitive, might-makes-right world? Do we think this kind of “suffering servanthood” can make a difference or transform our world? I believe that every time we act and follow his teachings, every time we operate from a place of love, every time we put our faith into action, we’re demonstrating Jesus’ resurrection. Every time we love our enemies; stand with the poor; forgive those who’ve wronged us, or resist the violence of the nations by acting for peace, we’re demonstrating the realm of God. The hope of the resurrection is that this world is not just where Jesus died - this world is where Jesus lives! And because Jesus lives, because God has broken the power of sin and death, we have been set free to live as well. Sometimes that is hard to believe. Some days it is hard to see with eyes of faith. That is why we need one another, so that in those times when our sight is blinded by tears, we can hold on to another's faith. This is a day to celebrate, for we find that we have been set free! Even though the tears may stream down our cheeks at the atrocities of this world, we can get up and follow our leader, running through the cemeteries and the streets, the Pentagon and the Capitol, the hospitals and clinics, the board room and the back alleys, thumbing our noses at death. For Christ is risen - Risen Indeed!

I Thirst

When one is hanging on a cross, not only the body, but time stretches out too.

A cross is not a quiet death, over in an instant in one glorious moment of martyrdom like being torn apart by lions, or meeting the swift sword of a soldier.

A cross is as much an instrument of torture as it is a gallows from which to hang.

It is there to make a statement, to warn others, to set fear in their hearts.

And as the day wears on, seconds stretch into minutes, which stretch into hours 
until there comes a point when time can no longer be measured

except in the circling birds of prey, and the gradual weakening of the body,

and its ever more insistent demands for that substance which is so vital to life,

so foundational to all living things, so basic to existence as we know it: -- water.

Water to moisten a parched mouth,

Water to free a swollen tongue,

Water to open a sore and rasping throat that cannot gasp enough air,

Water to keep hope alive, to stay with them just a few precious moments longer.

Water, to a crucified man, is life.

Jesus was cradled in the waters of Mary’s womb,

Baptized in the waters of the River Jordan by his cousin John,

Became living water to a woman at the Samaritan Well,

Washed the feet of the disciples on that last night he was together with them,  

And now, in this moment, when he craves it the most,

All this man is given is sour vinegar.

"O God, thou art my God, I seek thee, my soul thirsts for thee; my flesh faints for thee as in a dry and weary land where no water is."

Who can tell if these words from Psalm 63 went through Jesus’ mind?

A thirst for water is a thirst for life,

and a thirst for life is a thirst for God,

A God who promises streams in the desert, mighty rivers in the driest of lands,

and living water to wash away every tear.

Here, at the end of it all, those promises from God seem so far, far away… distant. And yet Jesus, broken in body, still clings to the memory and the hope of life.

"I thirst."

Have You Seen Him?

The earliest memory I have of him was his birth. His cry was clear and loud, even though his body was so small. As a child, he would make fortresses out of blankets and branches and involve all of the neighborhood boys in games of war. So normal, so much like the others. How was I to know?

As a youth, he seemed to grow overnight – both his limbs and his mind. When my son was 13, we lost our ancestral homeland. Soldiers came one night in the dead darkness and took it, just took it! The army had taken notice of our olive grove, and needed it (they said). Suddenly, his passion for playing war became all too real. He knew there would be no inheritance – it had been taken from him, from us. 

At 14, he met a group of young men who were as frustrated as he was. Zealots, they called themselves. Riff-raff was what I called them. These men would gather at night and plan violent acts of insurrection. They used our religion to stoke the fires of rebellion in the hearts of other young men. Dangerous stuff.  Their weapon of choice?  Rocks. My boy and his friends would sneak up behind the Roman garrisons and throw stones at them. What were they trying to prove?

I remember in those years he would come home in the morning, a few fresh bruises on his face, and I would dress his wounds.  I know he had his reasons, we all do, but why did he have to get involved in something so dangerous?

Something changed in him when he was 22. He met a healer and teacher, from Nazareth (of all places), who had been travelling throughout Judea with a small band of loyal followers. My son heard him speak and decided to leave the Zealots, he told me it was because they were “thinking too small”. This new teacher, this Jesus, was preaching about the realm of God that was to come.

There was so much about this man that kept my son spellbound. Every time they encountered the hungry, Jesus would compel the crowd to care for them. When the sick and diseased came to him, Jesus didn’t run away like one of our priests, but he prayed over them – and somehow people got better! He was always telling stories; they made you think about what it means to be a child of God.

So my son became one of them. He put down the rocks and picked up a pair of sandals. Not much to go with, but Jesus told him that somehow the Lord would provide for them. Eventually he was given the huge responsibility of taking care of the group’s modest travelling purse. As a young man without an inheritance, this trust placed in him was extraordinary. And that wasn’t all – because Jesus taught them so much about what it means to forgive someone, to minister to them – his father and I thought this would become his life’s work. We have been so proud of Judas lately.

Were he and the others always successful? No, I heard plenty of stories about them getting kicked out of villages. I know that part was frustrating. But for a mother to see her son grow from a hooligan to what he was becoming was a gift.

Which is why, on this night, my heart is breaking. The stories that keep flooding in tonight, betrayal… deception… treachery! I don’t know what I could have done differently, or where his father and I went wrong. We didn’t raise my son to be a thief and a liar and a sell out!

Are you judging me?

Something had to change his heart, what it was I may never know. Maybe it’s true that Jesus is taking longer than he though to usher in the realm of God.  My biggest fear tonight is that Judas has done something horrible. 

If it is true, if he has betrayed Jesus, something had to have snapped.  There must have been a reason. He loved him! I know he did! He would talk about him all the time. He must not have done what they are saying, it’s all lies. My stomach is churning, and I don’t know where to find my son. Have you seen him?

Jesus & Geography

One of the most thoughtful gifts I ever received was given to me by my father: a GPS. This little electronic miracle on my car’s dashboard not only gives me to most efficient way to find someone’s house or a meeting location, but it also shows me the approximate time I’ll arrive at my destination. It gives me great peace of mind to have that kind of control. As a new minister, my dad knew that I’d have to find my way around town and he knew what he was doing when he gave it to me (thanks Dad!).

I’ve come to realize that without the GPS I’ve got a little problem with my sense of direction. If I have to guess where I am going, I am often one hundred and eighty degrees off. If I choose to go right, I should have gone left.

Before leaving for Jerusalem I studied a number of maps just in case I became separated from the group and unable to find my way back to the dorms. My GPS doesn’t work in a foreign country. I hoped that studying my surroundings carefully would make a difference, because I didn’t want to get caught looking like a tourist with my nose in a map. Sometimes, the geography around me can be misleading, and I’ve learned that just because a road looks like it should go somewhere, doesn’t necessarily make it so.

I wonder if that happened with Jesus too. Today is Palm Sunday, a day that we remember Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. In our minds eye we picture crowds shouting “Hosanna” (go ahead, wave your palms!) as Jesus and his followers wind their way down then up the cobble street road to enter the city from the Eastern side through the Golden Gate from the village of Bethany.

Most people who watched them go by wouldn’t have guessed that in a week he would be dying on a cross. Maybe the ones who followed him closely had an idea, whether they could bring themselves to admit it or not. But everyone else? They didn’t know where Jesus’ road was leading. Their hope was that it was leading to a marvelous kingship, that this Jesus of Nazareth would overturn the rule of Rome and usher in the realm of God.

Geography matters because it determines the road you are on.

Over on the western side of Jerusalem another parade is entering through the Damascus Gate. This assembly is altogether different; it’s a Roman garrison, ordered there by Tiberius Caesar to back up Pontius Pilate during the season of Passover. Drums beat out a marching rhythm, horses prance in formation, thousands of soldiers on foot and mount display power and might and strike fear in the hearts of those assembled. The crowd is ordered to bow down in reverence and obedience, some willingly, others under duress.

There were two different parades, on two different roads, for two very different reasons, headed in two different directions. The Roman army was there to “keep the peace” and order of the domination system, which was always tricky during time of religious pilgrimage when the city would expand with visitors. In a society dominated by political oppression, economic exploitation and religious justification this public showing of brute power and force kept chaos at bay, at least for a time.

But the other parade, the one with the Nazarene teacher riding a small donkey, the one with the crowd of peasants shouting “Hosanna! Save us!” - that parade was there to redefine what peace could be for God’s people. The road Jesus’ was on quite literally had a fork in it. Had he taken the turn to the north, he would have been in the path of the military parade on their way to the Antonia Fortress. Instead, he turned southwest and towards the temple, indicating that the work that was to be done began in the place where they worshipped and learned about God.

Jesus, of course, knew where the road was headed – according to Mark’s gospel he warned his followers three times that there would be trouble ahead, that they would not be well-received. But they kept on going, despite the fear and trembling, even though they could hear the war drums sound a few blocks away. What would you have done?

I know how I would have responded, because in addition to being somewhat directionally impaired, I have a great fear of being lost. The road that Jesus was on would have looked like "lost" to me. I wouldn’t have been able to turn that donkey around fast enough!

Yet, we don’t get any hint that Jesus wants to head his donkey in a different direction. Mark Twain said, "The two most important days in a person’s life are the day he is born and the day he finds out why." Jesus knew why he was born: to confront the domination system and show these people who followed him and kept messing up over and over that life, not death, is the final word.

What looks like "lost" to us looks like a purpose for being to Jesus. Perhaps you remember Robert Frost’s famous poem "The Road Not Taken," which paints a picture for us about two paths in a wooded area. We get the impression that Frost stands at a fork in the path for a while and calculates which one he should take. One seems to be well traveled; one is still grassy because it has not yet been trampled down. Perhaps one is safe, but the other is beautiful and wild. Maybe he knows exactly where one of the paths comes out, but the other could take him in a direction that is new and exciting and beyond his control. It’s a difficult choice indeed. In the poem, Frost chooses between safety and beauty, between known and unknown. Frost ends his poem this way: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

Jesus makes an undeniably harder choice: between life and death, between security and purpose. Maybe what we are celebrating today is simply the notion that Jesus chose the path that few others did, the path paved with mercy, love and compassion. The small, insignificant gathering of pilgrims and peasants who followed him believed it just might be possible to change the world for the better, to usher in the realm of God. And that was why they were on the road with him.

The question that Jesus asks us today is “what road are you on?” Is it the road that leads to restoration and wholeness, to a society shaped by grace? 

God help me - I'm an Extrovert.

You learn lots of things about yourself when you are on sabbatical. Many of my clergy friends and colleagues have made really big decisions because the time away has given them the time to think - really deeply - about what is going on in their life and ministry.

So I've had the time to come to a major conclusion... brace yourself. I am an extrovert.

Now, I've always known that there have been times in my life when I've waivered on the E/I of Myers-Briggs typecasting. I was a shy kid who wanted the ground to swallow her up in grade school, and yet I pursued music and acting alongside much more gifted peers. As a teen, a small group of friends were gathered around me. We called ourselves the Peanut Gallery because none of us fit in anywhere else but with each other.

As an adult I married a man who is so attached to books that he nearly broke into tears when I drew the line at two six foot bookcases and two five foot bookcases. My daughter and son both show signs of introversion, they are deep thinkers who can be somewhat crowd-averse. And if you were to poll other clergy of mainline denominations you would find we skew greatly towards introversion.

With two weeks left of sabbatical, I find that I am craving people. When I go to the supermarket I strike up conversations with strangers. When my family comes home I grill them for details about themselves and the way they are living in their worlds. With no one around, I've begun having spirited conversations with our dogs Bennie and Andrei during the day. And I've looked at the next 13 days and set up something to do each day so that I am out in society... lunch with a friend, doctor's appointment, haircut, gym. And I miss church meetings.

I realize that sometimes (often, actually), I need to talk it out with someone... I need to have someone hear me thinking out loud. And I need to hear people doing the same. So I raise my cup of ice cold water to all the misunderstood extroverts out there, those of us who need to hear ourselves talk and be engaged in a messy web of relationships. Here's to you!

You CAN Go Home Again.

front of sanctuary

It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon here on my second-to-last Sunday of sabbatical, and I am still carrying that thankful, post-church, Spirit-filled feeling around the house. Today I returned to my hometown, Madison, to attend worship at the church that raised me: North Madison Congregational. The morning was wonderful, and I felt truly welcomed by everyone who took a moment to greet me.

If you kept up with my Jerusalem posts, you may remember that one of the pilgrims on that journey with me was Rev. Dr. Jay Terbush who currently serves as the interim minister of NMCC. As he remarked to the congregation this morning "Who'd have thought that we had to go to Jerusalem to meet one another!" The world either truly is small, or (as I also like to think about it) the Holy Spirit is really big. I was pleased as could be to run into a young adult that I know from Silver Lake who is serving there as the new-ish CE Director. Blessings to you, Morgan, on your ministry with children and youth.

After the benediction

Much has changed at NMCC in the seventeen years since I was a semi-active young adult member. They enlarged the cozy sanctuary, added space to the much-used CE wing, saw many beloved clergy leaders and church members come and go. A few of the folks I recognized, and was glad for the hugs. The choir, at over 20 members, was exceptional. The large family that gathered for baptism of their son filled the first three rows.  There was life and vitality and a genuineness about the gathered body that felt energized and real.

Thank you, NMCC, for making a place for this pilgrim today. God bless you in your interim time.

Spring Things

Aren't 400 books enough?

What are your spring rituals? At our house we like to go through all of our stuff, a couple of rooms at a time, and bring carloads of what we don't need/haven't used to the Monroe Congregational Church's most excellent Outreach Tag Sale  for charity (ya'll come - it's this Saturday, March 17 from 9-12 at 34 Church Street, Monroe, CT). 

OK, maybe I am the only one that likes to do that. You see, I like organization, and secretly fear being a hoarder (my family seems to have the tendency). In fact, this year I encouraged my husband to pare down his book collection. If you know Clark, then you know what an emotional feat THAT was. "Think of all the people who would love to buy these! Think of all the space we will have freed up! We can actually see the floor in our bedroom to tear up that yucky carpet! I will let you keep 400 volumes - it's negotiable!" I cajoled. In the end, I got him to part with about 250 science fiction books he hadn't read for 20 years. And all the Redneck Humor books, which are just rubbish anyway. I gave up about 100, but I had far less at home anyway and a growing list on my Kindle, which is far more ecologically (and financially) viable.

Garden, year 3

Another spring ritual for us, at least for the past 4 years, has been the planning of our modest 12' x 12' vegetable garden. We've had growing success (see, I made a pun there!) with it, since our first year of putting a strawberry bed close to the forest line without a fence (an unmitigated disaster). Last year, we had some success with basil, tomatoes, green peppers and sugar snap peas.

We know that it is to early to plant, despite unseasonably warm temps, we still might get a frost some morning (we learned that with disastrous year two). But it's not to early to turn over the compost pile and weed the bed. Zack and I tackled this on Sunday, when Clark and Cady were at church. I am 9.5 weeks into a 12 week sabbatical, so my Sunday mornings are free for the moment.

As Zack and I were were turning over the soil, a thought struck me. A dear colleague in the CT Conference recently told me "parents are the ones that are primarily responsible for the faith formation of their children". Such a simple statement, and so very true. Even with the best intentioned Sunday school and youth program at a local church, parents are the people with the most access to build a child's faith. It's our responsibility as parents to offer them the chance to grow. Sometimes this faith building can be done during meals (grace), at bedtime (bible stories, evening prayers), action (serving at a soup kitchen as a family) or in conversations about how my daughter or son live in this world. 

Anyway, back to the garden. Zack and I talked about what good soil we had built, with layers of healthy compost, worms and other organic materials. He and I dreamed out loud of what we'd plant. We ran the soil through our hands, and talked about the water and sunlight that would make the seeds open their sleepy heads and sprout. "You know," I said, "Jesus told a parable, a teaching story, about a sower..." We took a couple of seeds out of a packet and spilled them on the driveway. "How would these grow?" Then we took some more and spilled them onto a shaded, rocky and shallow place in the garden/ "How about these?" Finally, we took a few and put them into the good soil. "What about these?" Each time, Zack would offer his opinion of what success we could expect. "And how are these different growing places like people?" 

Friends, if you are a parent (or you have a little one in your life that you are responsible for) remember that every day is a opportunity to open the world up to God's love. You may feel like you don't have the right "credentials" to talk about any of this stuff, but believe it or not you do. In fact, sometimes these lessons have come from my child, if I have the ears to hear.