"I give thanks to my God always for you"

Let us Pray:

Dear Lord,
Help me to expect miracles.
Help me to get past the borders of my eyes,
the roadblocks of my mind,
the narrow door of my heart.
May my soul embrace
the mystery of Your magnificent love!
May my heart rejoice
over the unexpected and undefined!
May my mind and body sigh
with the sheer awe of it all. Amen. 

While I was looking for prayers for today’s service, I came upon a poem that, for me, described a relationship with God that I strive to understand and eventually achieve. The title of the poem is “Waiting, You Waited” and is inspired by verse 2 of Psalm 40, just read by Harrison. Specifically, “He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.” I’m going to read the poem now, then talk about it a little, then read it again, and go from there.

Waiting, You Waited by Thom M. Shuman

hearing my squawk
  of surprise
           and then
   my wails of
     wretchedness,
you came
  running,
   stopping at the
  crumbling edge; 

you reached down
   and clasped my trembling
        hands,
   pulling me up
  out of the
  slimy clay that
        fought
     to hold on to
           me; 

you unwrapped the towel
  from around your
              waist,
   and setting me
   on your lap,
     you proceeded
     to wipe off all
  the muddy traces
  of my mistakes,
   drying my feet off
        toe by toe, 

all the while
         chuckling,
  and
     asking me,
   'why do you keep
   getting into these
            messes?' 

The poem starts out in a not surprising way, expressing verse 2 poetically. Expanding on the psalm with a detailed description of the situation and rescue: “trembling hands” and “slimy clay” that “fought to hold on to me” almost like the clay was an animate participant, or a temptation trying to seduce the speaker. And later, expanding on the second half of the line of the Psalm, “and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure” with a tender mothering moment “you unwrapped the towel from around your waist, and setting me on your lap, you proceeded to wipe off all the muddy traces.” This section goes a little farther, wiping the mud from the speaker’s feet. As Jesus washed the feet of the apostles at the Last Supper. And, they weren’t just any muddy traces; they were the “muddy traces of my mistakes,” actions I may have taken that still cause me to feel guilt, thoughts I may have had that I can’t lose and haunt me still, words I may have said that have come back to hurt me. And then, that final line, the clincher, “all the while chuckling, and asking me, 'why do you keep getting into these messes?' God, as the doting, loving parent. The affectionate caregiver. A God, who hears our cries, and rescues us, and makes us whole and clean again, with deep, amused affection. I love the image of the God that this poem evokes. Here it is again.

Waiting, You Waited by Thom M. Shuman

hearing my squawk
  of surprise
           and then
   my wails of
     wretchedness,
you came
  running,
   stopping at the
  crumbling edge; 

you reached down
   and clasped my trembling
        hands,
   pulling me up
  out of the
  slimy clay that
        fought
     to hold on to
           me; 

you unwrapped the towel
  from around your
              waist,
   and setting me
   on your lap,
     you proceeded
     to wipe off all
  the muddy traces
  of my mistakes,
   drying my feet off
        toe by toe, 

all the while
         chuckling,
  and
     asking me,
   'why do you keep
   getting into these
            messes?' 

It’s such a perfect match for what Paul tells us in his first letter to the Corinthians, verses 5, 6, and 7: “for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you so that you are not lacking in any gift …

The believer in the Psalm has been lifted up out of the mud so often by God that they are blessed and enriched and wiser through the love of God, through Jesus Christ.

I’m afraid that I don't always feel enriched and strengthened in Jesus Christ. But when I was writing the first draft of this sermon during my retreat this past week, I strongly felt God’s presence in my life made manifest through conversation with the people in my group, through the hospitality of the retreat center, and through the act of dedicating time to be in my faith, to be in prayer, to be in partnership with that spirit, that energy, that being we call God. During this retreat, there were 3 brief chapel services: at waking, before lunch and before sleeping. That third service, called Compline, held in this tiny chapel, was for me the most poignant, the most moving. The final prayer before we retired to our rooms was this: 

O God,
It is night.

The night is for stillness
May we be still in your presence.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look in hope to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.

In your name we pray.
Amen.

It is a prayer that acknowledges that we’ve been through a day. A day of completed tasks and incomplete tasks. A prayer that allows us to put our thoughts about our duties to sleep. A prayer that says, “The night is for stillness. May we be still in your presence.” May we rest in God’s presence and also, may God continue to be in our presence. The night is often characterized as a time of sorrow and fear, as in Psalm 30, “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” God knows that I’ve experienced both nights of stillness and nights of sorrow. And the version of night I experienced during the retreat is one of peace, rest, stillness, knowing that I am in God’s care, care that will continue through the night into the sunrise. A night when you feel God’s presence around you and within you. When you recognize God in your presence.

And, finally, this from John: “The next day John the Baptizer again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.”

As often as is possible it is good to recognize God in our lives, to call to God, to invite God into our presence through prayer, through stillness, through self-imposed silence, through intention. If you fill your life with work, your life will be about work. If you fill your life with foolishness, your life will be about foolishness. If you fill your life with God, your life will be about God. And if you are anything like me, your life will be about all three. Maybe it’s time to increase the God part. Through prayer, through stillness, through self-imposed silence, through intention.

The Call to Love

If Jesus were born today in Western Mass, where would that take place? Cooley Dickenson? Nope. If Jesus were born in Northampton, it would be, maybe, in one of those tents, hidden in the woods, alongside the bike path. If Jesus were born in Amherst, it wouldn’t be at the Boltwood Inn. No. It might be in one of the campus’s groundskeeper’s sheds. If Jesus were born in Hadley where would it take place? Anyone? A tobacco shed? A barn? One of those trailers by the river at the end of that farm road off Cemetery Road?

No palaces for the birth of Jesus. Not even a birth doula! Jesus was born poor and stayed poor until he died. He always depended on the kindness of strangers. For food. For shelter. For clothing. His mother was pregnant before she was married to his father. Why? How? No matter. Not really. 

His father, as I mentioned this past Sunday, could’ve called off the wedding and publicly humiliated her. But he chose not to. He didn’t leave her quietly, which was his first thought. But, he married her. No miracles there. Only defiant acts of bravery, individualism, and love.

Joseph, you know, came from royal stock. He’s a descendant of King David. But, alas, the family fortune didn’t make it to him. So, dad’s a tradesman.

And no sooner was the baby born, and the shepherds gone, and the Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh delivered, then they had to flee the country. The King learned that a “king” was born and got nervous. And so, this little family left in the night for Egypt before the king’s agents could get them.

And this was Jesus’s life until he died. A man in his thirties, homeless, penniless, wandering. Jesus was poor. In Shekels. Not in spirit. Not in action. He spent his life, from manger to cross, speaking against the empire, preaching a message of love and healing. Jesus heard the call, as did his mother and dad, and answered.

Certainly before, and definitely since I made this ministerial role a part of my life – which has been only about 2 years – I’ve met, spoken with, spent days among, traded ideas with, listened to, and marveled at a bunch of very ordinary people who were also extraordinarily insightful, spiritually expressive, and so intelligent, and often hilarious. And so dedicated to living and spreading the truth of wondrous love. And except for the angels they had heard on high and the three kings from orient were, the characters involved in this God-come-to-earth story are just people. Simple folk. Workers. Women. But with a difference. They felt a call and they followed it. Followed the call, despite societal norms.

This call that people receive can be answered in several ways: one answer is no, thank you. Other possible answers include working for a degree at Divinity School, volunteering to participate in Sunday worship, accompanying your grandmother to church, keeping an open mind, giving a couple of bucks to a person asking for money, volunteering at a food kitchen, saying hello to someone who seems disheartened, going through your clothes and giving them to an organization that distributes them (in fact the Springfield Rescue Mission collects clothes and small home items and makes them available for free to anyone who needs them). This is the Christmas gift. Compassion through Love.

This is how we can respond to a calling. You don’t have to shout the name of your personal Lord and Savior from a pulpit, or in front of a Cumbies for that matter. You simply have to respond to a call to lift up the downtrodden, welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, free the prisoner. This is the work of Jesus. This is the good work of the soul. This is who we are called to be. 365 days a year.

From Darkness to Light

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, it says, “the night is far gone; the day is near. Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us walk decently as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in illicit sex and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy.”

Let us throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light: so beautiful. What is the dark? The dark can be a place of fear, of defensiveness, of hidden antagonists. Especially if you’re a follower of Jesus in 50 AD. Or a person of color in 2025 America, or someone depending on government assisted health benefits or food or housing, the stranger, the widow. So, the light of hope urges us to spend our time in acts of love for our fellow humans. As Paul suggests, choose love. Quarreling and Jealousy certainly aren’t the state you want to be in when you perform an act of love. You simply can’t be. So, get to the root of your quarrel and figure out why you’re jealous and dig it out. Expose it to the light, and be done with it. No time for quarreling. Who needs it? Where’s the hope in Jealousy. Nowhere to be found. There’s no hope in Jealousy.

And Matthew. (We’re going to be hearing from Matthew for about a year.) Matthew says to “Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” The way I see it, as long as you’re awake, as long as you are conscious of the way of Jesus, the more opportunity you have to be Jesus’s worker. And in so doing, God is present. Present in your heart, in the front of your mind. In your actions.

And Matthew goes on, “Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.” If you spend your time wondering when the Great Reckoning, the Last Trumpet, the Coming of the Lord is going to happen, you won’t ever see God. Because God is already present, if you include God in your life, in your actions, in your words, in your thoughts.

The apostles were always wondering when the final days were going to happen. They thought the final days would occur within their lifetimes, as have many throughout the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries who claim that they are prophets. But that’s just taking away from Jesus’s message to not worry when the day is at hand, because that watch, that worry simply draws us away from our opportunities to do the good work of Jesus right now.

If you never have before, now is a great time to practice watchfulness, faithful attentiveness. If you’re looking for the second coming of Jesus, look no further than the people around you, no further than the daily news, no further than your own behavior. Learn from others; learn from yourself. Advent is a great time to find Jesus reborn in your everyday thoughts, in your meditations, in your actions.

I was reading this sermon out loud to Sam and Kenny, who was visiting for Thanksgiving. I like to share my sermon with Sam before I commit it to hard copy because saying it out loud to someone highlights any confusion caused by my writing. Anyway, later, Kenny comments, “One of the problems I have with people preaching about the dark – especially as we’re heading deeper into the dark of winter – is that we need to bring the light into the dark. We can’t lose ourselves in the dark.” “That’s right,” I said, “and we carry that light within us, and only we can light the dark.” Go Kenny!

And so, we are now going to engage in dreaded group participation by answering the question: in what kind of personal actions can we find Jesus? What can we do to fight back the dark? To create Hope?  I’ll start: in thanking someone who holds the door for you, in holding the door for someone, in praying for someone whose driving skills are less than good. Your turn:

This is where you find hope. In the everyday acts that prove that Christ is here on earth already. No matter how simple, how straightforward, no matter how everyday: an act of goodwill toward humanity is an act of God on Earth. [A hand raised to help, a sympathetic smile, a lifted prayer, a cup of coffee with a friend: these are acts of hope.]

Wrangling Over Words

I’ve been wrangling over words all week. Not quite in the same way the author of the Second Letter to Timothy means. But kind of. I’m taking a course on an overview of the Bible. This course requires me to read a chapter of our textbook (which is the actual lesson), then consult with 2 study Bibles and read all the commentary in them to eventually, answer the 2 essay questions with 300 words or more. I’ve been sitting at my laptop all week comparing and contrasting the 4 Gospels and I still have another essay to write and an extra project to videotape. I interrupted my homework to print out today’s service and write this morning’s sermon. It’s been brewing since Wednesday.

The second Letter to Timothy, chapter 2, verse 14 says this: “Remind them of this, and warn them before the Lord that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening.”

This is about the early churches. The first Christian churches. We’re talking about 80 AD (or 80 CE as I now say in my Bible Study course). Even back then, churches (by that I mean the people) were bickering, arguing over what is right and what is wrong. Who did what to whom. What the Pastor (or whatever they were called back then) meant when he said this or that. Paul was writing letters to the people of Corinth because the rich people attending the church in Corinth were actually suing the poor people who also attended the church in Corinth! So much for diversity. So, yeah. That. One more time: “Remind them of this, and warn them before the Lord that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening.”

Now, I’m going to use the word “wrangling” to describe a slightly more calm and peaceful situation: so, you’re in church and you're sitting there “listening” to the Gospel reading, or a Psalm, or a Hebrew Bible reading. Whatever. And you hear the first few lines. And you think, “oh yeah, I know this one” and off goes the switch. You stop listening. Because you’ve been listening to scripture in church for decades. Decades. And you know this already. But do you? (Yup.) Do you? (Yes…) But do you? (I thought so…) Maybe you don’t. Wrangling Over Words. Maybe there’s something in that story about the lepers, or the man consumed by Legion, or the Prodigal Son that you never really heard before. Maybe there’s a connection that you haven't made yet. Maybe there’s a really, really big message that you haven’t quite gotten, in all your “listenings.” I mean, this is Jesus Christ we’re talking about. This is the guy who got himself crucified to get his point across. Maybe you could listen harder? Maybe?

Or maybe there’s a line or two or three of scripture that gets stuck in your craw. Something that you just don’t agree with. Your theology doesn’t embrace what you’re hearing. Or maybe, you’ve heard another preacher talk about this text in such a way that it turned you completely off about it. So, when it comes around once every 3 years or so, you don’t listen. Well, that right there – disagreeing with the scripture you claim to worship and obey – is the invitation you may need to hear it differently. Try it on another way. Take that dog out for a walk and see if it can look up at you adoringly instead of biting you. 

On Wednesdays, after Bible Study, I go to Edward’s Church, where the Interim Pastor, Jennifer Geary, holds a Communion Service. And there’s always a bit of scripture from the following Sunday, and a brief Homily. Well this past Wednesday, Pastor Geary talked about today’s reading from Luke. And about the 10 people with leprosy and the one who came back to thank Jesus. She told me that the common premise of the one who came back – the Samaritan (it always seems to be a Samaritan) – came back to thank him. And Jesus said, "Were not ten made clean? So where are the other nine? Did none of them return to give glory to God except this foreigner?"

And she said the conclusion of that story always bothered her. She told me that that leper was a Samaritan and he couldn’t show himself to the Jerusalem priests because he was from Samaria. He had to go back to his own country and show himself to the priests there, unlike the 9 other guys who simply had to walk down the street to the Jerusalem priests. And so, he went back to thank Jesus, and go on his way to Samaria. 

Now, wasn’t it just last week that we heard from Jesus that we are like slaves and shouldn’t expect thanks for what we do because it is our duty to lift up the downtrodden in whatever way is appropriate? And yes, it’s always good to be grateful, to give thanks to God. And always good to not expect thanks, because that might be “wrangling over words.” Kind of. Sort of.

And the point that Reverend Geary ultimately made was that when these 10 people all were stricken with leprosy, they all had something in common; they were a unit. They were siblings. Now that they’re healed, they’re just like everybody else. Except that they’re not; they then begin to see what they don’t have in common. They focus on how they’re different. And so, the Samaritan leaves town alone while all his old leprosy buddies go off to witness to the Jerusalem priests and proclaim the goodness of God through Jesus of Nazareth.

So, all that just to say. Next week, or maybe the week after, listen to the Word of God. Listen for something you never heard before. Get a new idea about just what Jesus meant when he spoke to you through Luke, or Paul, or Elijah. And become a new you.

From Sin to Redemption, or "We're All Bozos on this Bus"

I’m taking a different approach today – only today – to scripture and my sermon.

In the weekly Lectionary, we’re provided with a lot of scripture from which to choose. Usually, I choose one or two. Today, I’ve chosen a bunch. Because this week, this collection from scripture tells a story. A story of Sin, Repentance, and Redemption. I’m going to read the scripture and comment on it and, hopefully, make some sense that will be useful to us. And so, we begin with Jeremiah, chapter 4:

At that time it will be said to this people and to Jerusalem: A hot wind comes from me out of the bare heights in the desert toward the daughter of my people, not to winnow or cleanse, a wind too strong for that. Now it is I who speak in judgment against them.

"For my people are foolish; they do not know me; they are stupid children; they have no understanding. They are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good." I looked on the earth, and it was complete chaos, and to the heavens, and they had no light.

Did you ever have one of those days? Here, in Jeremiah, scripture is referring to negative influences towards Jerusalem. Historically. But, if we lift this out of its historical context and apply it to ourselves today, we can envision all sorts of negative, hot winds toward us on every level. From people in power towards refugees and the poor. From groups of people working chaos towards those simply wanting to live their lives as who they are. Even from negative words and actions from one person to another. These thoughts, these actions are used to tear others down, to belittle, to take away their power. We do this ourselves to others, apparently to make trouble or irritate, or to teach a lesson. (As if we’re the local expert.) 

For me, this often happens in cars (the most dangerous lesson). Someone might be following me closer than makes me feel comfortable and so I take my foot off the accelerator and drift, slowing the car down a lot. To irritate them. To teach them a lesson not to follow so closely. And in so doing, set up a potentially hazardous situation. Not that I’m teaching them anything. And I’m certainly not providing a good example of how to behave. So, I’m just irritating them more than my already slow driving is irritating them. Potentially to a point where they may try to pass me and put themselves and others in serious trouble. However, now that I preach not to do this type of thing, I work hard at not being a hypocrite, to do my best to think positively about the other driver, and work to avoid this kind of behavior. But old habits are hard to break. And I have to keep reminding myself that if I’m not lifting up humanity, I’m putting it down. 

And from, Psalm 14:

God looks on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God. They have all gone astray; they are all alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one. Have they no knowledge, all the evildoers who eat up my people as they eat bread and do not call upon God?

We find ourselves in a world where world leaders are keeping the downtrodden down, making the hungry hungrier, stripping the naked of what little they have, removing the welcome mat from the stranger. We witness this around the world, and in this country. And to make it even worse, these so-called leaders claim to be taking these actions in the name of God: misquoting scripture to justify their actions, claiming sole ownership to the one, true God, using the name of Jesus to gain riches to support their unworthy cause. “They have all gone astray; they are all alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one. Have they no knowledge, all the evildoers who eat up my people as they eat bread and do not call upon God?”

So, at this point you may be thinking, “is this entire sermon going to be a diatribe? A complete downer? Where’s the hope?” Oh, it’s coming. It begins with repentance. As we read in Psalm 51:

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy, blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. You desire truth in the inward being; therefore, teach me wisdom in my secret heart. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

As a person who was raised Catholic, I’ve had to change some of my ideas about sin in order to conform to what I currently believe is written in scripture, particularly the Gospels. I believe sin is anything that interferes with the greater good: anything that doesn’t show us at our very best, our most faithful, our most loving, our most compassionate. For humanity and the world. From the most personal, to the widest-reaching. For me, that’s sin.

So, when I was 8 years old and had to confess my sins to the priest, I came up with “fought with my brothers and sisters,” “disobeyed my parents,” “talked back to my parents.” I’m pretty sure my parents suggested these particular sins. And I had to include the number of times I committed these sins since my last confession. I would come up with a number based on what one would expect a person my age to engage in these sins. So, I guess I could’ve added “lied to the priest about how often I sinned” to the mix. I didn’t. I was also told that if I didn’t go to confession or make a “good act of contrition” before I died, I would either go to Hell or spend a lot of time in Purgatory, where I would suffer for my sins until they were burnt away. 

Yeah. I don’t think that’s the actual result of sin. I believe that we are all forgiven. I believe that God loves us, no matter what. I believe the consequence of sin can be a kind of Purgatory or Hell. I believe that the consequence of sinning – of not acting toward another in a loving way – is that we create our own Purgatory, or worse, Hell, here on this earthly plain. How? By not reflecting on our actions or our thoughts, by not asking for forgiveness, and then going, as Jesus said, and sinning no more. 

This kind of self-awareness, this kind of self-examination that we must do in order to realize and repent for our sinning is not easy. Even for those of us who don’t want to be the leader of a major world power. Even if we’re just trying to get through our lives, we’re better off if we take responsibility for our actions, reflect on them, and ask forgiveness. Just as Paul says in his first letter to Timothy:

But before we hear from Paul, let’s rise as we are able and join in singing Amazing Grace, Hymn #547 in your black hymnal, verses 1,2,4.

And now, back to Paul and Timothy: I am grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he considered me faithful and appointed me to his service, even though I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence. But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.

…for that very reason I received mercy, so that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display the utmost patience, as an example to those who would come to believe in him for eternal life.

Yes. We become the living proof of the utmost patience of Jesus Christ. While he was walking this Earth with his disciples, Jesus had been nothing if not patient, especially with his disciples. There are stories upon stories where Jesus would finish a lesson and immediately afterward have to explain it again to his disciples. Those he had chosen. The ones he had set apart to spread his word through work and word.

And so, even though we are imperfect, we are chosen to be the living incarnations of the spirit of Jesus Christ in the world. We are chosen to lift up the downtrodden, welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, give to the poor: the poor in spirit, the financially poor, the emotionally poor. We are here to heal the world.

And so, this is why Jesus speaks out in Luke 15:

And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." So he told them this parable:

"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost sheep.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

None of us are perfect. It’s just a fact. We’re human. Or, “sinners,” as the Pharisees refer to us. And so perfection isn’t expected. What Jesus hopes is that we realize that and that we see what actions we can take to, at least for the moment, provide hope to humanity. Spread love in a cold world. Be compassion. Elevate humanity. Counter hate with love. Balance acts of violence with acts of compassion, with love, with joy. Personify peace. Flip tables, when necessary. And follow up with love. Be a Christly manifestation. 

Take a moment. Witness your thoughts that inspire violence, anger, apathy, and selfishness and change them to thoughts that inspire peace, love, joy, compassion. We have the power to do this. And for just a moment, and then another moment, and then a string of moments, be the living manifestation of Jesus Christ on this Earth. Amen.

In the Need of Prayer

You know that scene in “The Sound of Music” when Maria is teaching the Captain’s children about music and they sing “Doe, a Deer”? And Maria’s explaining that do-re-mi-fa-so and so on are just building blocks upon which we make music? Now, church, that is what today’s sermon is about in regards to the Lord’s Prayer. Sort of. 

I mean, that whole story about a friend who needs three loaves of bread and comes to you at night asking for them and you’re already closed down for the night and the lesson isn’t “love will lead you to provide for your loving friend.” No, the lesson here is, “if you keep bugging God, God will provide. Because God will finally get tired of you asking.” Ah… I don’t know about that. Maybe…? That’s what it says (unless I missed something). But, really, what my ultimate goal is for this sermon, is to look at the Lord’s prayer as an instruction on how we can or should live our lives.

Without getting too pedantic …

Whaddya mean “too late”?

So,

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name” and also “For thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory”: In these parts of the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus tells us to Praise and Honor God.

“Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread”: These words heed us to Proclaim our trust in God.

“And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil”: These words advise us to be sure that our actions to others are in line with how we would want others to act towards us.

You see, through Praying in the way that Jesus tells us to pray, we focus on the Relationship between ourselves and our God. Through prayer it is possible, and I am telling you that it’s probable that we can align our will with God’s will.

When we petition God in prayer, it can be transformative. Not necessarily in a way that, if we ask God long enough, hard enough, consistently enough, and with enough faith, we will finally get God out of bed and God will change their mind and finally give us what we want. No. I don’t think so. But through this act of praying and petitioning, we will be changed and transformed and become instruments of God's will in the world – seeking the fulfillment of God's glory, kingdom, and purpose, by transforming our personal requests into something ultimately more important, more meaningful, more profound to our world than our own needs and wants. Our petitions are transformed into the broader desires of God’s will in our lives. And so, we grow in faith and focus by God redirecting our personal – possibly selfish – petitions to ones that are more God-focused.

And so, by:

• Addressing God directly,

• Honoring God in others, and

• Representing God in our daily activities

Our lives become the prayer, or as Jesus says, God’s will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.

We become the prayer. Imagine.

The Care and Feeding of Sheep

John 21:11-17
So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, "Who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep.

There’s a lot that’s going on in this portion of John’s Gospel. This is the 3rd time Jesus appears to the apostles post-resurrection. It’s interesting to note that the apostles after all that they’ve just been through go back to fishing and aren’t out yet proclaiming to the world. 

And Jesus invites them to breakfast. It’s such an odd detail of this encounter, but it’s not the only instance of Jesus sharing a meal after his resurrection. Hospitality and sharing food is very, very important in Jesus’s socio-spiritual lexicon. 

And Jesus asks Peter 3 times if Peter loves him. And that third time, it mentions that Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him if he loved him 3 times. Imagine how Jesus felt after Peter denied knowing Jesus 3 times. Oh, Peter, I think you missed the point of Jesus’s questioning. He was teaching you how to be with those you will soon lead. 

Jesus says to Peter:

·       Feed my lambs

·       Tend my sheep

·       Feed my sheep

Notice the use of lambs and sheep in this story.

That is today’s lesson from this gospel portion:

“Feed my lambs” - See to the children. Young and young in spirit. Nurture them in the ways epitomized in the teachings of Jesus. Teach them compassion, empathy, set them on the spiritual path, and show them that there are ways to be that are not earthly. Provide them with options. Show them that there are many ways to be. Provide them with an intergenerational experience, like the one Lucy is receiving here in church. Encourage them to be comfortable with those whose station in life is different from theirs. Let them see and know their privilege. Teach them to not be ashamed of their financial, intellectual, emotional or physical “poverty.” Teach them the ways that Jesus loved.

“Tend my sheep” - Provide a place of refuge, an atmosphere of safety and support. Reach out to those who are confused and seem to lack direction and help them find a way to set them on a path. Act with empathy and compassion. Listen to them. Sit with them and “be” with them. See Christ within them. 

“Feed my sheep” - Learn what they need for sustenance. Support them in a way that will help fill out their lives. Share with them what inspires you. And provide to them that which will satiate their hunger: intellectually, spiritually, physically, and emotionally.

This is Jesus’s command to me, to us as individuals, and us as a church. We are a community of spiritual people. Let others with whom you come in contact experience what that means through your interaction with them. Let the lessons we learn in the course of our lives shine forth from within and show how our lives have been changed by our spiritual practice. 

And what a great opportunity we have to do that next Saturday at our Annual Asparagus Supper. Both in the kitchen and outside of the kitchen. Amen.

Annointing the Poor

John 12:1-8                                           

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus's feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" (He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

This was always a rough passage for me. I never quite understood it. Shouldn’t we sacrifice so that the poor are cared for? Shouldn’t we give up earthly wealth so that the hungry should be fed? The naked, clothed? The immediate answer is yes. Of course. But… There was someone in the midst of the disciples who was going through tremendous suffering and will be in excruciating pain in a matter of days. Jesus. Mary saw this and was providing what comfort she could to Jesus’s bereft soul and, ultimately, his burial. Jesus was on the verge of his passion, where he gives up his power and comes under the strong, earthly arm of his oppressors. 

When we are in the midst of despair, for any reason, it is we who need the care, we who require the attention. If the oxygen masks drop down, put it on yourself first, then your children. We cannot effectively serve others if we are in despair. We take care of ourselves, so that we can care for others. Because the work we are called to do isn’t necessarily easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. If we put ourselves in places and situations where we help those who need help, we will find ourselves with people who depend on us. Some desperately, some not. All of them suffering. 

So, there may be suffering ahead of us. So, don’t be surprised by pain. Prepare yourself and be surprised by the immense healing power that keeps bursting forth like springs of fresh water from the healing, the joy, the respite we bring to others around us. Amen.

What Wilderness?

Let us Pray:

Dear Lord,
Help me to expect miracles.
Help me to get past the borders of my eyes,
the roadblocks of my mind,
the narrow door of my heart.
May my soul embrace
the mystery of Your magnificent love!
May my heart rejoice
over the unexpected and undefined!
May my mind and body sigh
with the sheer awe of it all. Amen. 

Okay. When I hear words like those of today’s Psalm 91, 

“Because you have made the LORD your refuge, the Most High your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you, no scourge come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone. Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name,” 

I think. Uh-huh. Right. I’ve been a man of faith (at least that’s what I told the UCC Committee On Ministry). And I’ve stubbed my toe plenty of times! I won’t even go into the evil that has befallen me (actually, in reality, I’ve had it pretty okay insofar as evil befalling me goes). So, what gives? Do I not have enough faith? Is that the problem? Is that why I don’t always get what I want? I mean, the bible – from the beginning of the bible – seems to tell me that my faith will provide me with all I want and need. Well, let’s take a look. At that, and few other related topics.

From the time they can talk, practically, the youngest Jewish child sitting at the Passover Seder table asks the 4 questions. It’s a ritual that is repeated every year at Passover, often on the first and last night. They ask, “Why is this night different from all other nights,” and “why do we eat matzah,” and “why do we eat bitter herbs,” and “why do we lean on pillows when we eat this night.” Same questions every year. Since forever. And one generation after another. Why? Well, to learn the traditions, of course. But, also, as Rabbi Rachael Jackson, from a favorite podcast states, Jews are taught to question their religion from as early as possible. Question their religion. I really like that idea. Mostly because I’m questioning all the time. All the time. So, what do my doubts infer about me? That I’m a man of little faith. This idea of not questioning and accepting everything on faith gets me, personally, nowhere with my faith. And, it also may be a leading contributor to the fact that so many people leave the religion. If you have trouble with a belief in Christianity, you can be accused of not having enough faith, of being a sinner, of being unworthy. Unworthy? Of what?

On the other hand, if you ask a question, you get an answer. You ask another question and get another answer. And who knows if the answer is true? Well, in most cases, only God. The important thing is that you then have an ongoing conversation about your faith. For me, that’s the point of religion: to have a group of similar-minded people discussing topics that they have in common. And in so doing, get closer to God. That’s what I want our Wednesday sessions to be about. Reading and discussing books written by theologians who are interesting and pose interesting questions and thoughtful answers that lead to more questions from us as well as answers.

So, in today’s reading from Luke, the devil is tempting Jesus with, largely, those gifts presented in Psalm 91:

• Command this stone to become a loaf of bread

• To you I will give authority over all the kingdoms of the world

• He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you, and On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.

And Jesus will have none of it. Why? Well, first of all, couldn’t he do all those things if he wanted to on his own? Good question! What do you think? A possible answer is that in this incarnation Jesus is human. But, isn’t he God? Some say not now, only after his resurrection. Some say now. Who knows for sure? What do you think?

Here’s another answer, from one of my favorite theologians, Michaela Bruzzese, “All of the devil's offerings come with strings attached—that Jesus worship the devil, and that Jesus uses the gifts for himself and his own satisfaction, making the gifts ends in themselves instead of instruments of new life for all.”

See? Ask a question, maybe you can get an answer that you can live with and that reflects God’s work in your life. 

Jesus was tempted by the devil during those 40 days in the desert with temporary satiation, prestige, and power through privilege. He rejected those things because they didn’t reflect his journey. They didn’t reflect his purpose on Earth, or his relationship with God. And so, I ask you and I ask myself, what Rev. Terry Yasuko Ogawa asks us during the season of Lent, “What will you give up that separates you from God? Lent is a great chance to put down that which only buries us faster and leaves us wrapped in blankets of despair. And this year, more than ever, what might each of us pick up that roots us deeper in God’s care and hope.”

It’s not about giving up candy, or dessert, or television in order to induce some sort of low grade suffering, or even weight loss, but think of it more as what you might let go, or take on that keeps you held in God’s loving embrace. What is God’s loving embrace? How does that feel? I’m not sure. I think I feel it when I find words that are meaningful to me when I’m writing my sermons. So, for clarity, I’ll ask these questions instead: What practices bring you hope? Possible answers might be daily readings, volunteering, daily walks, scheduled telephone conversations. What can you give up that will bring more light into your life and the lives of those around you? Items in your household that you haven’t used in years, turning around a thought or belief that only makes you angry, giving up politely refusing when someone offers you a ride somewhere?

The Wilderness of Lent is right here, within us. We don’t have to go anywhere else to find our uncharted dark places except within. The blessings that God bestows are freely given so that we can discard our false idols and trust in the liberation promised by God. Our own wilderness journeys give us the opportunity to name and reject those false idols we may desire—power, earthly riches, fame. That’s when we are able to recognize, accept and live God's promise to those whose riches are not of this world: "Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.

And, as Cheryl Lawry states:

i just realized

that in my imagination

the wilderness is always somewhere else;

a foreign landscape i actively have to enter

in the act of being faithful.

truthfully,

the wilderness is always where i am

right now

and faith is the courage to stay with it

when i’d rather pretend i am

anywhere else.  

Amen.

No Time Like the Present

Follow Me!

Three Wise Men, from the East, some say Persia. Some say Persia (now Iran), India, and Arabia. Some say they represent the 3 ages of man. Some say it was their gifts that were important: gold (Christ’s kingship), frankincense (Christ’s divinity), and myrrh (Christ’s death). All interesting stories and symbols. But, that’s not the point of this sermon. They saw the star, they had an idea, a vision, and they followed it. And that light brought them to Jesus, the Light of the World. And I think that series of events is what’s important about the 3 Wise Men. I mean there must be a reason besides a Partridge in a Pear Tree that we count the days until the arrival of the Three Wise Men. And I’m proposing that the Three Wise Men at the Manger is the original Come-to-Jesus Moment in Christianity. And for those of you who have heard the phrase, “Come-to-Jesus Moment,” but can’t remember the context, a Come-to-Jesus Moment is a moment of sudden realization, comprehension, or recognition that often precipitates a major change in someone’s life. Or, you know, an Epiphany. So, thank you, Three Wise Men, you did your part, now get out of here.

Luke: Until I had to write a sermon about it, I perceived Luke’s gospel verses where Joseph and Mary left Jerusalem without Jesus (“Joseph, where’s Jesus?” “I thought he was with you!” “I thought he was with you!!!” Meanwhile, Jesus is back in Jerusalem like McAuley Culkin in “Home Alone” “AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!) Not really. Jesus didn’t do that. Yeah. Jesus wasn’t doing that at all; he was in the Synagogue, wowing the rabbis with his knowledge and interpretation of scripture. Why? It was his calling. "Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" Jesus was ready to start. He was about the age when a Jewish boy gets bar mitzvahed and he was ready to go. He was prepared, he heard the order, and he obeyed.

Jennifer Ruth Lynn Garrison writes about Jesus calling his disciples later in life, “The calling of the disciples varies somewhat from gospel to Gospel but basically Jesus shows up and says, ‘Follow me.’ Without hesitation, they do! They drop whatever their work was before and take up the only work that suddenly seems to matter: the work of following this shiny new messiah.” You might say that Jesus came at the right time to call his disciples to him to continue his work. So, this leads me to ask, when is it our time to continue Jesus’s work? And one could respond to that question with “when wasn’t it our time to continue Jesus’s work?”

John Edgerton writes something a little more timely about this question. He writes, “The presents have all been given out, the stockings distributed, the feast feasted upon. Now there remains a great mess. Leftovers hastily stuffed into the fridge, blocking me from grabbing the milk. Toys gleefully scattered across the floor, unerringly finding their way beneath my bare feet. It’s not just physical detritus, either. The carols have been sung, the old words read aloud, the holy silences lingered over. Now there remains a great mess. Words spoken that I wish I hadn’t said aloud. To-do list items I had really intended to finish, now scattered across next Monday morning.

After the day after Christmas dawns, I feel like I’ve got a big mountain to climb before I’ve finished everything required by the law of the Lord. Where to begin? Will I really believe that God’s blessing will be enough for me? Will I really, actually, let my heart be transformed by the birth of one child? Will I really, actually, for realsies see God in the midst of the mess of the world today?” 

These are questions that I ask myself a lot: will I let my heart be transformed by the birth of one child? Will I / Can I see God in the midst of the mess of the world today? I want to. These definitely have been goals of mine. And, I have to say that over the past year, being in front of you almost every Sunday has helped me a lot. This work has laid the groundwork, it has prepared my heart, it has changed my mind. It has transformed me just a bit. It has helped me see God in the midst of the mess of the world today. Just a bit. And I thank God, and I thank you.

So, the question I have for you is: are you doing anything to prepare your heart to be transformed? To see God in the midst of the worldliness of it all? Honestly, if someone asked me that question out of the blue I’d probably say, “I have no idea how to do that.” Well, after giving it some thought, I have some ideas how to prepare oneself to hear God’s voice. I can’t guarantee that they’ll work, but I know they won’t hurt. Here they are: 

• Pray: from a devotional, from a website, from your memory, from your imagination. Just take a moment to pray. To give thanks. To praise. To petition. Whatever is on your mind that you want to take to the altar. And along that same line, 

• Meditate: just sit quietly for 5 minutes and become aware of your breath. Just let thoughts enter your brain, and notice them without judgement. Quietly, for five minutes.

• Read books of a spiritual nature: They’re everywhere, including in the library. Go look in the Spirituality section of a bookstore or your local library. Or ask me.
  
  In fact, I mentioned this before, I’d love to meet again on a weekday morning with any of you who are interested and we can do all of these 3 things together, when we gather to discuss a book that I just finished reading and quoted from in a couple of my sermons, Henri Nouwen’s “Finding My Way Home.” Let me know if you’re interested and we’ll find a time to meet. 

So, let us listen for God’s still, small voice. And hear what it has to say. And let that be our star to guide us. To our Father’s house. To our Come-to-Jesus Moment. To our Epiphany. Amen.

The Path of Peace

Every moment in today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians is beautiful. These are words that anyone would want to receive from anyone. Words like:

“I thank my God for every remembrance of you, always in every one of my prayers for all of you, praying with joy for your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.”

And

“It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because I hold you in my heart, for all of you are my partners in God's grace.”

And, finally,

“And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight.”

It sounds like Paul was having a good day when he wrote this. Such affectionate, tender parenting to this gathering of Christians in Philippi. But, in reality, Paul was imprisoned when he wrote this letter. Other parts of Paul’s letter describe his suffering in prison. Andy Rau, from Bible Gateway, explains that Paul “writes to the Philippians to show them that his imprisonment had not impeded the spread of the gospel, but had actually hastened its expansion. Paul draws attention to the significance of suffering in the growth of God’s kingdom, and offers the Philippians that same joy-in-spite-of-suffering if they will embrace that gospel message.”

Joy-in-spite-of-suffering: Henri Nouwen, who I quoted a couple weeks ago, from his book Finding My Way Home describes “The Path of Peace” through a man named Adam, with whom he lived, along with 8 other men in a community named Daybreak, where people with a mental handicap and their assistants try to live together in the spirit of the Beatitudes.

I’m going to quote from this book for the rest of the sermon, but don’t worry: I wrote out everything I wanted to quote and won’t spend time searching the book.

Adam “is 25 years old, and he cannot speak, cannot dress or undress himself, cannot walk alone or eat without much help. He does not cry or laugh and only occasionally makes eye contact. His back isn’t very straight and sometimes his movements seem distorted. He suffers from severe epilepsy and, notwithstanding heavy medication, there are few days without “grand mal” seizures. Sometimes, as he grows suddenly rigid, he utters a painful groan, and on a few occasions I have seen a big tear coming down his cheek. It takes me about an hour and a half to waken Adam, give him his medication, walk him into his bath, undress him, wash him, shave him, brush his teeth, dress him, walk him to the kitchen, give him his breakfast, put him in his wheelchair, and bring him to his Day Program.”

This sounds like a lot, right? Day in and day out spending your life with this man, helping him to live his life. But Nouwen discovers, as he spends more and more time with Adam that a kind of peace comes over him in this work.

“Adam’s peace is first of all a peace rooted in his being. Adam can do nothing. He is completely dependent on others every moment of his life. His gift is his pure being with us. Every evening when I run home to “do” Adam’s routine, to help him with his supper and put him to bed, I realize that the best thing I can do for Adam is to simply “be” with him. … I am simply here, present with my friend. How simple the truth that Adam teaches me, but how hard to live! Being is more important than doing.”

Henri Nouwen looks back at his life before joining Daybreak, up to and including his tenure at Harvard University. He left on a sabbatical from Harvard to explore the Daybreak community experience, and literally spent the rest of his life there.

Nouwen says, “As I sit beside the slow and heavily breathing Adam, I start seeing how violent my journey has been. This upward passage has been so filled with desires to be better than others, so marked by rivalry and competition, so pervaded with compulsions and obsessions, and so spotted with moments of suspicion, jealousy, resentment, and revenge. What I believed I was doing was called ‘ministry.’”

Henri Nouwen ends each day with Adam in prayer, not really sure that Adam understands what’s happening. So, Nouwen simplifies the moment and sits in his presence. “Since I began to pray with Adam I have also come to know better what prayer is about. Prayer is being with Jesus and simply spending time with him. Adam is teaching me that.”

As he moves through his life with Adam, Henri Nouwen experiences the simplicity of the work of Adam and the effect he has on the house. How simply his presence inspires peace in the community. Perhaps like long periods of time that Paul spent in the solitude of prison. “Adam is the weakest of us all, but without any doubt the strongest bond between us all. Because of Adam there is always someone home; because of Adam there is a quiet rhythm in the house; because of Adam there are moments of silence and quiet; because of Adam there are always words of affection, gentleness, and tenderness; because of Adam there is a patience and endurance; because of Adam there are smiles and tears visible to all; because of Adam there is always space for mutual forgiveness and healing… yes, because of Adam there is peace among us.

“Let me conclude with an old Hasidic tale that summarizes much of what I have tried to say,” Henri Nouwen writes as he concludes this chapter. And this sermon!

The rabbi asked his students: “How can we determine the hour of dawn, when the night ends and the day begins?” One of the rabbi’s students suggested: “When from a distance you can distinguish between a dog and a sheep?”
“No,” was the answer of the rabbi.
“Is it when one can distinguish between a fig tree and a grapevine?” asked a second student.
“No,” the rabbi said.
“Please tell us the answer, then,” said the students.
“It is, then,” said the wise teacher, “when you can look into the face of another human being and you have enough light in you to recognize your brother or your sister. Until then it is night, and darkness is still with us.”

“Let us pray for the light. It is the peace the world cannot give.” 

And may that light “shine upon those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." Amen.

It Ain't WHAT It's HOW

Jim Wallis, who wrote the book, “America’s Original Sin,” of which we have 3 copies available to you for free in the chapel, said the following: “Regardless of what the New Testament says, most Christians are materialists with no real experience of the Spirit, or individualists with no real commitment to community. An American Indian once challenged an audience of Christians in which I was sitting. He asked us to pretend we were all Christians who didn't want to accumulate material possessions but who actually loved one another and put everything in common and treated each other as family. Then he asked what kept us from doing that. And the question remains: What is it that prevents Christians from living like Christians?”

He continues, “I am increasingly convinced that it has less to do with ill will or bad intentions; it has more to do with how small our communion with God and with one another really is. Most of us in the churches have yet to find the spiritual strength and resources that would enable us to live out our faith.”

This isn’t a sermon about tithing (though it is that time of year); it’s about what all my sermons are about: God and Us and where we meet, and the results of that interaction.

Psalm 146 says, “Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day their plans perish. Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God.” I get it: princes are out for themselves. To gather more “princeocity” in order to make themselves even more princely. At whatever cost. And then they die, and with them everything they’ve gathered. God, on the other hand, is everlasting and needs nothing more to make them more Godly. It’s all there. 

Psalm 146 goes on to say that the God of Jacob, “executes justice for the oppressed; gives food to the hungry. The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous. The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.” Yeah. Thank you, God. But how? How does God do all these things? Because I haven’t seen any blinding light in the sky, or giant hands coming out of a cloud to lift up the orphan and the widow. Probably because I have DTS: “Doubting Thomas Syndrome.”

As Jesus says in Mark, chapter 12, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation." This is Jesus. This has always been Jesus: turning over the tables and not just against money changers and merchants in the synagogue during Holy Week. But everyone, everywhere. Which, in Jesus’s world, is the Roman government and the Israelites who work for them. From the day we’re born we’re taught to show respect for those in charge. Those who seek power. What has Jesus said about those in power? That they are the servants of the people they rule. They are the servants. Not us. But, alas, our society dictates that with power comes privilege. Would that that weren’t the case. Who would be the people running for office then? My guess is those who set the prisoners free; who open the eyes of the blind. Who lift up those who are bowed down; who love the righteous. Who watch over the strangers; who uphold the orphan and the widow. But, I digress…

Back to Jesus, and the widow: “Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’” According to Walter Burghardt, "this widow had been taught and encouraged by religious leaders to donate as she does and Jesus condemns the value system that motivates her action ... In a word, Jesus is condemning a structure of sin, a social injustice." In a world where too many leaders, religious and secular, gain and wield power at the expense of the weak, Jesus exposes such systems for what they are—an affront to God—and what they do: destroy relationship, dignity, and even bring death. “This poor widow" gives not out of her excess, like the privileged, but "out of her poverty." Jesus reminds us that what we give, of ourselves and our possessions, is of little importance; instead, how we give to others is what will show the world that we are followers of Jesus Christ. 

And that is how God works in our world: through us. Through those who work to follow in the path of Jesus. Through those of us who find the spiritual strength and resources that enable us to live out our faith and do the work of God, for God, here on Earth. Amen.

Walking with Jesus

These past 3 Sundays, we’ve listened to stories of 3 people who Jesus beckons to follow him, each with his own response and result. Let’s do a quick review:

Sunday, October 13, we looked at the rich dude, the wealthy young man who followed all the commandments and had everything he wanted except one thing: the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus said, give up everything and follow me. His response was to walk away, dejected. No Kingdom of Heaven for you, rich guy! Next time, why don’t you try to pass a camel through the eye of a needle!

Then, Sunday, October 20, we meet up with the Apostle Brothers, James and John: they give up everything they owned, and apparently, they have a hidden agenda. Jesus and the gang are all walking to Jerusalem and James and John want Jesus to promise that they get to sit to the left and right of him when they go to heaven. Can you imagine what the Kingdom of Heaven would’ve been like for Jesus if he said okay? James and John would be forever squabbling about who gets to sit on the right side! “I’m older! I get to sit on the right!” “Well, I’m more handsome; I feel entitled to the better side!” Etc. If Jesus had any control over that and promised them, it would’ve been the Kingdom of James and John and it wouldn’t be heavenly!

And today, we meet Bartimaeus, the blind guy who sits on the side of the road in Jericho. No money. Only the clothes on his back. His eyes don’t function, and yet, he sees more than any of these other guys. He calls out to Jesus, for his mercy (one of Jesus’s specialties), and the followers tell him to leave Jesus alone. However, Jesus has other ideas and heals him and, without being asked, Bartimaeus follows him. He doesn’t need anything else from Jesus. He doesn’t even require an invitation. He simply ups and follows him after receiving the healing touch of Jesus. 

As Michaela Bruzzese notes, “With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Bartimaeus is free to be free, while the rich young man and the disciples are still possessed by their own ideas of who Jesus is and what kind of liberation he brings.”

Bartimaeus magnifies Jesus. He lifts Jesus up. He follows him faithfully. Quietly and with love. This is another way to be a Christian. An excellent way to magnify Jesus’s word. To serve God faithfully, and with humility. Not requiring fortune. Not requiring power or fame. Dedicating our lives to God. How? How do we dedicate our lives to God? Well, we could all become monks. Or travel into the hilltowns with Bibles in our hands professing the word at the top of our lungs. We could do that.

Or we could walk humbly with Jesus by quietly taking his commandment of loving our neighbor as we love ourselves seriously. How do we do that? 

Let’s make this a Q&A. How do we live the love of Jesus in our everyday lives?

• Feeding the hungry

• Clothing the naked

• Seeking justice

• Lifting up the downtrodden

• Praying

• Practicing contemplation

These are all examples of living the way of Jesus. We’re all such creatures of habit. Let’s commit to creating a new habit in our lives. Take one of the actions that we came up with and commit to practicing it at least 1, 2, 3, 4 times a day or a week or a month. Let’s get up from the side of the road and walk humbly with Jesus. Amen.

Where's the Wisdom?

Letter of James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a and Mark 9:30-37

One August morning, I was having breakfast out of doors in front of a café on Strong Avenue in Northampton. It’s a lovely place in the summer, when they close off the street, put up big planters: giant, living bouquets of seasonal plants and flowers that adorn the street, for people who have the time and money to enjoy the weather, the surroundings, and the good food offered by the restaurants on the street. It’s also on the edge of the downtown area, where the workers at the gift shops and clothiers are just making their way to work. And the unhoused are coming out of shelters, store doorways, tents, and finding their place on Main Street, or beginning their routes on Main Street, side streets, alleyways, and parking lots to ask for money. One man was making his way down Strong Avenue. I had finished my bagel and coffee and was staring out, listening to a podcast. Our eyes met and he asked me for one or two dollars because he had to get to Boston and he hadn’t eaten in 3 days. That was my in: “Can I buy you some breakfast?” Do you have a dollar, he asked. “I can buy you breakfast.” Okay. Egg and bacon on white bread and black coffee. I go into the café and order. It takes a while. I come out with his breakfast and someone who had heard our exchange explained that he had walked away and was down the street in the parking lot. “Hey! I have your breakfast!” I don’t want it! “But, I got it for you.” I said I wanted money! “You also said that you hadn’t eaten in 3 days!” You can have it. Ugh. I brought it home and gave the coffee to Sam (it’s good coffee!) and we shared the sandwich the next day.

Here’s the dilemma. Was he really going to Boston? Had he eaten in 3 days? Did he want the money to buy drugs? I don’t know. Some might say that it’s none of my business. Some might say that if I gave him money, I should know why I’m giving him money.

Here’s another position: I actually had the money. I had withdrawn 50-$1 bills a few days before, for the express purpose of giving money to people in the street asking for money. So, why didn’t I just give him $2 like he asked? Because he said he was hungry. I employed the Jesus loophole: “Feed the hungry,” Jesus said. Okay! I’ll feed the hungry. And I won’t have to worry about giving him money that he might use in a way that I don’t agree with. That was my quick, almost unconscious, decision. Based on scripture. Or, so I told myself. But, then there are other snappy sayings as well that could have influenced my actions, like, “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” And, also, “don’t throw good money after bad.” And then, there’s the one that I’ve heard and seen more often than any of these words of advice: “Just ignore him.”

And through all of the above decisions, and the words of wisdom that may or may not have influenced them, where’s the wisdom from above that is “first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy” that James mentions in chapter 3 verse 17 of his letter? Does the wisdom lie in feeding him because he said he was hungry? Would wisdom have been in the possible decision of giving him the $2 that he asked for, even if I think he might use it to buy drugs? Maybe? I don’t know. And then there’s another question to ponder in retrospect of this encounter: who am I to judge him and what he’ll use the money for?

Jesus says in Mark, chapter 9, verse 35, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Am I putting my wisdom, privilege and station above him? Does it give me the right to decide for him whether or not he gets fed or gets money? If so, then I am the servant to all, according to Jesus. If I put myself first, if I put myself above another person, then Jesus says that I am that person’s servant. The person in need: I am responsible to fill his needs.

These people on the streets, these people with their hands out, are people who are laying themselves open to any who can support them, to support them. Each, like a child. Jesus says, in Mark Chapter 9, verse 37, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” We are all children of God. And each of us are divine in God’s eyes. With that idea, with that instruction from Jesus, we are to act as we interpret those words of Jesus.

I spoke to my sister about this. You know, the sister who hands out sandwiches, water, socks and hats to men in the streets of Holyoke. We had a long, thoughtful conversation about it, and her bottom line is, “do as your heart tells you.” And since we’re all churchy people, my hope is that what our hearts tells us reflects in some way what Jesus tells us to do. There’s no one answer to all the questions posed today. Except, perhaps, reflect on the words of Jesus Christ, take those words into our hearts, and respond accordingly. With love. With purity. With peace. With gentleness. With a will to yield. With mercy. With good fruits. And without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. Amen.

Let the Girding Begin!

So, today’s Hebrew testament reading begins right before the final plague that was brought upon the Egyptians: the killing of the firstborn. God instructs Moses and Aaron (Moses’s brother) on how God will kill the firstborn whose families aren’t displaying the blood of the slaughtered lamb, how they should eat the lamb, and how they shall mark the month – even before Pharaoh tells them to leave Egypt. He tells them that, “This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you,” which is interesting to me that this is the Hebrew bible reading that shows up for this Sunday, because it’s the springtime holiday, Passover, which commemorates the exodus from Egypt BUT, this passage about the “beginning of months” more or less coincides with the Jewish holiday, Rosh Hashanah (which begins next Friday), the holiday that we sometimes call the Jewish New Year.

Rosh Hashanah is translated as “head of the year.” This is a time (ideally) of serious introspection, personal growth, and spiritual rebirth. The Season of Repentance, beginning with Rosh Hashanah, encourages Jews to seek forgiveness from those they have wronged over the past year and reflect on what the new year might bring. Rosh Hashanah actually commemorates the creation of the world. So, it’s interesting that there are two new years, in a way: the creation of the world and the exodus from Egypt that resulted in a home for the Hebrews to live and create their own lifestyle and religion. 

There are a few other thoughts that I’ve drawn from today’s Hebrew bible reading:

1.   First, and most importantly, this is a “beginning of months” for North Hadley Congregational Church, as well, as we embark on our transition to a new spiritual leader for our community. We’ll come back to this point very soon.

2.   Second, I would not use this recipe to cook lamb. Ever. No matter who told me to cook it that way. Well, maybe if I were leaving Egypt and God gave me the recipe personally. But, really, leaving the head, legs and all the inner organs intact? Yech. Eeew.

3.   Third, that whole girding your loins thing. Has anyone else wondered exactly what it meant? Well, I’m going to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s G-rated. Girding your loins refers to pulling up your tunic and, essentially, turning it into a pair of shorts. This allows the man or woman to become more productive in manual labor (or war) (or exiting from your land of enslavement). In reference to this passage, you are eating on the run. Out of Egypt. So, all those shots in the movie “The Ten Commandments” that you see of the Hebrews exiting Egypt are incorrect. Everyone’s loins should be girded; they should’ve been wearing makeshift shorts.

So, back to my first point: while we are carrying on the everyday activities of this church – worshiping God, upkeeping the premises, fulfilling mission – we are also working toward a shift in our community as we search for, find, and eventually work with a new pastor. 

Just as it is for Jews honoring Rosh Hashanah, for us, it is also a time of serious introspection, personal growth and spiritual rebirth, as we grow as individuals within our community. It’s a time to look at our beliefs, to consider why we hold these beliefs, and deciding if these beliefs are helping or hindering us. For instance, what was your thought or feeling when you heard me say that last sentence about re-examining our beliefs and why we hold them? Did you have one? What was the thought behind that thought or feeling?

I hope that we can have time to discuss this process as a congregation, either one on one, or as a group, formally or informally.

The reading from Matthew also discusses these ideas in regard to sinning against each other. It talks about going back to the one who sinned against you, or you sinned against and explaining how you feel about what was said or done and making amends. Making amends is a major theme in the gospels and it has all sorts of applications to many different situations. This is an important time in our church community: Matthew says, “whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” 

Whatever thoughts or beliefs we hold right now, we may still have when we choose a new pastor. It’s up to each of us individually and as a community to decide whether or not our thoughts and beliefs support the decision of the Pastor Search Committee. And if necessary, can we replace those old thoughts with new thoughts.

I know I talk a lot about my Brooklyn church. It was the church that I chose as an adult and one that I was most involved with until now. At the First Presbyterian Church of Brooklyn, I was the co-chair of the Pastor Search Committee for the replacement of the pastor who was retiring after 25 years of service to the church. He was beloved. And black, as was 40% of our congregation. It was important to the entire congregation that our new pastor be black and hold many of the customs of the black church. Our committee met weekly, read dossiers daily, and began and ended each committee meeting in prayer for a year-and-a-half. We felt led by the Holy Spirit. When we finally presented a candidate, he wasn’t black. We made special efforts to find a new, black pastor, but those we interviewed we didn’t feel were good fits for the church. Well, when the time came to vote for our candidate, based on his experience, conversations with the congregants, and his sermon, there wasn’t a large enough percentage of the vote to support bringing him on as our pastor. Did I mention that there was a behind-the-curtain movement led by leaders of the church to vote against him? Yeah, that happened. It took a lot of conversations with individuals for me to forgive them, and for them to forgive me. 

My point: church activities like finding a new pastor that everyone will like and learn from take on a whole life of their own, and it can become difficult to keep God in the process. Even in church. For instance, we as a search committee were so anxious to present a candidate that we ultimately ignored the fact that the congregation overwhelmingly wanted a black pastor. And our not presenting a black candidate could be interpreted as racist, not taking seriously enough this foremost request of the congregation. And the church’s leadership’s actions as a result of their disappointment in our candidate also failed to include the fact that if there’s any place where we can practice openness, trust, active listening, empathy, and compassion it’s within our church community. It’s kind of why we're here. 

So, if you have a thought, share it. If you disagree with someone, start a conversation with someone who can help you understand. If you feel disheartened, gather with community. This is the work. This is when we have to “gird our loins” and work towards a transition built on love and fellowship. We are a church at the crossroads of Service, Worship, Fellowship, and Prayer. These are the four tools that we can use to continue this community by staying open to each other, to God’s will, and to change. In this new period of growth, let’s explore what growth means to us as individuals and as a community. 

The hard, right thing with Chris White

About a decade ago, someone published an article in my field of music theory arguing that the composer Igor Stravinsky’s early-period music was not, in fact, organized primarily around the octatonic scale, but rather on a smattering of other more traditional scales, including rotations of the harmonic minor scale. While this may seem innocuous and esoteric, this claim was a swipe at the work of a more-established author who had spent much of his career arguing the exact opposite. What followed was a series of somewhat vicious back-and-forths in the pages of that journal arguing both sides of the case, attacking each other’s methods and knowledge of Igor Stravinsky’s music.

            Academic debates are so juicy because they are so personal and so petty. The great debate of the 90s as to whether key is better determined by a passage’s intervallic content or its pitch content. The vicious conflagration a few years earlier as to whether prolongation was an essential aspect of the concept of “tonality.” These are the stuffs of academic soap operas. Of course, for most of the world, none of this matters. But for a few people, the legitimacy of years of work – a lifetime of work – is at stake. Even if the opposing side has a point, giving up ground means giving up some of the validity and authority you’ve been working so long to acquire.

            The story of the golden calf is one of the most iconic of the Old Testament. It was one of the first Bible stories I remember learning when I was a child. And even then it seemed so perplexing. The Hebrews have been led out of Egypt following a series of miraculous plagues that had been called forth by Moses. They had not only witnessed Moses parting the Red Sea, but had walked through that sea on dry land. Then they watched the water swallow up Pharaoh’s army. Their leader, Moses, literally has conversations with God. And then Moses goes away for a few days and the tribes and their leaders quickly forsake the practices preached by Moses. They build a golden calf as an idol to worship.

Now, a little research reveals that calves and bulls were common deities and idols in the Eastern Mediterranean at the time and could even have been a manifestation of an earlier form of Judaism, in which the God of Israel was associated with the image of a calf or bull. What’s going on here is that the people are sliding back into an older practice at the absence of their leader.

We read this story and find it nearly impossible to empathize with. In the story as told by the scriptures: for the last days, weeks, and months, these people witnessed a steady stream of miracles. Moses was preaching adherence to the one true God, and these people were witnessing the power and actions of that God first hand. The things Moses is teaching are obviously correct. Even if these are new and progressive ideas, they can see their benefits with their own eyes. The evidence is right in front of them. And yet, at the first moment of Moses’s absence, they shrug off those ideas and return to an older practice of idol worship.

            But then I think about academic disputes. I think of how much self-worth people can have tied into concepts that seem so petty and how tenaciously people hold onto ideas that are part of their identity. I then imagine throngs of people who grew up with ideas of gods-as-idols or God as needing to be manifested in an object in order to be worshiped. It would have been obvious to them that when they wanted to worship, they needed an object, and that object should be gold, and it should be a bull… and sure, they’ve heard from Moses that this isn’t what they should be doing, but Moses isn’t here and who is he, after all, to tell us that the ways we’ve been worshiping all our lives are wrong, it’s the way I worshiped as a kid, and it’s how my parents worshiped, and it’s always worked before so LET’S MAKE THAT COW.

            There was a recent flare up in my field that was unlike most academic disputes. A music theorist named Phil Ewell – he works at Hunter College in New York – pointed out music theory’s connections to white supremacy in a lecture at our national conference last year, and then in a subsequent article he published. His logic was that the music we study and the methods and thought-systems we use are infused with the outlooks held by thinkers in 19th and early-20th century Western Europe. That thinking includes notions like a male dominated society, and white supremacy. And it’s not hard to find symptoms of this within my field– greater than 90% of full-time music theorists are white. If you could the musical examples that appear in the most-used music-theory textbooks, only 1.67% of examples are by non-white composers.

            And of course there has been pushback. We can put this pushback into two categories. The first is the “arguing against” camp. Here, you say things like: “Just because a composer or theorist we study held racist beliefs, doesn’t mean their music or scholarship was racist. We are teaching our inherited culture – it’s of course wrong that women and people of color were excluded from Western European classical music, but that’s simply a historical fact – that tradition is our tradition, and it’s a tradition of white men. We can’t take away time from studying the great works of this tradition – the Beethovens and Brahmses (“The Music I Love and I Grew Up With”) – it’s great music, and we’d be doing a disservice by studying it less in order to make room for whatever “diverse” music you might be trying to push into my classroom.”

            The second camp is the inertia camp. And I have to confess, I realize that I find myself in this encampment far too often. Here, you say things like: “I’ve taught this class using these pieces for 20 years, and it just sounds exhausting to have to learn new music let alone learn a new style. I can’t go out and find new music, I’ll just rely on what the textbooks provide me. I don’t have time, I have other priorities, other people will do it, it’s always worked this way… why change.”

            But it’s just so obvious that classical music has a race problem. If we’re only white folks – and mostly white men – only studying music by white men, and only teaching music by white men to our students… that’s a problem. It’s the kind of problem that we need to solve NOW. And it’s the kind of problem that people will look back at 20 years from now and wonder why people were arguing about it. Why were people defending the status quo? Why wasn’t everyone doing something?

            I’m using an example from my corner of academia, but it’s an example in a sea of so many. We can look back at almost all progresses causes with this kind of incredulity. It just seems so impossibly wrong that people were arguing against or lazily indifferent to women’s suffrage a hundred years ago. That enslavement was up for debate and compromise 150 years ago. That the ability of same sex couples to have a family was on ballots 15 years ago. Believing women two years ago. Black Lives Matter seven months ago. Soon it will be climate change, or essential worker’s rights. And at each of these junctures, there exist a plethora of reasons why these causes should be supported, reasons that in retrospect seem so obvious. But people argued against these reasons, often letting their want to keep things the same shield them from seeing rational evidence in front of their faces. And people ignored it. It wasn’t there problem. And the status quo has worked forever, so why change it.

            This is how I make sense of the Israelites desire to make the golden calf. A bunch of folks were falling back into how they had always done it. Some thought the new, progressive teachings of Moses were going too far, even in the face of plenty of evidence that Moses was teaching the literal word of God. And some just didn’t want to think about it. The easy thing to do was to fall back into old habits.

            Adopting progressive causes – causes like curtailing white supremacy – means taking risks. It means doing hard things. It means being willing to work harder than you would under the status quo. It means looking at the evidence you see around you rather than just relying on inherited assumptions. It means discarding arguments like: “because it’s always been this way,” “this is just the way things naturally should be,” or “doing that would take too much time and too many resources.” It’s taking the long view. It’s wondering what people in 20 or 100 years will think.

            Now stories of progressive ideas can have their ups and downs, and just because something is progressive, it doesn’t mean it’s right. The story in Exodus takes a very Old Testament turn in the next several verses, where Moses orders those who were not worshiping the calf to murder those who were. It’s a dark story. Progressive ideas can go too far, and they can become warped.

But I hope this story challenges us to check ourselves when our intuition tells us to stick with the status quo instead of building a better future. To not do the easy wrong thing, but to do the hard, right thing. If you’ve been meaning to donate to a charity but have been putting it off, do that this week. If you’ve been putting off calling a friend who might be going through a hard time, but you’re worried about how awkward it might be, do the hard thing and call them. Try to break yourself of some unhealthy habit. Think twice when a politician tells you that right now everything’s fine, and that people who are advocating for change are just whiney and weak complainers. And when some Moses challenges us to follow a new, better way, don’t ignore the miracles, logic, and beauty of that new way. Walk the hard road.

Amen.

Sermons: October 6, 2019 through January 19, 2020

Mud Between My Toes

Sermon Delivered January 19th, Gordon Pullan

Refections on Baptism

Sermon Delivered January 12th, 2020, Rob Powell

Sharers in the Promise

Sermon Delivered January 5th, 2020, Gordon Pullan

Things Do Not Change, We Change

Sermon Delivered December 29th, 2019, Gordon Pullan

Christmas Eve Message

Sermons Delivered December 24th, 2019, Rob Powell

Singing Christ Into Birth

Sermon Delivered December 22nd, 2019, Gordon Pullan

Waiting

Sermon Delivered December 15th, 2019, Rob Powell

Guide my Feet

Sermon Delivered December 8th, 2019, Gordon Pullan

Living in the Days of Noah

Sermon Delivered December 1st, 2019, Gordon Pullan

Living Boldly

Sermon Delivered November 17th, 2019: Rob Powell

What Matters

Sermon Delivered November 10th, 2019: Gordon Pullan

Sycamore or Sick of More

Sermon Delivered November 3rd, 2019: Gordon Pullan

Fall Back Into the Spirit Stream

Sermon Delivered October 27th, 2019: Gordon Pullan

The Gift of Wisdom

Sermon Delivered October 20th, 2019: Robert Powell

Audio Block

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Bare, Bear Bare

Sermon Delivered October 13th, 2019: Gordon Pullan

Impossible Dreams

Sermon Delivered October 6th, 2019: Chris White

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On Nannies, Pigs, The Beatitudes, and the Opportunity Mars Rover

The following sermon was delivered by Chris White at the North Hadley Congregational Church on February 16, 2019.

It’s 1910, London. Two children, Jane and Michael have been cycling through Nannies. Their father thinks it’s because he hasn’t found the right Nanny, but as viewers we’re pretty sure it’s because the children are constantly acting out in an attempt to draw their father’s attention. These attempts are in vain, since the father is a low-level executive at an Edwardian bank who works long and scrupulous hours to keep his family in their comfortable upper-middle class lifestyle on the fashionable Cherry Tree lane. Through some combination of happenstance and magic, they hire a nanny who instills several moral foundations into the children, including to use your money to ease the suffering of the less fortunate, to spend time with those you love, and to embrace the delight and whimsy embedded in the details of the surrounding world. These tenants run headlong into the father’s values in such a way that gets him fired from his job at the bank. However, the father has a change of perspective, embracing the teachings of the nanny; and, through a combination of happenstance and magic, not only gets his job back but secures a promotion.

On first blush, the moral is obvious. Don’t let the quest for wealth and prestige get in the way of what really matters: time with loved ones and stopping to smell the proverbial roses. But, thinking about the story for one moment more blurs its moral. The father’s actually not a workaholic at all. As explicitly stated in the first song, his schedule allows him to spend time with his children every day after the bank closes. Are we supposed to conclude that he should leave his bank before it closes? Or work at a job with fewer hours? Are we all supposed to work at jobs with fewer hours? Certainly, the moral can’t be that we’re all supposed to work minimal hours to spend maximal time with our children, thus crippling the economy? How would we afford comfortable lives for our children, let alone magical nannies?

One spring morning, a little girl named Fern Arable pleads to her father for the life of the runt of a litter of piglets. Her father relents, and Fern names the pig Wilbur. Once Wilbur becomes an adult pig, he’s sold to the girl’s uncle, but Fern still visits her pig-ward quite frequently. In his new locale, Wilbur struggles to adapt, but befriends a spider named Charlotte. As he increasingly becomes a full-grown pig, it becomes increasingly apparent that Wilbur is going to be slaughtered for sale to the butcher. The spider, however, connives a plot to save Wilbur from the slaughterhouse. The next morning, Charlotte’s web reads “Some Pig,” praising Wilbur’s graces. Over the next days and weeks, the spider’s loomed phrases encourage Wilbur’s new owner to enter him into a competition, at which Wilbur wins a prize. The spider –being an insect– dies in the fall, but Wilbur makes sure her eggs are cared for, and looks over them as they hatch and depart the barnyard.

On first blush, the moral is obvious. Have compassion for the less fortunate. Use your talents to help others. But, when you think about it for a couple for moments, it’s not clear what we want our children to take from this story. Is everyone who reads this story to their toddlers trying to foster future vegetarians? Are we trying to say that sacrifice for the greater good is wrong? Surely, farmers –and our whole agrarian economy– would suffer if we saved every malnourished runt, and would suffer worse yet if we lavished every plant, animal, and fungus that caught our affection with years of affection and resources. Our food supply would collapse, all because of some pig. 

Jesus approaches the mountaintop. He tells his the gathered crowd: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your reward. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”

On first blush, the moral is obvious. Help the poor, don’t flaunt your wealth, speak what you know to be true, and Christianity has rewards for those who don’t find them on earth. But, when you think about it for another couple of moments, it’s just not clear what the moral truly is. What Jesus does not say is that you should actually help the poor. What Jesus does not say is that you should not be wealthy. He does not say that those in power should stick up for the oppressed; he does not advocate giving away your wealth, he does not say that you should feed the hungry. Instead, he says the hungry, poor, and oppressed will have a happy ending. No more detail. Now, of course at other parts of the gospels he says more specific things. Luke 3:11– And he answered them, “Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise.” But this is also the Jesus who, when his disciples suggest that instead of him using an expensive perfume, it might be better sold to help them feed the poor (They say: “Why this waste?  This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor” [that’s  Matthew 26:8-9]). To this, Jesus chides them, and encourages the lavish use of this expensive perfume. He says in the following verse, “The poor you will always have with you.”

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” But, “the poor you will always have with you.” The poor are blessed, but –followers of Christ– do not always immediately worry about alleviating their suffering…. After all, there will always be poor people. The moral is just not obvious.

Now, I want to recognize that there are many contradictions in the Bible. But, what’s simply true is that when Jesus is given perhaps the biggest platform of his career he doesn’t advocate for social change. He doesn’t advocate for redistribution of wealth. He doesn’t suggest political reform. He doesn’t even say that we should care about people less happy, less fortunate, or more oppressed than we are. All he says is that it’ll turn out all right in the end for them. 

And it’s not trivial that this is one of the biggest platforms we give Jesus. What’s Jesus’s most famous sermon? The sermon on the mount. When we think of takeaways from the New Testament, we think about John 3:16, and we think about the passages about loving God above all else, and we think about the Beatitudes. One of the most highlighted parts of Jesus’s message doesn’t tell us how to help the poor, meek, and oppressed. It doesn’t advocate for regime change, it doesn’t tell us to redistribute wealth, it doesn’t even explicitly tell us that we should help those in need. It just tells us that the poor, meek, and oppressed will…. eventually, somehow, be fine.

Now, I –as much as anyone– want to believe that Jesus would be pro-Universal health care. I want to believe that he would be pro-immigrants’ rights. I want to believe that he would advocate for a higher minimum wage if not a guaranteed base income. I want to believe that cruel and oppressive governments are anathema to Christianity. I also want Mary Poppins to be an anti-capitalist parable. I want Charlotte’s Web to be about human and animal rights. 

But here’s the thing: they’re not. They’re just stories. They don’t need to tell you what to do. That’s not their job. Their job is to help mold kids into empathetic, sensitive, and idealistic adults– adults who stop and give a dollar to a homeless person in the park and who think critically about the politics of eating meat. Who wonder if guaranteed universal income is the right and proper things to do. Who wonder about how their vote affects their fellow humans. And this is a beautiful and valuable thing. The world is a complicated place, full of situations where it’s actually quite ambiguous what the right thing to do is. This is why ambiguous morals are so important, because they help us approach ambiguous situations– these stories don’t tell us exactly what to do, but they tell us how to think about what to do. 

Don’t we want our children to approach the complex problems of this world with abstract –impractical, contradictory– but idealistic, good, and kind precepts? Don’t we want our children to grow up with “Feed the Birds,” “Some Pig,” and “Blessed are the poor” tugging at their hearts as they make tough, practical, and necessary decisions? 

And as adults we not only benefit from these impractical and contradictory ideals, but we continue to crave them. 15 years ago, the Opportunity Mars Rover began its 90-day mission to gather information about Martian geology. To scientists’ surprise it kept working on day 91, day 92, day 93, and continued to analyze Mars’s surface and beam back its information. And it did so for the last 15 years, lasting more than 5,000 days longer than it had been projected to. This week it finally died, beaming back its last message, “My battery is getting low, and it is getting dark,” thus ending its remarkable mission and its life span. The Internet immediately made this a parable whose moral was about gumption, selfless service, and jobs well done. Of course, if you think about it a moment longer, it doesn’t make sense: Opportunity is just a machine that lasted better in space than its engineers estimated. But I (like, apparently about half the internet)… I cried when I read, “My battery is getting low, and it is getting dark.” I, like so many of us, crave these incongruous and illogical beacons of hope, morality, and goodness.

This is why the Beatitudes are so special. They give us these idealistic gems that become embedded in our conscience and morality. The poor are more blessed than the wealthy. If you experience hardship, you’ll get through it. If you are ridiculed for your beliefs, you’ll be justified one day. Now, practically, we as individuals might use these moral gems to decide upon certain actions, or to support certain social programs, or to vote a particular way on a particular topic. And as Christians, there likely are indeed certain social and political programs that we should probably support– but that’s a topic for another day– and it’s not what the Beatitudes are about. They, like the best children’s stories, lodge the impractical concepts of kindness, charity, mercy, and hope into our hearts and minds, so that we can walk through our messy, practical, adult society with these ideals tugging at our decisions and pulling us toward Christ’s message.

Amen

A Mother's Day Sermon

Sermon delivered by Rob Powell at the North Hadley Congregational, United Church of Christ, September 2, 2019

Mother’s day offers the opportunity to celebrate and honor the mothers and motherly people in our lives, a time to reflect with gratitude on the ways that we have been mothered by our mothers and by others in our lives. And, a time to honor the ways that we mother ourselves and others. For some, Mother’s day brings with it sadness, the sadness of a mother lost or the sadness of a fraught relationship and history of hurt with a mother.

When I think about my mom and think about how to hone in on the essence of her mothering, I tend to gravitate towards a single topic- my curfew. Now, before I tell you all about this, let me be clear- I have a great mom. But, a certain truth about great moms is that to be a great mom you also, sometimes, have to be a pretty annoying mom. Boundaries and rules and expectations aren’t much fun in the short term, and so mothering and parenting, can at times not make a child very happy.

When I was in high school and driving, I had a curfew. It wasn’t a hard and fast time, but rather something that was negotiated based on the activity. But usually, it landed somewhere around 11:00. This is pretty standard for kids, but what always made my mom stand apart from the parent’s of my friends was her refusal to go to bed until I got home. So, if I was running late or intentionally trying to pull one over on my parents, I wouldn’t just get in trouble for missing my curfew but I’d also be saddled with the burden of making my weary mother stay awake until I returned. Now, this was really pretty effective. One or two times of looking my mom in her sleepy eyes after returning home late, left me committed to getting home on time.

Now this is all well and good when you’re a teenager, but imagine that you are a 28 year old, home for the holidays, and there’s not so much a curfew anymore, but your mom will still wait up for you to get home- it is essentially a curfew. As an adult, when I’d go home to visit I would know that my mom would stay awake until I returned and so I was always inclined to get home sooner than my friends. It’s in these later years that my mom’s commitment to waiting up really started driving me mad. I’d say “mom, go to bed! I’m fine” and she’d stay up each night that I was out, waiting for me to return.

It really drove me crazy.

But, there’s a thing that happens as you grow older and reflect on the quirks and annoyances of your parents. For the fortunate, those quirks and annoyances start to look more like building blocks of the person you became. For me, I think about what it meant to know someone was always waiting up for me. In what ways did that truth get woven into the person that I became? What would my life and myself look like if that wasn’t true? That I don’t really know- because it was true for me. If I was away, there was someone waiting on me. I was expected somewhere.

I can remember asking my mom- “mom, why do you do this? None of my friends have to deal with this.” And her response, a response heard by so many children so many times, was “well, they aren’t my kids”. How many of us have heard that at some point or another? At the root of it, that I was meant to adhere to the expectations of my parents, and it didn’t much matter what other people were doing.

In looking to our Psalm today, I’m struck in a new way by the language. Particularly the language of “he makes me lie down in green pastures”. I suppose it is reflecting today on mothers and mothering, but I got a little bit of a chuckle out of that language because it sounds a lot like what we do with our little one and what was done with me when I was a little one. You see, our son doesn’t always totally understand that he is tired. He feels something- frantic, upset, irritable- but he’s not really aware of the solution. But, Chris and I are, oh boy are we. We know that that little baby needs a nap and so...we make him lie down. We make him rest. He doesn’t always like it, but we know that he needs it. We know when he is thirsty and so we make sure he drinks his milk. We know when he is scared so we make sure he feels comfort. I think this looks a lot like the way I was mothered, the way many of us were, and the way many want to be. A firm hand leading us and even making us rest, eat, and feel peace. Maybe sometimes when we don’t necessarily know that’s what we need or what we want.

And as a Christian people, we are called to listen to God in the same way that a child is called to listen to their parent. We are given guidance, some wanted some not, and asked to heed it with the belief that it is in our best interest. We see this play out a bit in our reading from John.

I have to be honest, I struggled with this reading. In this world we live in, full or polarization and us vs them mentalities, I cringed when I read it, wanting little do with anything that creates a who’s in and who’s out kind of framework. But, in the light of mother’s day and with my own reflections, I started to think about this in a different way.

I think about that common refrain of parenting, when I would do something I wasn’t supposed to and then I’d say “but so-and-so did it!” and my mom or dad would says “but i told YOU not to do it”. It’s not often a judgement on the other kid, it’s a judgement on me for not listening.

It seems like when we started talking about us and them a lot of the focus ends up on the “them”. What are they doing? How are they wrong? But in reading this scripture today something new stands out, not the question of who doesn’t hear but rather a call to those who do hear. We are the people God is talking to, we needn’t waste time figuring out who God isn’t talking to, but rather think about what it means that God is talking to us, God is calling us, God is promising us. What do we do with that. My mom never much cared what the other kids were doing, she cared about what I was doing. I think it is similar for the church.

I think a perfect place to start on this Mother’s day is to consider how we are mothered as children of God and how we mother a hurting world. As we are made to lay down to rest, how do we offer rest to a weary people? As we are made to eat, how do we offer food to the hungry? As we are given peace and comfort, how do we extend peace and comfort in moments of fear and sorrow?

For God is talking to us, it is us who are expected to do the work of God here and now, may we be so bold as to heed that call.

In thinking about my mom waiting up for me all those nights for all those years, I’m now touched by it. Let’s be clear, if I was visiting right now and she was waiting up for me to come home, I’d also be annoyed. But, in the big scheme of life, I’m grateful to have lived a life where there was always a light on for me. Sometimes, I look at our child and I feel such deep gratitude that he too will always have a light left on for him (in his case, it might be a metaphorical light because Chris and both like to sleep- but a light nonetheless).

Every Sunday we are all here and in that I believe that we are answering that call- we are coming home to a place where the light has been left on for us, but also in being here, week after week, year after year, we are leaving a light on for all the people ready to come home. As God keeps a light on for us, we respond by keeping a light on for a hurting and weary world. In that way we are mothered and mothering as the children of God. May it always be so. Amen.

The Gleaners' Union with Gordon Pullan

Sermon text Amos 8:1-12 and Leviticus 19:9-10

You just heard a couple of interesting scriptures. In Amos 8:1-12 God shows Amos a basket of summer fruit and asks him to tell him what it is. When Amos speaks the obvious—it’s a basket of summer fruit--God then rails against those who trample on the needy, and bring ruin to the poor of the land, The LORD has sworn surely, I will never forget any of their deeds.

In Leviticus 19:9-10 we’ve got that same God telling his people not to harvest all the way to the edge of their fields, but rather to leave those rows of produce for the poor and the foreigner, the stranger.

I don’t believe that you can understand the first scripture—the one where god is so angry, angry about abundance and inequity—written somewhere around 750 BC--without understanding the second. Primarily because the second one from Leviticus was written some years earlier, In the era sometime shortly after Moses—1400 BC or thereabouts.

By the way, there is also something you should know about the older of the books--Leviticus. It is more aptly described by its early rabbinic name, “the Priest’s manual” and like any good and well established Priest’s manual it has rules that just won’t stop—rules about what is clean and what is unclean, and rules about ritual purification that raises the common to the holy, but more importantly, rules of ethical behavior that inform those rituals and creates a cultural definition for moral behavior.

What I really find interesting about this charge from the Priest’s Manual is not just the fact that it instructs the children of Israel to build their personal boarders with edible plants, rather than brick walls, but that the command--to leave the harvest at the edges of the field and the fallen fruit on the ground—for the poor and the foreigner—is a refrain to the Holy word, not just a stanza. It is to be repeated, to be memorized, to be held up as a moral imperative to the entire nation. Hear the word of God;

Deuteronomy 24:19-21

"When you reap your harvest in your field and have forgotten a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be for the alien, for the orphan, and for the widow, in order that the LORD your God may bless you in all the work of your hands. "When you beat your olive tree, you shall not go over the boughs again; it shall be for the alien, for the orphan, and for the widow. "When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, you shall not go over it again; it shall be for the alien, for the orphan, and for the widow.

Leviticus 23:22

Verse Concepts

'When you reap the harvest of your land, moreover, you shall not reap to the very corners of your field nor gather the gleaning of your harvest; you are to leave them for the needy and the alien. I am the LORD your God.'"

In total there are at least 19 scriptural references to gleaning with the majority of those in the Hebrew bible, including the story of Ruth being sent out into the gleaning fields to find her second husband, Boaz.

The whole concept of gleaning is about abundance and sharing. There is enough for the foreigner and the poor and the widow and the orphan. We are blessed, our baskets overflow, and why would we not want to share this abundance? The laws of the universe, Karma, God, will all bless us.

Remember what I was saying, how these earlier scriptures inform how we read that passage from Amos. When God shows Amos—and by proxy shows us-- a basket of summer fruit that is ripe and overflowing and asks Amos/us what it is, God knows full-well that we know the shared moral obligation, the obligation that raises us from the unclean to the clean. He is pointing to the fact that what we have is not our own, but it is a gift from God.

Like the children of Israel in the year 750 BC, we too are brought to task simply by that vision of a basket full of summer fruit. In this valley we know what that basket of fruit means. So, if we trample on the needy, if we bring ruin to the poor—whether intentionally or unintentionally, whether directly or indirectly, then Karma is going to get us. Our summer baskets will be replaced by famine—spiritual or physical. We will have lost our moral authority. It happens. It is happening today.

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A few interesting facts:

American’s waste about 150,000 tons of food a day—nearly a pound per person—about 40% of the food that we produce is actually thrown away—grocery produce that isn’t perfect, leftovers and overstocks from your fridge, food from processing plants that get dumped in order to keep prices higher, food thrown out because of date labels that are unrelated to food safety.

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There is a film entitled, Just Eat it that I am planning to bring to the church this fall. It is a movie about a couple who decides that they will live and eat for six months strictly by gleaning—in modern culture, we can translate that as dumpster diving. Can you imagine. –checking out the Stop and Shop dumpster, after hours, lurking around “Real Pickles” in greenfield after a day of food packing. The movie chronicles the absolute abundance and wastefulness that is ours. But rather than making the abundance available to those in need, we simply throw it away—like someone given ten talents who throws away four of them.

One of the most prized finds for the couple over the course of their six months, was a dumpster—you know, the giant kind they use outside of construction sites—full of perfectly good humus, still sealed in their plastic tubs, nowhere near the stamped expiration date. They ate humus for weeks until they were sick of humus. When they dug deeper to find out why it had been thrown away, they discovered that it was discarded because of a glut in the market, it was more profitable for the company to throw this batch away in order to keep prices higher. We will make the ephah small and the shekel great.

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It makes you question, what happens to the food at the salad bar at the end of the day. What happens to week-old bread when they take it off the shelf, and apples that aren’t perfectly round. What happens to the pies at the local bakery that aren’t sold? What happens to the buffet at the local restaurant at the end of the day or the pizza slices at the pizza parlor, or the three heads of lettuce you bought on sale for buy one, get two free only to have two rot in your crisper? What happens to the 13 million kids in this country who are considered to live in food insecure homes? That is 18 percent of all children. What happens to our neighbors in poverty, in Guatemala, in El Salvador, in Honduras?

I don’t have all the answers to this conundrum of our abundance. I’m not standing up here saying you should give money to anything. My message is much simpler than that—cheaper-- involves less packaging, is amazingly old school Yankee at its core. The answer begins with creating a conscience around this so that it becomes a moral imperative, one that breaks down barriers and finds ways that all may share in the abundance, a union of Gleaners.

The answer comes in these simple words.

When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the foreigner. I am the Lord, your God.

Translate that into our language. Join the union of gleaners. Do the will of God.