Be(com)ing

Sermon for Lent 2A

2011-03-30T18:26:00.000-07:00

Sermon text as prepared for delivery at First Congregational UCC in Ithaca, NY on March 20, 2011

Introduction to Text
At many public events you’ll find someone holding a sign reading “John 3:16,” a Bible verse that has taken on a meaning of its own in our culture. It’s easy for us to think we know what a verse or passage means based on cultural wisdom. If we take this verse out of its context, we miss out on a very interesting story. One thing to note in this narrative is the translators’ choice of how to translate the Greek word Pneuma. This word can be translated spirit, breath, or wind. Because this word carries all three meanings, I will use the word Pneuma in this text, rather than the English translators’ choice. When you hear the word Pneuma, know that it means spirit, breath, and wind.

The text: John 3:1-17

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”

Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Pneuma. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Pneuma is Pneuma. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The Pneuma blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Pneuma.”

Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?

No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

Will you pray with me?
O God, fill us with your Pneuma. Help us to notice your spirit blowing throughout creation and in every breath we take. And may my words and the meditations of our hearts be pleasing to you, O God, our Rock, and our Redeemer. Amen.

We are only 3 chapters into the gospel of John - the first chapter sets up some important themes around belief in Jesus, who immediately gathers some disciples to follow him. In the second chapter, Jesus is portrayed as a miracle worker who can change water into wine (although he only seems to have done it because his mama insisted), and as a zealot seeking to cleanse the temple in Jerusalem. He is a complex figure, to say the least.

Then we come to Nicodemus, a spiritual leader in the Jewish community. Has he come to question Jesus in order to test or trap him, as the Pharisees seemed fond of doing? Or to mock him? Or perhaps to gently suggest to Jesus that he ought to calm down a bit and act a bit less sensational? Or is he a genuine seeker?

We will never really know, for as soon as Nick’s words of praise - whether sincere or not - come out of his mouth, Jesus takes the conversation in a completely different direction. “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

Wait. What? That’s not what I came here to talk to you about. But what do you even mean? “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Seriously, Jesus, you are making no sense here!

But Jesus goes on, determined to push Nicodemus to consider a more basic truth - the way to recognize the reign of God is to be born from above - and in order to better understand what is meant by birth and belief in the context of John’s gospel, we can look back at John chapter 1.

You may be familiar with the opening of the gospel - “In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. This one was with God in the beginning.” This Word, or Logos, of God, then becomes flesh and dwells among us. And all who receive the Logos - who believe in his name - are given power to become children of God, to be born of God.

And in today’s text, Jesus says that we must be born of both water - which my college Greek professor insisted was referring to baptism, but which I think refers to the waters of the womb - and of the Pneuma, the spirit which is our very breath. Born of water - born of the flesh and blood and fluid of a mother’s womb. And born of Pneuma - the Spirit of God, who blows like wind throughout creation, and whose breath gives life to our flesh in every moment. It is not that our flesh and spirit are two different natures, but that we carry within us that which the Word, or Logos, also carried within himself - both the water and the spirit.

The conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus continues and they begin talking about belief, and we might wonder what being born of the Pneuma, or spirit, has to do with belief. In the English language, we tend to think of belief as acceptance of something as true. When someone tells us a story that seems far-fetched, we might say, “I don’t believe it.” But we also use it, as the Greek language did, to mean placing our confidence in someone or something. We might tell a child, “I believe in you,” meaning, “I have confidence in you.” And the Greek word for belief, pisteuo, can also mean to commit to or to place trust in.

So, again, what does this have to do with being born from above? When I think of being born, I think of my niece Maaida, at whose birth I was present. When Maaida was placed in her mother’s arms and brought to nurse at her breast, she believed in her mother - she felt complete and utter trust that her mother would hold her and not let her go, and that she would be cared for.

One of the lectionary texts which we did not read today was from Genesis 4, about Abram and Sarai, or Abraham and Sarah. One of the names for God that Abraham fondly used was El Shaddhai - which some scholars translate “God of many breasts.” Like Maaida looking to her mother, Abraham looked to God as his birth mother and his nurturer.

In the world we live in today, it is easy to forget how to be born from above, how to have that childlike trust. We have only to turn on the television, open the paper, pull up the news online, or look at Facebook statuses and Twitter feeds to be reminded that our earth and many of the creatures on the face of the earth are suffering. The U.S. has launched military strikes in Libya, whose people are being abused at the hands of an unrepentant tyrant. Wars continue to rage in Afghanistan and Iraq. And Japan, where there are no words for the devastation brought about by earthquake and tsunami, races to contain the radiation at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant.

And in our own community, loved ones are ill and dying, there are people without enough food to eat, and young people are suffering from alcohol and drug abuse.
I don’t know about you, but all these things and more leave me with a heaviness in my heart and a sense of great sadness.

And I find it easy to be a person of flesh - to ache with sorrow for our hurting world - and to wonder how we can ever get ourselves out of this mess. But to put my trust in God - to be born of the spirit - is a harder thing to do. Nicodemus had a hard time grasping it, too.

A lot of contemporary theology is pretty horrible. Consider the governor of Tokyo, who said that the tsunami was divine punishment. Unfortunately, a theology of “you brought this on yourself” is all too common - when people think God is going around punishing every evil deed or thought with unspeakable destruction - is it any wonder that we have trouble being born of the spirit?

But every once in a while I come across some pretty good theology - this time in music. Natalie Grant, a Christian singer, has a song called “Held.” I’d like to share with you the lyrics of the chorus, which, I think, illustrate what it means to be born of the Pneuma -

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held

Even when it seems the world around us is falling apart and there really are no good answers, even when we’re not sure what we can believe in the sense of accepting as fact, we can have pisteuo - belief that is a deeper trust. The wonder of God’s promise is that we are loved, and that when we allow ourselves to be like children, born from above, resting on God’s bosom, we will truly be held. Amen.

Sermon for Epiphany 6A

2011-03-30T18:17:00.000-07:00

Sermon as prepared for delivery at First Congregational United Church of Christ in Ithaca, New York on March 20, 2011

Text: Matthew 6:24-34, Inclusive Bible

No one can serve two superiors. You will either hate one and love the other, or be attentive to one and despise the other. You cannot give yourself to God and Money. That’s why I tell you not to worry about your livelihood, what you are to eat or drink or use for clothing. Isn’t life more than just food? Isn’t the body more than just clothes?

Look at the birds in the sky. They don’t sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet our God in heaven feeds them. Aren’t you more important than they? Which of you by worrying can add a moment to your lifespan? And why be anxious about clothing? Learn a lesson from the way the wildflowers grow. They don’t work; they don’t spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in full splendor was arrayed like one of these. If God can clothe in such splendor the grasses of the field, which bloom today and are thrown on the fire tomorrow, won’t God do so much more for you—you who have so little faith?

Stop worrying, then, over questions such as, “What are we to eat,” or “what are we to drink,” or “what are we to wear?” Those without faith are always running after these things. God knows everything you need. Seek first God’s reign, and God’s justice, and all these things will be given to you besides. Enough of worrying about tomorrow! Let tomorrow take care of itself. Today has troubles enough of its own.

Sermon:

Will you join me in prayer? O God, we come to you as children, with quiet hearts, seeking comfort at your breast. Enfold us in your mothering arms and fill us with your peace. And may my words and our meditations bring you joy. Amen.

I first welcomed our dog, Sadie, into my life when she was about 10 weeks old. A friend of mine found her, sitting on the curb at a gas station, looking like she really wanted someone to take her home and take care of her. She was malnourished and flea-ridden but also cuddly and sweet, and when I saw her picture on Facebook, I couldn’t say no, and she quickly became one of the family. Many of you will meet Sadie, and when you do, you should know that she is very anxious around new people and situations. Whether it’s because she was abandoned or because of her genes or some combination of things, all I know is that she is inherently distrustful of people she doesn’t know, and you have to be patient with her in order to gain her trust and affection.

Now, I know people are not dogs and dogs are not children, but many of us know the kind of bond that can develop between human and dog. Because I have worked hard to establish a strong bond with her, Sadie looks to me when she is nervous or anxious. Like a little child going to hide between its mother’s skirts, Sadie sometimes tries to wedge herself between my legs, where she feels protected.

When Sadie is anxious like this, my heart goes out to her and I want to coddle her. When she was younger, it was difficult to take her to places like the pet store, because she would tuck her tail and cower and dart around at the smallest provocation, or she would stand in a corner and growl and bark at every person who passed by. Watching her, I thought, this is no way to live, running around afraid of everything! So I sought training so that I could be a better parent for her. I learned that giving her positive attention in her anxiety will only encourage her to remain in a fearful state. What she needs is not for me to fuss over her but rather to help her redirect her focus. The dog trainer had me take her to public places and to have her sit and make eye contact with me. Every time Sadie made eye contact, she got a treat, and she had to build up to holding eye contact with me for longer periods of time. Even though there were people walking by and all kinds of frightening things happening around us, when Sadie’s focus was on me, she could remain calm and at peace.

In this passage in Matthew, I imagine Jesus looking out at his disciples – we know he is addressing them and not necessarily the entire crowd, because he uses the phrase, “You of little faith.” I imagine him seeing them and feeling a father’s love and protective instincts, wanting, on the one hand, to gather them up and hold and comfort them, and knowing, on the other hand, that what they needed most was to redirect their focus.

And Jesus’ words really hit home for me. I want to react and say, what do you mean, stop worrying? Do you see what this world is like, and what’s going on all around me? There is a crazy and violent dictator killing people in Libya. There are homeless people walking around on Ithaca Commons. There are people without clean water. Our elected leaders at every level are making cuts to needed services in the interest of saving money. And Jesus responds with, don’t worry?

When I was in 5th grade, one of the top hits was, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin. You probably know it well: Here’s a little song I wrote… and then the part of the song that makes me a little mad…

Ain't got no place to lay your head
Somebody came and took your bed
Don't worry, be happy
The landlord say your rent is late
He may have to litigate
Don't worry, be happy

At first glance it feels like Jesus’ message is the same as McFerrin’s – hey, don’t worry, just be happy. When you worry, you frown, and that brings everybody down. So just be happy! But that seems rather shallow to me.

I did a little research on this song and found that it was inspired by words from Indian mystic and sage Meher Baba. The full quote reads, "Do your best. Then, don’t worry; be happy in My love. I will help you." So, rather than a flippant response to troubles that abdicates responsibility, Meher Baba offers a challenge to trust in God’s love.

When we read this passage, it’s tempting to see it as a release from responsibility for the challenges in our world. Mike Beard, a Republican state representative from Minnesota, recently argued that coal mining should resume in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, in part because he believes God has created an earth that will provide unlimited natural resources. "God is not capricious. He's given us a creation that is dynamically stable," Beard told the Minnesota Post. "We are not going to run out of anything." It may seem like Beard is taking Jesus’ message to not worry to heart, but he actually misses the whole point.

Jesus’ words in Matthew are not an easy or flippant “don’t worry, be happy,” but a challenge to radically reorient our lives. Seek first God’s reign, and God’s justice. The ultimate challenge here is not to brush off all responsibility and go about life in a carefree, who cares manner, but rather to seek God’s face and let our lives be guided by right relationship with God.

Like Sadie learning to look to me when she feels afraid and take her cues from me, we have to train ourselves to refocus on God. And in this passage, I think Jesus gives us some clues about how to do that. Jesus reminds the disciples to look around them…look up at the birds of the air, flying overhead. Look down at your feet, at the wildflowers. See how beautiful they are! Just look around you, at all the ways God provides.

Look at this community, at each other’s faces. Look at all the ways God caring for this church. Look at the youth, many of whom are getting ready to take to the skies to travel to Back Bay Mission to serve others. And our outreach and endowment committees, who work to support clean water projects. And our leadership event tomorrow night, where we will have the opportunity to take a look around us and see God’s continued care and focus on God’s vision for our community.

Reorienting our lives toward God’s purposes does not mean that we never think about money, or that we should become nudists or stop enjoying food – it means that we seek first to be in right relationship with God, through one another. It’s much easier said than done…but just as I have to continually remind Sadie to look to me for security and guidance, we can help each other. Let us move into 2011 with renewed trust and faith that God goes before us! Amen.

Sermon for Epiphany 3A

2011-01-23T16:05:00.000-08:00

Sermon as prepared for delivery at First Congregational United Church of Christ in Ithaca, New York on Jan 23, 2011

Text: Matthew 4:12-23 (Inclusive Bible)

When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he went back to Galilee. He left Nazareth and settled in Capernaum, a lakeside town near the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali. In this way the prophecy of Isaiah was fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, the way to the sea on the far side of the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles: the people who lived in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.”
From that time on, Jesus began proclaiming the message, “Change your hearts and minds, for the kindom of heaven is at hand!”
As Jesus was walking along the Sea of Galilee, he watched two brothers – Simon, who was called Peter, and Andrew – casting a net into the sea. They fished by trade. Jesus said to them, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of humankind.” They immediately abandoned their nets and began to follow Jesus.
Jesus walked further and caught sight of a second pair of brothers – James and John, ben-Zebedee. They too were in their boat, mending their nets with their father. Jesus called them, and immediately they abandoned both boat and father to follow him.
Jesus traveled throughout Galilee, teaching in the synagogues, proclaiming the Good News of the kindom of heaven and healing all kinds of diseases and sicknesses among the people.

Sermon

Will you join me in prayer? O God, you tell our hearts to seek your face, and it is your face we seek. Open the eyes of our hearts that we may see you. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you, our Rock, and our Shelter, Amen.

I was raised in an evangelical church in a denomination very prominent in the South, including Texas, where I grew up. When I was 14 years old, I went to a weeklong summer camp at Lubbock Christian University. While I have many memories that speak to my love, from a very young age, for God’s church, it was at this summer camp that I first experienced what I would describe as a “call” to ministry. There was no lakeshore, and I wasn’t fishing. Well, I wasn’t fishing for fish! Like many 14 year olds, I was fishing for boys, and there was one boy, named Tilden, on whom I had a HUGE crush.

One night after a worship service, a missionary from Africa said that he would be talking about his experience if anyone wanted to stay. Well, Tilden was staying to hear this missionary, so of course I had to stay too! I listened to this man talk about sharing the good news about the light Jesus brings into the world, and I was transfixed. I came away from that weeklong camp with a vision of myself traveling to Africa to save the lost. You see, in my childhood faith, only those who were Christian – and we had a very narrow definition of who was a Christian – could go to heaven. And I felt a deep yearning in my soul to share my faith so that no one would be excluded from heaven.

In our Gospel story today, five people experience what may have been their first sense of “call.” Now, I know you can all do the math, and that there are only 2 pairs of brothers, which adds up to 4 people. But Jesus is the first to begin to live into his own identity and calling. Before this scene in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has had a remarkable start in life. His birth was heralded by astrologers or magi from the East. Then his family fled to Egypt, and when they returned to Israel, they decided to make their home in Nazareth, on the Sea of Galilee. Jump ahead to when Jesus is a young adult, and his cousin John is making waves by baptizing and preaching repentance –calling people to redirect their lives in line with God’s purposes.

Jesus responds to John and is baptized by him. Matthew continues his theme of pointing to Jesus’ identity as God’s Anointed – the Messiah. Like the Magi, John recognizes who Jesus is. And then while Jesus is being baptized, the spirit of God descends like a dove, and a voice declares that Jesus is God’s beloved child. Jesus carries this knowledge with him into a time of testing in the desert.

And so we come to our story for today. The narrative begins in an interesting place – “when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee.” Then it goes on to say that Jesus moved from Nazareth, where he had grown up, to Capernaum. Matthew, who loves to quote prophecy, draws a parallel between this move and the prophet Isaiah, who said that the Gentiles in Galilee “had seen a great light – on those living in the shadow of death, a light has dawned.” I’ll return to that later. But for now, I want to point out this sentence that comes after Jesus’ temptation, after John’s arrest, and before Jesus calls the disciples: From that time on, Jesus began proclaiming the message, “Change your hearts and minds, for the kindom of heaven is at hand!”

This is where today’s story begins – Jesus recognizes his own identity and begins to live into his vocation. Vocation, from the Latin vocare or “to call” is described by Frederick Buechner as "the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet" (from Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC). Jesus had found that place, and his next task was to set out and find people who would join him.

I shared with you earlier about the first time I remember recognizing my vocation. Determined to live into that, I went to a Christian university and majored in Bible and Missions. In my childhood faith tradition, many women, myself included, who felt called to ministry, saw that as a call to missions, because the mission field is a place where gender boundaries in church leadership are not as strict.

When I was 19, I went with 5 other students to live with missionaries in Togo, West Africa. This summer internship was a bit unique, because rather than being expected to share the Gospel, as we understood it, with the local people, we instead spent most of our time learning from the Eve people of southern Togo – they taught us about their language and their culture and how God was moving in their lives.

One thing about Togo that I vividly remember is the beach – the water is a lovely sea green, and just out on the horizon, you could see where it drastically changes to a deep blue. This was where the continental shelf begins, so the water quickly becomes very deep. I learned that there is a rich supply of fish right along this line, and the Togolese people, like the fishers of Jesus’ day, use nets for their catch. Often when we hear Matthew’s story, we think of fly fishing or rod and reel – using bait to catch just the right fish, and cutting the line if it gets snagged or you don’t like what you’ve caught.

But this scene by the Sea of Galilee – which was really a large, freshwater lake, is not an idyllic scene like we might imagine right out of A River Runs through It. Like in Togo, fishing was tough work, and it involved large nets that could get snagged or torn and that didn’t allow for discrimination in choosing which fish to catch. In Togo, if the net gets caught on something, people risk their lives to swim down and free it. They could get caught in a current, or attacked by a shark that has come to feast on the trapped fish.

While Simon, Andrew, James, and John did not have to deal with sea sharks, their fishing trade had sharks of its own. New Testament scholar F. Scott Spencer describes life for Galilean fishers: “At every turn, family fishing businesses, like those of Jesus' disciples, were caught in (Herod) Antipas's conglomerate net, forcing them to procure fishing licenses and leases, to produce demanding quotas, and to pay taxes, tolls, and other fees to an extensive bureaucracy monitoring the whole fishing enterprise, from catching to processing to shipping” ("'Follow Me': The Imperious Call of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels," in Interpretation, April 2005).

And those of you who have been down to Back Bay Mission, or who know anything about fishing as a profession, know that it is dangerous, bloody, back-breaking work that can be profitable but can also be bankrupting or even deadly. Last summer Syed and I were in New Orleans not long after the beginning of the massive oil leak that devastated the Gulf Coast. Even then, restaurant owners spoke of their fear that they would not be able to sustain their business.

At the same time, there was a remarkable resilience that was born out of having taken risks and lived through challenges. There was a sense of, “We made it through Katrina and Rita, and we can get through this again together.”

Jesus knew that, like John the Baptist, these two pairs of brothers were no strangers to risk. They had faced the hardships of the fishing life, and they had found a way to survive and even thrive. Jesus chose these men to be his companions and disciples because he knew that they could weather the storms that were sure to come.

This congregation is no stranger to risk. You have lived through changes of pastors; you have started new ministries and developed a plan for growth and leadership development. You have declared yourselves to be open and affirming. And, you now stand in a place that holds some financial risk. Yet you also have incredible resilience and spirit – you know you’ve got the strength to get through these challenges together.

Here we stand on the threshold, the liminal place, beside the Sea of Galilee, near the Finger Lakes, with the opportunity to heed Christ’s call: “Follow me!” This liminal place can be filled with darkness – and this is where I get back to Isaiah’s prophecy about darkness and light – for “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”

This image had great power for the first readers of Matthew’s gospel. When I was in Togo, most people in the village of Tabligbo did not have electricity. If we needed to walk anywhere in the dark, we needed a flashlight or other light source to safely travel. Without light, we could have stepped on a green mamba snake, or fallen into a hole, or been attacked by a person or animal. Light was our security and our salvation.

Today’s Psalmist (Psalm 27) wrote, “God, you are my light, my salvation – my fortress and my hiding place.” Jesus calls us to take great risks, but he also promises to accompany us and light the way. We are called to cast our nets wide, to make room for all God’s beloved, to find where the world’s deep hunger and our deep gladness meet. We are called to join in Jesus’ ministry of healing and caring; and sharing the Good News that the kindom of heaven is not something that we have to strive to “get into,” for it is already here, among us.

We are in a place where the path forward may seem dark and unknown. A wise friend once told me that sometimes God gives us just enough light to take the next step. And then the next, and then the next. May we seek together to discern that next step, knowing that the light of Christ will continue to show us the way. Amen.

The Joy of God-Bearing

2011-01-10T19:26:00.000-08:00

Sermon as prepared for delivery at Newark Valley UCC in Newark Valley, NY on 12/12/10
Gospel text: Luke 1:39-55
Advent 3A

Here we are on the third Sunday of Advent, in the midst of a season of waiting, introspection, anticipation and longing. It is the pregnant pause, where we expectantly wait for God to break through with something new. It seems we do this every year… we come hoping that this will be the year when transformation will really happen in our lives - in our church – in our world. We tell the story every year as if we don’t know the ending, because we’re hoping that this will be the year.

The people of Israel did the same thing, year after year, hoping for a new ending. They had a story to tell, of God’s faithfulness and deliverance throughout their history, and every year they told this story in hopes that this year would bring a bigger and greater transformation than they had ever imagined.

And so a young woman – a teenager, really, finds her place in the story of God’s people. As you know, the angel Gabriel had revealed to a young woman named Mary that she would give birth to a holy child, the Son of God. Listen to the story of Mary’s visit with Elizabeth, from the gospel of Luke:

“Within a few days Mary set out and hurried to the hill country to a town of Judah, where she entered Zechariah’s house and greeted Elizabeth. As soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. In a loud voice she exclaimed, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! But why am I so favored that the mother of my Lord should come to me? The moment your greeting reached my ears, the child in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who believed that what our God said to her would be accomplished!”

And Mary sang:

“My soul proclaims your greatness, O God,

and my spirit rejoices in you, my Savior.

For you have looked with favor

upon your lowly servant,

and from this day forward

all generations will call me blessed.

For you, the Almighty, have done great things for me,

and holy is your Name.

Your mercy reaches from age to age

for those who fear you.

You have shown strength with your arm;

you have scattered the proud in their conceit;

you have deposed the mighty from their thrones

and raised the lowly to high places.

You have filled the hungry with good things,

while you have sent the rich away empty.

You have come to the aid of Israel your servant,

mindful of your mercy –

the promise you made to our ancestors –

to Sarah and Abraham

and their descendants forever.”

This is the week in Advent when we join in singing with Mary, letting our inner joy bubble up and spill over. But let’s take a step back for a moment and look at this text in its context. The gospel of Luke is only half of a 2-part work: Luke, which tells the story of Jesus Christ, and Acts, which tells the story of the beginnings of the Body of Christ, the church.

Mary’s Magnificat, or song of praise, holds up several themes that are important throughout Luke and Acts: the presence of God’s Spirit, the abundance of food and resources for all, and God’s cosmic table-turning, making the last first and the first, last. But these themes are not unique to Luke-Acts. They are persistent themes throughout Hebrew scripture, and Mary’s song comes out of this deep soul knowledge, bred in her through her religious and cultural upbringing. Mary is able to sing about what God will do because of what God has already done. Looking back over her own history and the history of her people gives her hope that God’s promised renewal will come.

Now, things were not easy for Mary. She was unmarried, probably a teenager, in a small town, where everyone knew everyone else’s scandals, and gossip could take on a life of its own. Who knows what kind of stories people told about her?

When I was in high school, a teenage girl in my church became pregnant. When people talked about her, they would get that sort of whisper people do when they’re saying something scandalous. (whispering) “Did you hear that she is pregnant?” “That would never happen in my family.” Can you imagine Mary hearing the whispers on the street? “I heard that’s not Joseph’s baby. Do the math.” “She’s got such good parents. I would have expected more from her.”

And Mary is not just any teenage mother. She is the one chosen to give birth to the Messiah, the anointed one. Mary knew that if she and her child survived childbirth – a dangerous process in those days – there would be more pain ahead. She knew her Bible well – her scriptures didn’t say that the Messiah’s parents would be loved by all. They didn’t say that the Anointed One would be heralded and lifted up – at least not in any way that a mother would hope for her child to be lifted up. No, Mary’s Bible told her that God would turn things upside down – and that the Christ would pay the price for the renewal of the world.

Knowing what the Bible had to say about the kind of life the Anointed One would have – what mother would want that for her child? What mother to be would be able to sing with such overflowing joy?

To begin to understand Mary’s situation, it’s also important to know that the Israelites were an occupied people. Most, if not all of us, don’t know what that looks and feels like, but Mary knew it deep in her bones. Her quality of life was dependent on the whims of the Roman Empire. She knew that a Messiah would make a claim about God’s reign in the world – thereby making a claim that the Roman empire – or any other empire – didn’t really have any power at all.

From her lived experience, Mary knew that Rome did not look kindly on that kind of message. She had seen people crucified and lifted up on crosses, displayed for all to see the power of Rome.

Knowing all of this – what sane person would want to give birth to and raise God’s Anointed – God’s Christ? And yet, there is something about God-bearing – about carrying within oneself the hopes of God for the rebirth of the world – that fizzes up inside and makes us want to sing, as Mary did, about the God who takes the scandals of our lives and turns them into an opportunity for profound transformation.

Allow me to shift into our present world, one in which it can often be hard to move past the pain and heartache and judgment of this world and find a way to join in Mary’s joy. Most of you are familiar with the “It Gets Better” project, and I saw the heartfelt video you created following J.K.’s installation as your pastor. The It Gets Better project is a response to the epidemic of suicides committed by young people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning.

I spent the past 4 years living in Fort Worth, Texas, where I went to seminary. If I asked you to make me a list of the most gay-friendly places in the United States, I’m not sure Fort Worth would be anywhere near the top of the list. But recent events have raised the visibility of the LGBT community in Fort Worth, and the city has been working hard to rectify some of the injustices that have occurred. Recently we gained even more visibility, when a brave city council representative decided to share his story.

Joel Burns, a young man with a thick Texas accent, tearfully shared his experience of attempting suicide after being bullied and told he was going to burn in hell because he is gay. Joel spoke directly to youth to tell them that “It gets better.” In his moving speech, he says, “Yes, high school was difficult. Coming out was painful. But life got so much better for me….give yourself a chance to see just how much better life will get. And it will get better….You will find and you will make new friends who will understand you…Things will get easier. Please stick around to make those happy memories for yourself.”

And my friend and seminary colleague Sam Castleberry, a young man from Conway, Arkansas, says, “When I look back over my first 23 years, they weren’t easy…the thought of having to wake up every morning and go through the day was an almost unbearable thought. But as for my life now, my life is better than anything I could have ever imagined. I am happy, I am joyous, and I am free!”

Both of these men have taken their place in God’s story and shared their Magnificat – their song of praise – in the hopes that others will be able to find that place as well. We have all seen our share of hard times – individually and communally. And, like Mary, we know that allowing God to bring something new to birth in us might bring with it even more risk and pain.

But, like Mary, and Joel, and Sam, we can look back at our history to see where God has been. What is your Magnificat? What has God already done – in your life and in your church – that gives you hope for what God will do?

In finding her place in God’s story, Mary discovered that she was not alone. Joseph could have abandoned her, or worse, had her killed. Zechariah, a priest, could have refused to welcome her into his home. But she discovered that there was a community of people who loved her and would support her as God came to life in her. In the church, the Body of Christ, we provide that support for one another.

We, too, are Godbearers. Our womb is heavy with creative possibilities – we don’t know exactly what it will look like. In fact, we never know exactly what it will look like when the divine and the human join – but when the new thing God is doing emerges from the womb, we will all cry out with joy at its beauty.

Catholic Christians around the world join with Elizabeth every day to say, “Hail, Mary, full of grace, blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Church, let’s join in Mary’s song, knowing that someday, people will say, “blessed is the fruit of your womb, and blessed is the God who brought it to birth in you!” Let this be the year when transformation happens in our hearts, our homes, our church, and our world. Blessed are you who believe that God will do it! Amen.

A Whole Lotta Delta

2010-06-21T12:23:00.000-07:00

The other day my partner said, "there is a lot of delta in our lives right now." Yes, indeed, there is, and it seems appropriate for reflection on this the longest day of the year, the summer solstice.

I often say that the one constant in my life has been change (delta). Sometimes I wish I could either step back a bit for some gamma, or move on to epsilon (a little shout out to other Greek nerds out there!). But today is a day that reminds us that everything changes, and so I am trying to settle into this current life season of change.

Here are some of the waves in the sea of delta I'm currently floating in...
- I recently completed my Master of Divinity. Last week my diploma finally arrived in the mail, and the reality of it still hasn't quite settled in. Now I don't have to register for classes or figure out whether my scholarships and student loans will cover my expenses. I don't have to go out and buy or borrow books and shape my calendar around major papers and projects. It's a little disorienting, since the last 4 years of my life were organized by semesters.

- I have been packing up my old house in Fort Worth and moving things to Dallas, where I share a home with my partner. This is a wonderful change for the most part, and I'm thankful to have the constant love and support of an amazing and life-giving partner. It keeps me afloat. At the same time, every few days I sink into momentary breakdowns over not being able to find the right kind of pan to make enchiladas, or not having a good work space...all the little things that come along with living out of boxes and trying to combine households. Thanks to my friend and partner, I'm always able to come back up to the surface and ride the waves without too much sputtering.

- My 3 years as youth director for a wonderful church in Fort Worth came to an end last month. I'm still doing some little things, trying to tie up loose ends and keep in touch with the youth as best I can, especially until they find a new youth director. I'm taking stock of all the blessings that this church has so generously bestowed upon me. I'm proud to continue to call them my church home, and I hope that as I move into the next phase of my life, I will be able to keep some degree of contact with them. I cannot say enough good things about this church - the children & youth & adults who show up week after week ready to share a welcoming smile and a story about where they have seen God in their lives; the leadership teams who struggle to make decisions that will empower the members of the church to embody God in their local communities and around the world; and the pastors who share their lives with all of us, inspiring us to think more critically and reflect more lovingly and spiritually in our everyday journey of faith.

- In April, I was approved for ordination in the UCC, pending a call to a church. So I am entering the search and call process, apprehensive about the time involved and the new (to me) chains of communication and networking; wondering whether I am really cut out to be a pastor; excited about the prospect of doing what I have always felt called to do. Sometimes the thought that I am living into this lifelong dream fills me with so much hope and fear, all wrapped up together, making it hard to breathe and at the same time making me want to jump for joy.

-And still I need to find some gainful employment where I am now, something to pay the bills and start to pay back all those student loans (ugh!). So I am submitting resumes, and interviewing, and waiting...

In the meantime, I am living into the delta time, grasping for some constants by doing the things that give me life - living in the present with my beloved, arranging my space, cooking, reading, cuddling with my animal companions, coloring mandalas, listening to music, writing, etc.

I know delta well. We are good friends, and every time we have to dwell together, I emerge richer and wiser. The delta time makes me all the more ready to embrace the blessings of epsilon, the letter in the Greek alphabet that begins so many beautiful words: Euaggelion (Gospel or Good News), Eucharist (which is from the root for giving thanks), Eirene (Peace).

Doubt, Faith, and Friends - A Confirmation Sermon

2010-04-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

Sermon as prepared for delivery (edited to preserve confidentiality) at First Congregational United Church of Christ, Fort Worth, TX, April 11, 2010. For the confirmation service of 7 youth.
Text: John 20:19-31

As I prepared for this morning, I reflected on my own baptism, 20 years ago. On May 20, 1990, 5 days after my 13th birthday, I was baptized by my youth minister at First Colony Church of Christ in Sugar Land, Texas. Every year for about 15 years after that, my mom would give me a card for my “re-birthday.” It was the day I decided to make my faith public. In that church, we were not baptized as babies or as children. We waited until it was a decision we could make on our own.

Behind the communion table in the front of the sanctuary, there was a baptistery that was hidden by panels, only opened when someone was going to be baptized. It was a small tub, about 3 feet deep. On either side, there were changing rooms – one side for the minister, who would put on waders so his pants would stay dry. In my changing room I put on a special garment, like a plastic jumper. I waded out to meet my youth minister, who asked me if I believed in Jesus and if I wanted to live my life for God. Yes, I answered, and I was dunked in the lukewarm water.

I still remember the clothes I wore that day – I had on a black shirt, a white skirt, black socks, and white Keds. And a black and white bow in my hair. It was during my black and white phase. After church, my family went out to eat at Ninfa’s, my favorite Mexican restaurant.

As you can tell, I still remember that day pretty clearly. It was an important day in my life, a turning point in my journey of faith. The seven of you being confirmed today, I hope that this day is the same for you – that 20 years from now you will look back at today and remember it as a turning point, when you shared your beliefs with your church.

I can’t say that the 20 years since my baptism have been free of doubts, questions, or fears. And I’m guessing I’m not alone. I wonder if anyone else here knows what I’m talking about… if there are any adults here who never have any questions, anyone who has it all figured out, please stand up…
That’s what I thought!

Our gospel story today has plenty of people who are scared and unsure. We often focus on Thomas – because he was brave enough to express his doubts. Thomas sometimes is the only one who gets credit for being a “doubter” – but if we read the story carefully, it’s clear that he wasn’t the only one who had questions.

Mary Magdalene had already told the disciples that she had seen Jesus. She is the first witness, the one sent to tell the men. But there is no indication that they believed her. In fact, in Luke’s version of the story, the men think the women are just making it up. So why should we be surprised, then, that Thomas wouldn’t believe it either? If you had watched someone close to you die – even if they told you they would be back – would you believe they were alive again if your friends told you they were, if you hadn’t seen them yourself?

At this point, it seems that everyone has seen Jesus and believes he is alive again – except Thomas. But somehow, Thomas still feels safe enough to tell his friends that he is not so sure. And no one judges him for it. He had to go a whole week before he got to see Jesus. They must have had a lot of conversations, and I’m guessing that, over that week, even those disciples who had seen Jesus started questioning whether that had been real or not.

Can you imagine them sitting around together, doing a candle lighting ritual like we do in youth group? For those of you who don’t know, we often being our youth group time by lighting a candle and sharing our answers to the question: “How is your heart this week?”

As they each lit a candle, how do you think this group of friends would answer that question – how is your heart this week?

Peter might say - “Last Sunday, my heart was great – relieved and overjoyed to see Jesus. But since then, I’ve been feeling confused, wondering whether it really happened.”

And Joanna – “My heart is tired and afraid. I’m scared the same things will happen to us that happened to Jesus.”

And Thomas – “My heart is about the same today as last week. If Jesus is really alive, how can I know it’s true?”

A lot of times when we do our candle lighting, and throughout our conversations with each other, the youth share their questions – was Jesus really God? Did Jesus really, physically, come back from the dead? Did he really do everything the Bible says he did? And how was it that Jesus could appear in a room when all the doors were locked?

Notice that Jesus didn't come to Thomas in private - it was with his friends. Thomas and the other disciples got to have a special experience that was a turning point in their faith journeys. They saw and touched the risen Jesus, and he told them to share their faith. Over the years they would tell their story to others, and sometimes, when they got together for those candle lightings, maybe they helped each other remember what that night was like, when they saw Christ among them.

The other night I was downtown at the Main Street Arts Festival, and a little child – maybe 5 years old – handed me a tract. You know the kind I’m talking about – these little brochures that attempt to tell you – in 2 pages or less – what you need to do to be saved, which means to avoid going to hell when we die.

The front of this one said “God’s last name is not DAMN.” If that doesn’t catch your eye and make you think, what would? Then, if you take the time, you can read through the text and discover that all humans are sinful, and that in order to be saved, we can pray a special prayer, admitting that we need God and claiming belief in Jesus.

And that’s kind of like what you seven have done this morning – you made a statement of faith, admitting that you need God and that you want to follow the way of Jesus. But why do we have you do it in front of everyone? Why, when anyone wants to join the church, do they come to the front and publicly acknowledge their faith? Wouldn’t it be good enough to just send your statement of faith to our church secretary, where she could file it away, send you a certificate of membership, and send off a note telling God to add your name to the list of people who are saved?

There’s a reason we have this thing called church, a reason we join together every week, sometimes more. We need each other – we need a community of friends we can share our doubts with, and people who can tell us their own stories about times they have seen Christ. Just as Thomas’s friends told him they had seen Jesus, we can tell one another of the times we have experienced Christ in our lives. And like Thomas, we can share our questions with people who won’t judge us, but will only love us and patiently wait with us until we have our own encounter with Christ.

This is the gift of God this second Sunday in Easter, a community of friends who have some doubts, some faith, and a lot of love. We welcome 7 youth to be full participants in the life of this church, and at the same time, we remember that each and every one of us is welcome here. Jesus said, “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Even though we have not seen Jesus in the flesh, we look around and see the spirit of Christ on one another’s faces and in each other’s hearts.

Church, let this day be a turning point in your journey of faith. If you have doubts, know that you are not alone. If you have faith, share it. Most importantly, be here, fully present and open, with your friends, and let us support one another as we grow in faith and celebrate the new life we have found in Christ. Thanks be to God!

A mother's breast

2010-02-28T16:57:00.000-08:00

I still find comfort when I lay my head on my mother's breast, and I know this is not true for everyone. Abraham calls God "El Shaddai," which may be translated "Breasted One." There is a place for all to suckle at God's breasts.

The lectionary Psalm for the past few days has been Psalm 27, and I was struck by this line (as rendered in The Inclusive Bible):
Even if my own parents reject me, you, YHWH, will accept me (Psalm 27:10).

And in the Luke text, Jesus laments,
"O Jerusalem...how often have I wanted to gather your children together as a mother bird collects her babies under her wings." (Luke 13:34)

As I write this, I am listening to worship music by Steve Iverson and Michael McCarty:
"In the heart of God, calm and quiet is my soul, as a little child, resting in its mother's arms."

May all who feel rejected - my LGBT friends, youth struggling with depression, people suffering in Haiti and Chile and around the world - be gathered beneath God's wings, be comforted at her breast, where there is more than enough room and more than enough food and more than enough acceptance for each and every one of us. Amen.

Lenten intentions

2010-02-22T09:09:00.000-08:00

I entered into Lent this year in a sick body, stressed mind, and overwhelmed schedule. I thought that perhaps trying to add one more obligation, that is, a Lenten discipline, would not be spiritually edifying but rather would just add more stress to my life. This morning, with my health returning, I am reconsidering that idea.

In my early 20s I began attending a church that followed the liturgical calendar and the lectionary. It was like a whole new world opened to me. There is something deep and rich and moving about taking part in the rhythm of the church year, participating in practices that have sustained the body of Christ for generations upon generations. I LOVE the seasons of the church year. And perhaps it isn't entirely coincidental that I discovered all this in New England, where the seasons of spring, fall, winter, and summer are distinct as well. I know that the liturgical calendar wasn't invented in New England, but it could have been. Advent, the season of darkness, seemed especially poignant when the sun set at 4pm. Lent lasted through the toughest part of winter, when the cold and wet appeared endless. Easter was a reminder that spring was indeed coming, if it hadn't already. The green of ordinary time could be seen all around in the glory of summer. While these seasonal changes can be harder to notice in Texas, I have now accustomed myself to the rhythm of the seasons, and I look forward to the revelations each year brings.

In my childhood church, anything that appeared remotely Catholic was discouraged, so all I knew about Lent was that it was something my Catholic friends did, and I judged them as hypocrites for having visible ashes on their foreheads and being open about their Lenten disciplines. After all, Jesus said to do our good deeds in private, right? My grandmother liked to refer to that idea while telling us, her family, about the good deeds she had secretly done. I never brought up that it was no longer a secret once she told us!I think there is something to sharing our intentions for spiritual growth. The electronic age sometimes makes it seem impersonal, but there is community here, both with people I know and, perhaps, some I do not.

So, this Lent, I am naming my 2 intentions:
1) Read the daily lectionary passages using this schedule, based on the Revised Common Lectionary.
2) Write a blog reflection twice a week. (I did not fulfill this intention, but I did take time to write and reflect every week)

My hope is that these practices will be life-giving and centering, and that they will help bring some focus and integration to my rather scattered life. May it be so.

If you are a Christian, what are your Lenten intentions this year? Blessings be upon you, dear friends, in whatever spiritual and physical season you find yourself.

A season of divorce, a life of salvation

2010-01-05T13:04:00.000-08:00

Seven years ago, I went through two divorces. The first, from the brand of Christianity of my childhood. The second, from a man. The seven years since then have been a journey into wholeness, into salvation.

This Friday would have been my 10th wedding anniversary. I got married at 22, right out of college, believing that love and faith would overcome all challenges. I joined my husband in Boston, where he was in seminary. Our marriage had many ups, more downs, and less than 3 years in, it ended in a lot of hurt and isolation and confusion. I will probably never fully have "closure," because there is likely to be no reconciliation between the two of us.

I was raised believing that divorce is a sin - that nothing short of extramarital affairs justifies divorce in God's eyes - isn't that what Jesus said? I thought it would never happen to me. My parents separated when I was young, but they got back together within a year. I knew others whose parents were divorced, as were some of my extended family, but mostly, in my world, a woman and a man got married and they never split up, unless one person cheated, and even then sometimes there was forgiveness and they stayed together. Divorce was not in my vocabulary.

Shortly before my marriage ended, I went through a different kind of divorce - I left the denomination of my childhood (it was actually a joint decision for both my husband and me). Like my marriage, my relationship with my childhood faith tradition left me with both gifts and scars. Ultimately, it was not a place where I could live into what I knew to be a call to ordained ministry.

Just as marriage is a covenant relationship, so is our covenant with a faith community. Two divorces at once was a lot to handle. I hadn't yet processed the first divorce before hurtling into the second one. I don't know if one was harder than the other. And again, just as I had always known that ending a legal marriage was a sin, so was leaving the church that claimed to have a monopoly on salvation.

When my marriage ended, a friend told me, "this is where every conservative and fundamentalist bone in your body is going to cry out." He was right. Not divorce! Not me! It is a sin, a grave sin! But looking back now, 7 years later, I think that both of those divorces helped make possible my salvation.

Growing up, salvation had primarily to do with what happens to us after we die. As in, if you are driving home tonight and you die in a car accident, do you know, with certainty, whether you will go to heaven or hell? Don't you want to have assurance of salvation? And then the even more troubling question - what if you look at someone with lust, or think a hateful thought, or some other heinous "sin" right before you die? If you don't have a chance to repent, then will God forgive you, or are you doomed to hell? So of course I wanted to be sure, and was baptized, although unlike many of my peers, I didn't feel the need to repeat that baptism, just to make sure I was truly saved.

Seven years later, I don't see salvation that way. My season of divorce, along with other life experiences and relationships, took every bone in my fundamentalist body, made them rise up and cry out and seek a healing balm, a balm that would make me whole. And that is where I found salvation - wholeness. Suddenly sin takes on an entirely different meaning, too. Divorce, isolation, family tensions, hurt friendships, hunger, fear, poverty, pollution, all are symptoms of our brokenness, our need for a healing balm, for salvation.

It's another of those great paradoxes that point to the mystery of grace and truth and love - that our symptoms of sin, of brokenness, are often the very things that can lead us to salvation. I can say with certainty that divorce - times two - opened a new world to me, in which I seek to live into heaven - a place of peace, and love, and hope, and understanding, and joy, and justice, and wholeness - right here and now.

This has been and continues to be my salvation.

The Waiting Time

2009-11-30T09:57:00.000-08:00

Advent is the waiting time, the pregnant pause, full of anticipation and expectant longing. It is so easy to get caught up in the frenzy around us, the endless pressure to buy, buy, buy, get those Christmas cards out, make plans. I am trying to live into the gift of the waiting time, to notice the building anticipation and hope, to notice the ways that the Spirit has been and is preparing our world for an outbreak of love and peace and joy.

Here is a favorite poem of mine:

"The Wait"
It is life in slow motion,
it's the heart in reverse,
it's hope-and-a-half:
too much and too little at once.

It's a train that suddenly
stops with no station around,
and we can hear the cricket,
and, leaning out the carriage

door, we vainly contemplate
a wind we feel that stirs
the blooming meadows, the meadows
made imaginary by this stop.
- Rainer Maria Rilke

There is a single rose blooming in the backyard...Lo, how a rose e'er blooming, from tender stem hath sprung!

Hope (Advent 1C)

2009-11-28T10:35:00.000-08:00

I woke up one morning
and Despair was creeping under my door.
Days growing shorter,
wars growing longer,
debts piling higher.
I pulled up the covers
and went back to sleep.

I woke up one morning
and Anxiety was sitting on my chest.
Bills to be paid,
emails to be read,
pets to be fed.
I turned on the TV
instead.

I woke up one morning
and Fear was peering in my window.
Sunken eyes, gnarled hands -
the hungry, the destitute,
the rapists, the terrorists.
I closed all the blinds
and stayed in my room.

I woke up one morning
and Hope was beckoning me.
A fresh pot of tea,
a wagging tail,
a warm ray of sunshine.
I breathed her in,
and followed her.

Do not worry

2009-11-26T22:51:00.000-08:00

"Do not worry," he said,
as they labored over hot stoves,
chopping vegetables, baking pies,
roasting birds, pouring wine.
Will there be enough?
Will there be something for me,
vegetarian, without nuts, gluten free?
"Do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?'
or 'What shall we drink?'"

"Do not worry," he said,
as they arose before the sun,
filled their thermos with hot coffee,
bundled up, wallets ready,
off to the 4 am sales.
"Do not worry, saying, 'What shall we wear?'

"Do not worry," he said,
and all she knew was worry.
Her child was gay, Black, female,
Hispanic, poor, Muslim, hungry.
Face pressed against the glass,
watching them fill up with food and family.
"Do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?'
or 'What shall we drink?'"

"Do not worry," he said,
as he folded up his mat,
piled all his belongings into a single cart,
began the long walk to his corner,
set up his cardboard sign,
tugging at the holes in his mittens.
"Do not worry, saying, 'What shall we wear?'"

"Do not worry," he said,
as they stood in the hangar,
awaiting the body of their only child,
too young to have seen the horrors of war,
the breath of life gone too soon from her lungs.
"Can any of you by worrying
add a single hour to your span of life?"

"Do not worry," he said.
Words that seem so empty,
so removed from all the fear,
the hunger, the heartache,
the hate, the death.
"Do not worry, for tomorrow will bring its own worries.
Today's trouble is enough for today."

Give us today our daily bread...
Forgive us our debts, our many, many debts.
Today, today is enough trouble.
Tomorrow is another day.
And then tomorrow's tomorrow,
an unknown number of tomorrows.
"Can any of you by worrying
add a single hour to your span of life?"

"Do not worry," he said.
Let today be today, a day for giving thanks,
and for sharing all that we have. Today.
"Do not worry," he said.
Tomorrow will take care of tomorrow.

Evening Prayer, by Thomas Merton

2009-11-11T09:11:00.000-08:00

Today is Veteran's Day, and I give thanks for my grandfather, a WWII vet, who is in the evening of his life. He has advanced Alzheimer's disease, and I pray that the night may come in peace. And for all who serve in our military, I pray for safety and wisdom. May all wars cease, may peace reign throughout the earth.

I'm taking a class in Thomas Merton and the Psalms. Today I have been reflecting on some of Merton's poetry in The Collected Poems of Thomas Merton. Here is a lovely prayer that seems especially poignant this Veteran's Day:

EVENING PRAYER (Psalm 140, 141)

Lord, receive my prayer
Sweet as incense smoke
Rising from my heart
Full of care
I lift up my hands
In evening sacrifice
Lord, receive my prayer.

When I meet the man
On my way
When he starts to curse
And threatens me,
Lord, guard my lips
I will not reply
Guide my steps in the night
As I go my way.

Maybe he belongs
To some other Lord
Who is not so wise and good
Maybe that is why those bones
Lie scattered on his road.

When I look to the right and left
No one cares to know
Who I am, where I go.

Hear my prayer
I will trust in you
If they set their traps
On my way
If they aim their guns at me
You will guide my steps
I will pass them by
In the dark
They will never see.

Lord, to you I raise
Wide and bright
Faith-filled eyes
In the night
You are my protection
Bring me home.

And receive my prayer
Sweet as incense smoke
Rising from my heart
Free of care.

New Beginnings

2009-11-10T20:43:00.000-08:00

I give thanks for the joy and possibilities of beginnings. On Saturday, some dear friends celebrated their love by entering into marriage. Today, some other friends, on their anniversary, celebrated the birth of their new daughter. A great day for a birth, as it was for my father 62 years ago today. Over the weekend, the House of Representatives passed a landmark healthcare reform bill - a strong and important beginning. And 20 years ago yesterday, Germany experienced a new beginning as the wall was torn down and families and friends were reunited.

Today I celebrate and give thanks that each day offers new possibilities, new directions, new connections, new life, new beginnings.

Gratitude times 3

2009-11-06T10:14:00.000-08:00

There is a lot of pain here in Texas today, a lot of unanswered questions, grieving, and confusion over yesterday's shooting at Fort Hood . And now today I hear of more violence, this time in Orlando. I think that we as a people need to engage in reflection about how it is that our cultures continue to perpetuate violence. I am not saying to blame the system, but at some level we all bear some responsibility for being complicit in a culture that holds up violence as a solution to conflict.

Yesterday I had an interesting experience at the ophthalmologist's office. After a rather long wait, the doctor finally came into the exam room and started lecturing me about not following up, wondering whether I had gone to a different doctor or whether I had just stopped taking the pills she had given me. Well, she never gave me any pills, and I'd only seen her twice before, so needless to say I was very confused! I looked over at the chart and saw that the name was 1 letter different from mine!...anyway, once that was all figured out, we proceeded with the exam and I got the eyedrops I needed. And, the doctor realized that she needed to follow up with this other woman, as she had more serious medical issues, so they wanted to make sure she was okay. God can use our little mistakes to bring about good.

I am waiting for a friend/colleague to pick me up for lunch. I'm thankful for the chance to visit with her. And I'm thankful for relatively good typing skills, so that I can type with my eyes closed, as I have inflammation that makes it difficult to look at the screen for very long. I give thanks for continued nice weather (which means that we can keep our electric bills very low, in addition to just being lovely weather!). For sustaining breath and cuddly animals and loving family and friends.

I also want to give thanks for the life of Brother Blue, someone I didn't know but had the good fortune to hear tell stories once or twice. He was a gifted storyteller in Cambridge and Boston, Massachusetts, and he passed away yesterday. I know his stories and his presence will live on, as he joins the great story of history. Read a story about his life on Boston.com.

It is a day of pain, a day of worry, a day of struggle. It is also a day to give thanks, because it is out of the chaos that God speaks.

Gratitude Journal 2

2009-11-05T09:02:00.000-08:00

Before turning my attention to gratitude, I find I have to first acknowledge what's on my mind. I am feeling rather overwhelmed today, as I have much to do, and I've taken on a project which is turning out to be more challenging than I'd imagined. And my eyes are bothering me today, which puts me further behind. How fitting, as I have been working on a project about embodied spirituality and chronic illness. My body is so unpredictable.

This morning I am very thankful for dogs who were relatively quiet so that I wasn't awoken prematurely. For my cat Silly, sitting next to me now, who has been my faithful companion through divorce, illness, many moves; who makes friends easily, even with dogs. For beautiful, sunny, fall weather. For friends and colleagues who listen to me and help me clarify my thoughts and purposes.

This weekend I am going to a dear friend's wedding. I am offering thanks ahead of time for the opportunity to spend time with good friends and to celebrate the commitment and love of two wonderful people.

I close with a modified prayer by John Wesley: Bless, O God, my parents, my sister and brother, my friends and relations, my faith communities, and all that belong to this family; all that have been instrumental to my good, by their assistance, advice, example, or writing; and all that do not pray for themselves. Amen.

Gratitude Journal

2009-11-04T08:19:00.001-08:00

I have never kept a "Gratitude Journal," but it seems that as this is the season of Thanksgiving, it is time to start.

I have to begin by acknowledging that my heart is very heavy today. Once again, a "popular" vote has overturned the rights of human beings to have legitimacy and benefits for their committed, loving relationships. It is a failure of our system. My prayers and thoughts and hopes go out to all who have seen their rights so painfully stolen from them.

My heart is also thankful today: For the Breath of life that awoke me from a night of restful sleep. For friends who give me pastoral advice in making difficult decisions. For a warm bowl of oatmeal and a hot cup of tea. For the opportunity to engage my coursework in integrative and stimulating ways. For each and every person I will come in contact with today.

And I am thankful for victories - the passage of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act. The expansion of anti-discrimination laws to include LGBT persons in Kalamazoo, MI. The election of the first African American mayor in Newton, MA, where I once lived. And I'm thankful I belong to a denomination that does not take gender or race or sexuality into account in discerning who is called to ministry.

For these things and many more, today I give thanks to the One who is giving life and is even now transforming the world.

30 somethings on roller skates

2009-09-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

The other night I joined several former high school classmates for a night of mayhem at the roller skating rink. When we were growing up, it was the place to be on Friday nights. Sometimes my parents would decide we were going to have a family night, and I would be so upset, because if I wasn't at the skating rink, I was a NOBODY (at least that's what I thought).

The skating rink hasn't changed a bit - the pizza tastes the same; the carpet is peeling off the walls; and the skates look about 20 years old. In fact, one of the guys in our group was merrily skating along and lost a wheel!

As children on that rink, we learned some things that would serve us well when we faced the world as adults - how to take risks, like skating backwards or asking someone to join us for the couples skate. How to get up after a fall. How to come back and try again, even after suffering a sprain or broken limb. How to lose ourselves in the moment as our feet flew around the rink. And perhaps most importantly, how to do the hokey pokey.

While the place hasn't changed, by the grace of God, we have. Many of us barely knew each other, if at all, in our youth. Some of us are (or have been) married and partnered, some have children. Over the years we have grown and are finding our paths and are learning to trust and love ourselves.

As we gathered that night, I didn't feel worried about what others might think of me as I tried to stay on my feet. While I often forget it, one of the blessings of becoming an adult is being able to relish small accomplishments. The skating rink still has things to teach me. The first time around the rink, I hugged the wall. The second time around, I fell. Getting up is tough! But I was determined to skate, and I didn't fall again. Others in our group were more graceful, dancing and skating backwards. I was content with staying on my feet. What an accomplishment!

I'm so grateful for a chance to reconnect with old friends and make new (old) friends, to laugh and reminisce together, to talk about our past and future journeys. And I hope that old skating rink continues to bring people together and teach life's lessons. But it's probably time for some new skates.

Universal Access

2009-09-15T22:19:00.000-07:00

This sermon is also available on video

This morning is a communion Sunday. In the church in which I was raised, we celebrated communion every single Sunday. It wasn't church if we didn't have communion. In fact, because communion fell before the sermon, it was not uncommon for a family to go to church and leave right after communion, knowing that even though they hadn't stayed for the whole service, they had at least done the important part (before heading off to the beach). It didn't take long for the church leaders to figure out that people would stay for the whole service if they put communion after the sermon.

I later learned that it was possible to have a meaningful and sacred worship service without necessarily celebrating communion. However, the centrality of the Eucharist table, first learned in my childhood, continues to form and feed my Christian faith.

When I was growing up, only those who had been baptized by their own choice (in other words, not as infants) were considered Christians, and only Christians were welcome to partake of the Lord's supper. I have memories of going up to the church building on Saturday night to help my parents prepare communion for the Sunday worship service. My brother and sister and I, even before we had been baptized, would fill the little communion cups and place the matzoh crackers into the trays and feast on the crumbs and leftover juice. The next morning, we would sit respectfully in the pews, watching everyone else take their bread and drink their juice, our mouths watering, wishing for another taste. If we tried to sneak a piece of bread, someone was sure to give us a reproachful look. We were not welcome at this table.

Many years later, I joined a church affiliated with the Disciples and UCC traditions. In this church, every week when we gathered at the communion table, the pastor said these words: "This is God's table. Whether you are baptized or not; whether you believe a little or you believe a lot; you are welcome at this table.” I remembered myself as a young girl, wanting a place at the table. What a relief it was to know that I did not have to hope for crumbs. No, I was welcome to feast at this table.

The Gospel of Mark tells the story of a Greek woman, a Gentile woman, an outsider, who was used to hoping for crumbs. She knew her place, and she was used to waiting her turn. But not this time. This time, her role as a mother outranked her ethnic heritage. Her young daughter was very ill, filled with an unclean spirit. Perhaps it was a mental illness, perhaps a bacterial or viral infection or some other ailment. Determined to find healing, this mother heard that Jesus, a man who was rumored to have healing powers, was staying in her town. So she went to him, willing to sacrifice her pride for the sake of her daughter. What mother wouldn’t do the same?

I don’t know whether she was surprised by Jesus’ response to her request: "Let the children eat first. It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She will not let anything stand in her way, not even being called a DOG by a holy man. Undeterred, she shot back, "Yes, Sir, but even the dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall from the table."

Now we might wonder, did he really call this woman a dog? Did he really seem to deny healing for her daughter? Healing that he had so readily offered to his own people? Why would he do that? Scholars have endlessly debated Jesus' motives for these harsh words. Perhaps he was testing her or his disciples. Or perhaps, he truly believed that the blessings of the kindom of God were first and foremost for the people of Israel, and that they did not need to share all that they had worked so hard for.

Regardless of what we imagine were his motives, what I notice is this: Jesus was having a debate about health care. He was ready to deny treatment for this woman’s daughter’s condition. But she wouldn’t let him walk away.

We don’t have to look far to find stories of people in our own time who won’t be ignored. A single mother with two children, and no child support. She’s barely making ends meet, and she worries that she won’t be able to afford her monthly health insurance premiums.

An elderly woman forgoes her medication in order to eat. Another, having lost his life savings and overwhelmed by medical bills, files for bankruptcy.

"It is not right to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs."

"Yes, Sir, but even the dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall from the table."

In this nation, we find ourselves in a polarizing healthcare debate. We could spend time talking about policies, about economic realities, about democratic values, and about the role of government. Those things are being debated in the public sphere, and they are important. But that’s not what I want us to consider today. The question is, Who has access to the table?

The Gospel of Mark sandwiches this healing narrative between two accounts of Jesus feeding a multitude. In Mark's Gospel, as Jesus showed what the kindom of God looks like, he spent a lot of time doing two things: feeding people and healing people. These two things, food and health, are essential to abundant human living. In God's world view, people should have universal access to everything they need for a full and abundant life. Sometimes it’s too easy to be satisfied with just the crumbs.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, in 2008, 17% of persons in the United States under age 65 were uninsured. Nearly 9% of children under age 18 were uninsured. It would be easy to say, "if 17% are uninsured, then that means that over 80% are insured." And should those 80% have to share their bread with the ones who won't stop nipping at their heels? Why can't they be satisfied with the crumbs?

Just as this woman was not satisfied, we, the church, have to keep struggling. We have to keep pushing for universal access, for everyone to have all that they need for full and abundant life.

I don't want to leave out the rest of the story in our reading today. Jesus was deeply moved by this woman's persistent faith. This encounter represented a turning point in Jesus’ ministry, when he realized that there was more than enough bread and more than enough room and more than enough resources for everyone to have a place at the table of universal access.

Having healed this woman's daughter, Jesus continued on his way, only to encounter another person in need of healing. This individual was deaf and could not speak. Jesus' prayer for this person was simple yet profound: Ephphatha! Be opened! But perhaps the miracle of opening had taken place before Jesus met this man. In his encounter with the courageous foreigner, Jesus' own ears were opened, and he himself could now speak more fully the truth of universal access in the kindom of God.

Every week we pray together for loved ones who are ill. The author of James says that prayer is not enough. “If any are in need of clothes and have no food to live on, and any of you says to them, "goodbye and good luck. Stay warm and well fed," without giving them the bare necessities of life, then what good is this?”

And if one of our members or other loved ones could not afford necessary treatment: medications, tests, a surgery – would we not join together not only to pray for that person, but to find a way to ensure that they had access to resources and treatment? Why then would we not do the same for all of God’s children?

In a recent letter to the editor of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, our own pastor K wrote that we love God by loving our neighbors, and that all of us together have the resources to provide health care for everyone. There is enough bread; there is enough room; there is enough for all at this table.

This is the amazing and miraculous message of the Gospel on this day: We don't have to pay anything or work or do anything to earn our place at this table. We don't have to sit around on the outside, hoping that there will be a few crumbs left after God's children have had their fill of bread. Whoever you are, and wherever you find yourself on the journey, there is a place for you at this table. This is an open table, where we can find health and wholeness and all that is essential for abundance of life.

And this is the challenge of the Gospel today -- that no one has to do anything to deserve a place at this table, and that we are called to hear with open ears and speak with open mouths and work with open hands so that everyone can have access to food and health and all that they need for abundant life. Ephphatha! – be opened. May it be so. Amen.

Sermon as prepared for delivery, September 6, 2009 @ First Congregational UCC in Fort Worth, TX

An Exercise in Self-Love

2009-07-24T00:14:00.001-07:00

Poem written for a presentation on Womanist theology

I love my body!

I love my skin color, my hair, my eyes.

They are beautiful.

Not because anybody else said so,

But because they are mine,

And I am beautiful.

I love my blonde, hard-to-see eyebrows

My mouth that doesn't eat meat

My vocal chords that let me sing

I love my breasts, one a little bigger than the other

My hips, one a little higher than the other

The dimples on my rear end

My life-giving womb,

My pleasure-giving genitals

I love my asthmatic lungs

My arthritic ribcage

I love my heart

And my dark, dark liver.

I love the scar on my knee from falling off my bike

The calluses on my heels because I love to wear sandals

I love the arches in my feet

And every single one of my toes.

I love my body!

A Prayer for Easter Sunday

2009-04-12T14:41:00.001-07:00

Great Living God, God of Resurrection and of New Beginnings, we honor you on this Easter Sunday.

You teach us to look for life amongst death, hope in the midst of fear, love when surrounded by hate.

You know what it is to lose someone…a child, a trusted friend, a lover. You walked with Mary in the Garden, and you know the pain of the disciples, waiting in the upper room.

And through the power of Christ's resurrection you give us power to have new life, new beginnings, new relationships, and you give us hope of reunion with those we love.

You know what it is to be afraid, of death, of illness, of violence. Just as you were present with Jesus on the cross, you are present with us even now.

And your perfect love drives away our fear, calling us to be, like Jesus, bold in the face of our fears.

You know what it is to witness destruction…both natural and human-made. You mourn with us the loss of lives and homes and ecosystems as a result of tornadoes, earthquakes, fires, and the wars we wage.

And as the green blade rises from the seemingly-barren earth, you break forth with new life, fresh life, peaceful and creative life.

You know what it is to suffer injustice, to be oppressed because of skin color or gender or sexual orientation or age or class. You suffered alongside the Hebrews; you worked with those who were sold into slavery, you cry with those who are persecuted in Iraq and Uganda.

And even now your Christ is setting us free from prison, breaking the chains that keep us in hell, giving us wings that we, too, may set the oppressed free.

You are a God of Resurrection life, love, hope, and justice. We praise you on this holy day and pray that you will give us grace to live as Easter people.

We pray because of Jesus, the Risen One, Alleluia, Amen.

Reckless Grace: A Sermon for Maundy Thursday

2009-04-08T16:55:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered a blog by United Methodist licensed local pastor. He often posts haikus based on the lectionary.
One of the Maundy Thursday haikus begins, “Smelly ol’ bunions.”
That’s right, smelly ol’ bunions.
We’ve gathered here, on Maundy Thursday, from the Latin mandatum, the new commandment. We will break bread, drink wine, and wash each other’s feet. Yet I’m standing here talking about bunions??

But you know the way the conversation often goes…
“Next week we’re doing foot washing at my church.”
“I don’t know if I could do that.”
“It’s a little strange, but not so bad, because I always go and get a pedicure the day before.”

So, did you get your pedicure? Did you put a little baby powder in your shoes tonight, to make sure that your feet don’t stink?

Or did you just show up, smelly ol’ bunions and all?

Footphysicians.com says that “many people may unnecessarily suffer the pain of bunions for years before seeking treatment.” Bunion symptoms can include pain or soreness, inflammation and redness, a burning sensation, and even numbness. Bunions hurt, and they’re embarrassing, so we live with them, doing our best to keep them hidden.

Are you ready tonight to put those ugly, sore spots on display…and not just show them off, but actually let someone touch them?

Are you willing to be that vulnerable?
What if I’m washing your feet and instead of gentle water, I pour salt on your wounds?
What if I push too hard?
What if I wrinkle my nose and turn away in disgust?
Will you risk it?

For Jesus and his disciples, having their feet washed was just part of the expected routine. Time and again their feet were washed by slaves in the households of their hosts. This was normal. It was nothing new to have your feet washed by a slave. If there was no slave, then you washed them yourself. The feet were dirty, and they had to be washed.

Over 10 years ago I spent some time in West Africa, and the journal I carried with me is still tinged brown from the dirt. I imagine it was like that in Jesus’ day…everything covered in dirt, and what it must have been like to be the household slave who had to kneel down and wash the dirt, sweat, and manure off the feet of a free person – someone who was free to travel, free to roam the streets and do as they liked.

But one night, the gospels tell us, Jesus becomes vulnerable and takes a risk. On that particular night, Jesus receives grace. Not unmerited favor, as we’ve often heard it defined. Grace. The empowering presence of God enabling him to live out his calling.

The gospel text tonight and every Maundy Thursday is not the institution of the Lord’s Supper found in the synoptic gospels (we use the 1 Corinthians reading to cover that), but the washing of the disciples’ feet found in John. And yes, we’ll come back to that night of foot washing. But before that night, there was another night, when grace was poured out on Jesus. You know the story.

According to John, it was 6 days before the Passover, and his dear friends Martha, Mary, and Lazarus were hosting a party for him. He had just given them the greatest gift they could imagine…Lazarus had his life back, and Mary and Martha had regained their brother…and thus their economic security. Jesus brought healing and hope to many people, and it was only natural that there would be dinner parties in his honor.

But he didn’t know that there was something different about this night. Mary broke from the tradition and did something unexpected, something exceedingly extravagant. A year’s wages, poured out on Jesus’ feet.

Judas reacts strongly, pointing out that the perfume could have been sold and the money given to the poor. Now John clearly had a low opinion of Judas, to say the least. According to John, Judas didn’t care about the poor, but was a thief who stole from the common purse.
But regardless of Judas’ motives, can you imagine?

Before I came to seminary, my employers paid me $32,000 per year. I once had the opportunity to listen to and even meet Bishop Desmond Tutu, one of my spiritual heroes. If I had taken $32,000, bought perfume with it, and poured it out on Bishop Tutu’s feet, even he might have chastised me for my foolishness. Most people would agree that it would be a ridiculous thing to do. If you have that kind of money lying around, why not give it to the church? Why not give it to AIDS research in South Africa? Or – start a scholarship fund for seminary students?

Mary was wasteful – extravagant – with this full pound of nard. Very likely, it was left over from Lazarus’ burial. And to those in Lazarus’ house, it must have smelled like death.

So there’s Jesus, his bunions on display in all their glory. So often we read this passage as if Jesus is nonchalantly accepting her anointing. When Judas protests, Jesus says, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”

But this is not a statement made lightly. Jesus knew that the end was near. He’d heard the rumors, and he’d stayed away from Jerusalem as long as possible. He knew that the path he had chosen would lead to agonizing state sanctioned torture and, ultimately, execution. At a dinner that was supposed to be a celebration of Lazarus’ resurrection, Jesus received extravagant, reckless grace that he knew would give him strength to face his impending death.

Several days later… - though it probably seemed more like a lifetime –Jesus had been greeted with palms and great fanfare as he rode into Jerusalem. And his predictions about his coming death were starting to seem more real to his disciples.

Several days later, they sat down to a meal together. They had done this many times before. It was Passover time, and they knew the drill – the food they would eat, in what order, the words they would say, the songs they would sing.

As she had done at her home back in Bethany, perhaps Martha was serving the meal. And maybe as Martha placed food on the table, Jesus remembered that night, just a few days ago, when Mary had wildly and earnestly anointed his aching feet.

The smell of death still in his nostrils, Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet. Then, just as Mary had wiped his feet with her hair, he wiped the disciples’ feet with the towel that was tied around him.

When it was Peter’s turn, he was embarrassed. Had he known, he would have gotten a pedicure and made sure there were no bunions showing. He would have put a little ointment on his feet that morning so they wouldn’t smell so bad.

His toes curled up, and he tried to hide his feet from Jesus. “Surely not, Lord! You will never wash my feet!” Perhaps he thought that Jesus would realize how vulgar his feet were, how improper it would be for him to allow his Master to wash his feet. He couldn’t believe that the others had allowed Jesus to do it.

Jesus’ answer stunned Peter: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” O-kay! He was not expecting that one. “Well then, wash my hands and my head, too!”

Now, I don’t know whether Jesus is exasperated here… or amused… or perhaps just tired of the struggle. This band of ruffians willingly followed him, and they’re still completely clueless. So, he says, “You took a bath, didn’t you? So you are clean, except for your feet.”

But…But…not all of you are clean. He knew that he had poured out the waters of extravagant grace on even the one who would betray him.

Throughout the evening, Jesus must have been replaying the events of the past several days in his head.
The overwhelming smell of the perfume used to anoint the dead;
the shouting of the crowds;
the feel of the wobbly colt under his frail, tired body;
the crunch of palms underfoot;
the thunderous voice from heaven;
his repeated attempts to warn his disciples of the days to come.

After he had washed their feet, he put on his robe, and returned to the table. He said to them, “Do you know what I have done?”

Do you know? Do you know what it is to be anointed? Do you know what it is to have your feet washed? Do you know that you have had grace upon grace poured over you?

He doesn’t say, it is your duty to serve, even when it hurts. Or, give of yourself and keep giving until you have nothing left to give. He says, do as I have done to you.

It could have been Mary’s voice. Mary, who had received grace in the resurrection of her brother Lazarus, poured out grace upon Jesus when he needed it most. “Do as I have done to you.”

As Jesus looked at Judas, who needed, perhaps most of all, to receive his grace, “Do you know what I have done?”

We all stand with the disciples as those who have been called and sent. We are not here to begrudgingly put our hands in the water and try to keep a straight face as we kneel to wash one another’s feet.

“Do you know what I have done?”

We’re here tonight to put our smelly ol’ bunions out there for all to see. Are you, like most bunion sufferers, unnecessarily suffering pain because you can’t bring yourself to be vulnerable?
Have you suffered abuse?
Are you ashamed of your imperfections?
Are you afraid to take a risk, for fear that you might be hurt again?
Or, have you just gotten used to the numbness?

The invitation of the gospel this Maundy Thursday is to come to the basin…
vulnerable, frightened, confused, hurting…
Just come.
And allow grace to be poured out all over your tired, dirty, imperfect feet.

And then, when you know what it is that Christ has done, you will be able to live into the new commandment, this mandate:

“Love one another.
Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.
By this everyone will know that you are my disciples,
if you have love for one another.”

The table is set; the water is ready.
Won’t you come tonight, and receive God’s reckless, exceedingly extravagant grace?

Striving for Easter

2009-04-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been screaming, and she couldn’t fathom why no one responded to her screams. Until she woke up, and realized no sound was coming from her open mouth. She opened her eyes, but it was too dark to see. She didn’t know how long she’d been unable to see. There was something constraining her, so that she was unable to move to the right or left, as if she were wrapped in layer after layer of some impenetrable shroud.

Choked by fear, she longed for sleep, but the memories flooded her mind; she could not quiet the voices.
-How could you be so stupid?
-I only do this because I love you.
-You’re too sensitive.
-Just wait until your father gets home.

Blood was running from her side—she didn’t remember that wound. She had several open wounds on her body, but she wasn’t sure where all of them came from. Her father had a wound just like the one on her side. When she gingerly touched it, she saw her father wince as his daddy’s belt came down on him. Another place, on her thigh, and she heard her grandmother’s cries in the darkness. A wound near her breast, that of every woman she’d known who felt pushed down, trying always to prove themselves, but never considered good enough.

There were bruises on her feet, her arms, her cheeks. These bruises she remembered on the man she married, in the hope that he would dress her open wounds, but he had too many of his own.

Then there was the ache in her heart, the crushing feeling on her chest, so she felt she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t move even enough to dress her own wounds; she had to get out. So she started pushing, clawing, scooting. So closed in and so dark, yet there was the faintest hint of light ahead. A desire to see what was out there.

The bindings scraped at her wounds, stuck to her skin. Sometimes she would stop to weep, unsure whether she could go on. But the harder she pushed upward, the more light she could see, and the looser the binds became. Small shafts of light started coming in, and if the light touched a wound, she felt the bleeding stop. The wound was still there, but not as raw.

Sometimes the light got so bright it burned her eyes, and she scooted back down into the darkness, to the comfort of her pain. The rawness of her wounds returned, but it was familiar to her. The salty taste of her tears was comfort food.

But then she’d feel the weight on her chest and, fearing suffocation, she’d start back up, curious to see what the light would reveal. The air became lighter, and smelled fragrant. As the light grew brighter, she felt herself drawn to it, and lifted somehow towards it.

Suddenly, her binding fell loose, and she blinked at the radiance. She had never seen such color or breathed such freshness! The wind came and picked her up, and she found she had wings. She opened them, and drifted along, but her heart started beating faster, frightening her, so she settled on a quiet place, looking for her bindings. Unable to find them, she contemplated making new ones, but the wind came again, and she couldn’t resist it.

Swallowing her fear, she let herself glide, and she was overwhelmed by the bliss of freedom. Looking down at her wounds, she saw only scars, felt only dull pangs where the raw bleeding had once been. Indeed, her whole being was transformed, and she smiled, laughed even, letting the wind lift her and carry her to new and greater heights than she had ever achieved.

October 2003
Written for a Domestic Violence Awareness worship service

Be(com)ing

2009-02-14T21:35:00.000-08:00

For some time I have been contemplating starting a blog, and instead of thinking about it any longer, I'm just going to jump right in. In this blog I hope to reflect on being, becoming, embodiment, breathing, creating, seminary and ordination, and whatever else might happen to come up. I hope that Be(com)ing will serve as a conversation starter, a place where I can raise questions and you can respond and add your own thoughts and questions.

So, by way of a quick introduction, I am a 31-year-old woman in my 3rd (out of 4) year of seminary, working on my MDiv and in care for ordination in the United Church of Christ (UCC). I currently serve as a youth director and student assistant pastor for a wonderful UCC church, and I am believe I am being called to intentional interim ministry.

My next post will be some of my thoughts and questions on incarnation, reincarnation, and whether or not our bodies and souls are separable/inseparable/both.

Until then, peace be with you.
Manda