Sermon for Epiphany 3A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.