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A Good Enough Community Parade Preached on Sunday April 10th, 2022 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 19:28-40 This week, as we continue our sermon series “Good Enough” as we encounter the familiar story of Jesus’ dramatic entrance into Jerusalem on the day that has become known as Palm Sunday. Throughout this series of services and sermons, we have been reminded that God does not desire our personal self-improvement and “living our best lives.” This series runs counter to our culture of perfectionism and individualism. God’s great desire for us, in Jesus, is that we are restored to relationship with one another and with God. Today we heard the Palm Sunday story from Luke’s gospel. Luke sets Jesus on one continuous journey from Jericho to Bethany to Jerusalem for the feast of the Passover. Jesus just keeps on going, his forward momentum draws himself and the crowds around him toward the holy city. According to Luke, Jesus initiates the procession down into Jerusalem and to the temple. He goes on ahead, the disciples who follow along. Then Jesus sends two of them to find a colt that has never been ridden. They are given a secret code, so that the owner of the colt will know that “the Lord needs it.” They bring the colt to Jesus and lift him onto it. And, approaching the rocky, windy path down the Mount of Olives into the city, a great multitude picks up on the enthusiasm. They spread their cloaks on the ground, making a royal path, a “red carpet”. And they begin the chant from the ancient psalm: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!" Jesus descends the Mount of Olives and enters the gate into Jerusalem. If you attended Sunday school as a child, like me, you’ve heard this story many times before. I remember my childhood Palm Sundays with great affection. In the Anglican church where I attended Sunday school, the vicar would hold an ornate cross high, and parade around the nave with the children. We’d go around the side aisles and back up the central aisle, arriving at the chancel and the altar. All along the route he would belt out the hymn, “Ride on, Ride on in Majesty” calling out “all together now!” at the beginning of each refrain. We were given pre-made palm crosses to take home. I would keep mine all year long, displayed in my bedroom as a reminder of that joyful day. Palm Sunday has all the dramatic elements most children love. I believe that here at Wollaston Congregational Church there was a real live donkey, at least one year, to lead a palm waving parade around the block. I am all for joyful Palm Sunday parades. They bring us back to the first disciples’ eager expectations for Jesus. The problem, though, is that sometimes our baked-in memories of the Palm Sunday story miss important details. We may have misconceptions about the Good Enough-ness of that first palm parade, and the role of the disciple community. In the parades of my childhood, Jesus seems high and mighty. He rides into Jerusalem as the great multitudes line his path with their cloaks and palms and cry “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord.” Everyone in Jerusalem sees this parade. All the residents come out to join the multitudes. Jesus has come to town! In my baked-in memories I miss the detail that the colt that has never been ridden, and, as far as we know, Jesus is no horseman. The mount is uncontrollable, veering here and there. Jesus clings on for dear life with only a cloak for a saddle. This would not have been a dignified scene. Pilate, the Roman governor, parades into town from the west for the festival of the Passover. He is accompanied by the Roman army: horses, chariots and shining armor. He rides on a noble steed, golden eagles on poles held high. He enters on the western side of Jerusalem and takes the wide, straight road to the palace. Citizens and those who want to be seen as loyal crowd the route, waving flags and cheering “hail Caesar!” Meanwhile, Jesus and the little colt stumble down the steep and winding road from the Mount of Olives. The Good-Enough community of disciples that is rapidly gathering around them crowd the route. They perceive a king in this one, who does not even know how to ride a horse. So much so, that they are willing to allow this colt to step on and soil the only outer garments they possess, their precious cloaks. When they reach the city wall at the bottom of the slope, they slip through the valley gate and they are a stone’s throw from the temple. There is no route that takes them through the streets of Jerusalem, where they might risk the jeering of the fancy city folk. A second misconception that I have taken away from my baked-in memory is that Jesus acts alone. Many of the gospel stories we rehearse this season focus on the moments Jesus is away from the disciples. And yet, these moments are few and far between. At the beginning of Lent we remembered that Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness before his ministry began. And, at the end of this coming week, he will be alone again, when he is arrested and taken away to be crucified. But from the beginning Jesus gathers disciples who are his community through three years of ministry. He eats with them, talks with them, hangs out with them. Today, as Jesus leads at first, the followers around him pick up the pace. Even if he is reluctant to go through with this, he cannot stop it now. The crowd’s cheers and cries propel him forward on his mission. When some Pharisees tell him to quiet his disciples, he replies that it would be useless to try. Even the stones are crying out on this day. In our world today, the culture of individualism and perfectionism wants us to hold onto our early misconceptions. If we perceive Jesus as ruler King, commanding a grand reception through the streets of Jerusalem, he is no different from Pilate representing the power of the Empire. And if we think of Jesus riding into Jerusalem without the companionship and encouragement of his followers, we deny the deep human need for relationship and interdependence. Now, I know I’ve been talking about my dad a lot these past few weeks. But there’s one more thing I’d like to remember about him. You see, he was a humble man. As the cards and letters began to arrive after he died, and the extended family exchanged words, this remark came up over and over. “Paul was humble.” He was not perfect, and he did not pretend otherwise. When it came to the community he just fit in. He was happiest at home, drinking his coffee, reading his newspaper and books, listening to the radio, puttering in the garden and tending the roses. His social media footprint was non-existent. My dad didn’t look for leadership, but if he was asked he stepped up. He was content with his Good Enough life. He belonged: to his church, to two Masonic Lodges, to his neighborhood and to his town. He lived his last years just a stone’s throw from the High School he and my mom attended, and where he served as treasurer of the scholarship committee up until the last few months. When I arrived at my parents’ house a couple of week’s ago I found that every free inch of space was filled with cards. They were tucked between the books on all the book-shelves. They were lined along the mantle and the window ledges. The family photos were obscured by still more sympathy cards. And when we arrived at the church for the service, the impression was the same. People kept coming. From my mom’s church as well as my dad’s, from the extended family, from the lodges, long-time school friends, former and current neighbors. This is what it means to live in a community. Our family was held in love and support. This continued on this side of the Atlantic, as my husband and I received cards and flowers, messages and prayers from our churches, and neighborhoods, and colleagues – including from all of you. And then, just the other week, a friend told me that his father had died and no one had said anything. There were no cards or messages from his friends and colleagues. The people who knew about his dad’s passing didn’t mention it, because they didn’t know what to say. My friend doesn’t belong to a church and he and his wife recently moved to a new neighborhood. I was stunned and saddened. I could not imagine facing grief with that kind of loneliness. Kate Bowler, the author our Lenten book “Good Enough” also has podcast series called “Everything Happens.” In these podcasts Bowler interviews authors, TV personalities, theologians, physicians and people from all walks of life. In the episode entitled “We Belong to Each Other” Bowler has a conversation with Jerome Adams, a former United States Surgeon General. Adams talks about the human need to share our burdens and the things that cause us grief. He emphasizes the need for community in terms of the health and wellbeing of people, saying: “When you look at the communities across the world that live the longest, the feature that is the most outstanding is that they have a sense of community, that they gather together, that they lift each other up. If you have three friends who you can call when you’re down, you actually have several years extra of life expectancy.” [1] Friends of Wollaston Congregational Church, this morning I am thanking God, with all my heart, for the Good Enough-ness and the community of this congregation. This week, may we view the Palm Sunday story anew, rejecting our culture of perfectionism and individualism. May we know what it means to accompany Jesus on that winding, rocky route into Jerusalem. May we understand the Good Enough-ness of this Holy Week story, and the Good Enough-ness of our own lives. And, most of all, may we know that we do not travel this journey alone, but together. May all God’s people say, Amen A Blessing for When You Feel Lonely “Blessed are we who cry out, ‘God, I need a friend to share the simple unaffected joys that come, the troubles unbidden, those too heavy to sustain…’ Blessed are we, opening our hands in readiness, to risk intimacy, to receive the gift of friendship, and give it in return.” [2] [1] https://katebowler.com/podcasts/jerome-adams-we-belong-to-each-other/ [2] Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie, Good Enough: 40-ish Devotionals for a Life of Imperfection (New York: Convergent, 2022), 154 Leaning into Grief Preached on April 3rd, 2022 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: John 12:1-8 This week we leave Luke’s gospel for a moment and hear a story from the gospel of John. The transition is a little jarring: these are very different gospels. Still, it is traditional to read from John’s gospel – whether or not we are following it – on this fifth Sunday in Lent. On this day, as we continue our “Good Enough” sermon series, Mary of Bethany reminds us that life is fragile. Nothing in this world is forever. The two stories that are often told on this day, concern the raising of Lazarus and, as we heard today, the anointing of Jesus by Mary. Because of the way that the lectionary is arranged, it has been two full years since we heard about the raising of Lazarus. And yet, these two stories are inseparable. Also these stories cannot be separated from what is going on in greater Jerusalem in these days leading up to the feast of the Passover. Jesus is summoned to Bethany, just outside Jerusalem, because his friend, Lazarus is ill. Lazarus’s sisters, Martha and Mary are also close friends of Jesus. They want Jesus to come, perhaps to heal Lazarus, or perhaps to simply be with them during this difficult time. As you may remember, Jesus arrives too late. Lazarus has already been dead for several days. And yet, Jesus insists on opening the tomb and calling “Lazarus, come out!” Low and behold, still wrapped in grave clothes, Lazarus comes staggering out of the tomb. Mary, Martha and Lazarus are incredibly grateful to Jesus. They are good hosts and so they plan to put on a dinner in his honor. This party is the scene of our story for today. Meanwhile, the religious authorities are monitoring Jesus’s activity closely. They are worried because he is gathering a huge following. The priests and Pharisees want to keep the Passover celebrations under control. An act like raising Lazarus from the dead shows how much power Jesus has at his disposal. The crowd following Jesus is bound to grow larger. This unpredictable Rabbi could soon create chaos, even insurrection. And so, they plan to put Jesus to death. Back at the dinner party, we can imagine that Jesus’s friends a followers caught up in the swirl of things. Perhaps they are anxious about the authorities surveillance of their activities. Perhaps they are eagerly anticipating Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem, hoping for an uprising against the Roman occupiers. Or perhaps they have noticed that Jesus is becoming more thoughtful, more introverted. Perhaps they have noticed him withdrawing to pray more often over these past days. Whatever the thoughts and feelings of the guests, this is a joyful celebration: Lazarus has been raised. Martha, true to herself, prepares the food and is busy in the kitchen, sending servants back and forth with heaping platters of food, and pitchers of water and wine. The other disciples are reclining at the table talking, laughing, and indulging. This is a welcome break for the followers who have been traveling the countryside, sleeping rough and existing on whatever the poor villagers could spare. Then, the conversation ends abruptly, as Mary comes in with a large jar and kneels by Jesus. The guests are astonished, as she opens the lid and begins to pour out the contents onto Jesus’s feet. The aroma is un-mistakable, this is pure nard! How did Mary come by this quantity? She must have given her life savings to purchase it. And why is she wasting it all now? Isn’t this the perfume used to anoint the bodies of the dead? The whole house is filled with the aroma. Jesus’s weary feet soak in the oils. Then Mary shocks them all again, as she loosens her hair and begins to wipe the feet of Jesus. As she massages in the oils, her hair takes up the perfume. She and Jesus are bound together in this act of anointing. She will carry the scent of him and the nard for months to come. This intense act of passion is too much for one of the disciples to bear. Judas snaps, breaking the spell of the moment. He’s like the family member who always has to make a joke, when things get too tender. Only this is not a joke. "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" he demands. But we know he isn’t truly concerned about the poor. Perhaps he is trying to distract the others from discovering that he is stealing from the disciples’ common purse. Jesus will have none of it, even though he is deeply concerned for the poor. “Leave her alone” he responds, "She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." You may know that last week I was back home in the UK. I participated in a Thanksgiving Service for my father. My mom insisted that the invitations should go out with the words “no black clothing.” She didn’t want people to come looking as though they were in mourning. This would not be a funeral, it would be a celebration. Earlier on the day of the service my cousin Richard, who is a funeral director, had arrived at the house with a car to drive the family to a private cremation. My mom had not expected him to bring the hearse with the casket inside, and yet that is what he did. Richard wore full regalia, including top hat and baton, and ceremoniously led the procession on foot until we had left the small neighborhood. My parents always insisted that a lifeless body is no longer the person who once lived. But as I saw the hearse arrive at the house carrying my dad’s body, I could not help but whisper to myself “he’s here.” The wicker coffin, chosen by my mom, with the arrangement of spring flowers on top was beautiful. My dad was frail and thin when he died and the pall-bearers were professionals, and still you could see the weight of their burden wobble a little as they lifted it. In the crematorium chapel we were so close we could touch the basket-like container as we left and we did just that. It was one more way of saying good-bye. Afterwards, I was talking with my cousin’s family. They told me that “Celebration of Life” services are becoming more popular than traditional funerals. I’ve certainly noticed the trend among our own congregation. And yes, a life well-lived ought to be celebrated, we ought to give thanks. And at the same time, I worry a little. Do we do this so that we can avoid the truth of the grief and pain of loss? I’ve talked before about my experiences doing Clinical Pastor Education with the Hebrew Seniorlife organization. At this time, as both Passover and Easter come around, I’m reminded of what I learned at HSL about the Jewish traditions of death and dying. In the Jewish tradition it is very important to care for the body of someone who has died before their burial. The body must not be left alone, and so someone always “sits with the dead.” When a Jewish resident died in the facility where I worked and the family members were unable to attend, a volunteer chaplain would remain with them until the time of preparation and burial. One of my fellow students shared that a close female friend at her temple had died. She had felt honored to be invited to serve as part of the Chevra Kadisha (the Holy Society) who would prepare the body for burial. The women of the Chevra Kadisha worked quietly and respectfully, ritually cleansing the body while praying psalms. For some Christians, these Jewish customs may seem too tactile. We would prefer to leave this work to the professionals and skip ahead to a celebration of life. And yet, care for the body – even a lifeless body - allows loved ones to begin the grieving process. This is one last thing they can do, as they begin to face into the reality of life without their beloved. And so, in the world of dinner parties put on in celebration of life, are we a Mary or are we a Judas? Are we the one to remind the gathering of our need to tend the body and grieve, or are we the one to crack a joke to break the tension? Mary anticipates the reality that Jesus will be crucified the very week of the dinner. She leans into this reality deeply, opening her heart, making herself vulnerable. She is not afraid to make a spectacle of herself in her act of deep love and care for Jesus. Jesus truly appreciates and honors her because of this. On the other hand, Judas resists. He keeps his mind busy with “concerns for the poor.” Perhaps he is disappointed by the turn Jesus’s mission has taken. Perhaps he had hoped for something different: taking Jerusalem for Jesus and restoring the hopes of the people of Israel. Perhaps it is Judas’s resistance to grief and disappointment in the movement that leads him to betray Jesus to the authorities. The chances are that we are not either Mary or Judas, but a little of both or somewhere in-between. When we are faced with loss the reality can be unbearable, we resist grief. And yet, under certain circumstances, we are drawn back in to love. Love compels us to pick up the jar of precious nard, and use it to anoint the beloved body that may soon be taken from us. This is the reason we travel this road with Jesus, these weeks of Lent. This is the reason why we accept this peculiar “Good Enough” story that leads to the cross. In the end, it is not a story of power and might, but a story of grief and vulnerability. It is a story of leaning in and touching the very thing we fear. Excruciating as it is, Mary has shown us the way. In order to become more Mary and less Judas, we must rehearse it every year. May all God’s people say, Amen A Blessing for When You’re in Grief "Blessed are you, dear, dear one, doing this holy work of suffering what must be suffered. Of grieving what has been lost. Of knowing the unthinkable truth that must be known. This grief can make you feel on the other side of glass from the world around you, a force field of different realities separating you. Yet blessed are you in yours, for yours is the one most seen by God who breathes compassion upon you, even now. Who has walked this path, and who leans toward you, gathering you up into the arms of love. Rest now, dear one. You are not alone.” [1] [1] Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie, Good Enough: 40-ish Devotionals for a Life of Imperfection (New York: Convergent, 2022), 170 The Gardener Knows What is Good Enough Preached on Sunday March 20th, 2022 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 13:1-9 Today, in this purple season of Lent, we continue our sermon series “Good Enough” in which we focus in the book of the same name by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie. Author Kate Bowler who is a professor at Duke University, has written other books, including “No Cure for Being Human (and other truths I need to hear” and “Everything Happens for a Reason … and other lies I’ve loved.” Kate was diagnosed with stage IV cancer, at the age of 35, and she is the mother of a young son. Bowler’s suffering with cancer led her to a really deep dive into what it means to be human. In particular she examines what it means to be human and in relationship with God, through Jesus. She provides a compassionate spiritual path for people who suffer as she does. And she has a particular ministry to those who have been let down by the “everything happens for a reason” heresy. This is the heresy that Jesus tackles in our gospel reading this morning. No, everything does not happen for a reason. Suffering – fertilizer – just happens. This past week, I’ve been listening to some of the “Everything Happens…” podcasts, in which Kate Bowler interviews authors, TV personalities, theologians, physicians and people from all walks of life. [1] In a recent podcast, on the topic of “toxic positivity” with Dr. Susan David of Harvard Medical School, Kate begins with the words: “I have a prayer that I started praying when I got sick, and it went like this ‘God, help me see the world as it is’ “I’d been studying the Prosperity Gospel and after so many years of watching people believe that the ‘right kind of faith, the right kind of performative joy, and the right kind of certainty’ would give them the health and wealth and everything that makes a life a life. “It had taught me a lot about hope and reaching for more and looking for the best in everything. But, it didn’t teach me a lot about coping with reality. “It was as if I’d studied and lived in a world of all bright yellows and oranges and greens. Now I would need to find a way to see clearly the world that was all deep blues, and purples and fading to greys. “We live in a social media universe carefully curated to be all the bright colors. ‘Choose joy, find the silver lining, count you blessings, sunshine, sunshine, sunshine! … If you can’t find you way to the sunnier side of life then there must be something wrong with you .. don’t be so negative, don’t say that and make it true,’ and my favorite ‘look on the bright side!’ “My prayer is so simple” Bowler goes on “‘Let me see things clearly’ but it is so hard to do it when all the acceptable emotions are crowded into one corner …” In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus is facing into the reality of things as he makes his way to Jerusalem, accompanied by the disciples. Teachings and healings are densely packed into these chapters. It is as if Jesus knows that he is living on borrowed time. He wants to accomplish everything he can, while he can. As this morning’s passage begins, people who have come to see Jesus tell him the gruesome news of some Galileans, being killed in Jerusalem. The Roman governor of Judea, Pontius Pilate, mixed their blood with the sacrifices they were offering in the Jerusalem temple. These Galilean pilgrims were slaughtered while conducting their religious rites. The people seem to be asking Jesus “What were the Galileans doing wrong, that this terrible thing happened to them?” Jesus responds, “Nothing.” Neither these Galileans nor the poor folk who were killed when a tower fell down were doing anything wrong. Suffering and tragedy is not a matter of cause and effect. Jesus stands against the religious tradition that sees prosperity as God’s blessing, and suffering is punishment for sin. He aligns with the prophets, like Micah and Isaiah, who lament and stand with the widows, orphans and refugees: all those who suffer because of injustice. Then, Jesus tells a parable. There is a vineyard, and in the vineyard there is a fig tree. Figs are sweet, delicious fruit, purple when ripe, commonly grown in the Mediterranean region. The vineyard owner is disappointed in this tree because it has not borne any fruit during its three-year existence. This is normal for fig trees. They need to be tended and nurtured for at least three years before fruit can be expected. It seems that the vineyard owner does not know this, though, and so he instructs his gardener to cut down the tree, which is taking up valuable soil. The gardener pleads for the tree, asking that the owner give it one more year, one more chance to be fruitful. The gardener promises that he will dig around the tree and feed it with manure. If the tree bears fruit at the end of the year, the owner will keep it, but if it is not fruitful he is welcome to cut it down. Some years ago, the Rev. Jean Niven Lenk wrote a book called “Fertilizer Happens.” I first met Jean in the spring of 2013, when I applied for the position of Student Pastor with the First Congregational of Stoughton, UCC. Pastor Jean had a great reputation in the Massachusetts Conference of the UCC. She had injected a new spirit of discipleship into the Stoughton Church. She was an outgoing, energetic person you couldn’t help but like. I was eager to have Jean be my mentor. When I went to interview with her, Jean warmly welcomed me to the church office. We began talking right away only to be interrupted by a phone call. It was Jean’s brother calling to say that their mother had taken a turn for the worse and we being admitted to hospital. Jean turned to me and said, “I’m so sorry, Liz, my mom is dying and I really need to go,” she left me in the hands of the church administrator. I was offered the position of Student Pastor beginning the following September. But on Good Friday of that year Rev. Jean received a devastating diagnosis. She had stage IV cancer. She never became my mentor. Rev. Jean eventually retired from her position at the Stoughton church in order to focus on her treatments and spend precious time with her family. She went on to live with cancer for 8 more years. She finally died on February 27th of last year. A member of the Stoughton congregation once told me that when Jean visited people who were going through the worst experiences of sickness or loss, they might ask her why this was happening to them. Her response was always the same “poop happens.” (She said something different but this is a sermon, so I won’t say the actual word.) It’s not your fault and it’s not anyone else’s fault, poop happens. After Jean left ministry at the Stoughton church she focused on her exhausting treatments and the pain of her condition. But that didn’t mean she was going to do nothing. First she began a blog, updating loved ones, colleagues and congregants on what was going on in her life. And then, she compiled the blog posts, her sermons and other writings into a book that was published by the time she officially retired. The name of that book is “Fertilizer Happens.” The subject of Jean’s book hinges on the parable we heard today. Jean finds meaning in way that the gardener tends the fig tree by feeding it manure. This gives the tree the best chance of bearing fruit in the future. Jean had been widowed twice. Her first husband, Darcy, died of cancer in 1982. And her second husband, John, the father of Jean’s two children, died in 1997 of a heroin overdose. She says “The fact of life is – fertilizer happens. If we’re fully alive, we are going to experience pain and suffering, but suffering can be transformative. New growth can spring from the fertilizer of our lives.” [2] Jean saw the crap that she had experienced as the fertilizer for new growth. She says she had been reluctant to talk about her husband John’s addiction because she was ashamed. People might ask her why she had married an addict and how she could not have noticed that John was using. These are the people who feel most comfortable with the “everything happens for a reason” heresy. Jean says that for many years John’s death felt like a meaningless waste, until she found that she was called upon to minister to people with drug addictions. She could do that ministry without fear or repulsion because she had already lived the life of someone whose loved one was addicted. This is the growth Jean discovered as a direct consequence of the fertilizer of John’s death. I don’t know if any of us here to day “have a book in us.” I know that for myself, today, making the lemonade of a spiritual book out of the lemons of life sounds exhausting. We have all been through so much these past two years: lockdowns and isolation; online work, learning and worship; travel restrictions; adjusting to a new ways working, shopping, and socializing; and, of course, loss. Right now we may well be ready to simply rest for three years. And that is one of the invitations here. The reality is, suffering and loss is not our fault. The reality is, we are allowed to rest. The reality is, we need to be fed and nurtured. We can not know whether the fertilizer of this time will create fruitful new growth. And so, in this purple season of Good Enough, may we know that we are held and nurtured by our tending, loving God, until such time as we may be fruitful again. Our only prayer may be ‘God, help me see the world as it is.’ That’s good enough for us, that’s good enough for God. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/everything-happens-with-kate-bowler/id1341076079 [2] Lenk, Jean Niven. Fertilizer Happens: A Pastor’s Faith, Calling, and Journey with Cancer (p. 33). WestBow Press. Kindle Edition. Staying in a Longing Place (When So Much is Out of Our Control) Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On Sunday March 13th, 2022 Scripture: Luke 13:31-35 This Sunday we continue our Lenten sermon series, “Good Enough.” One of the lessons of “good enough” is that we need to relinquish or let go of the illusion that we are in control. We are not. In this week’s reading from the gospel of Luke, we see Jesus relinquish control as he is faced with a death threat from Herod Antipas. I’ve heard this morning’s scripture often, and still, when I read the text this week something new jumped out. It’s so obvious that I wondered how could I have missed it in the past. Jesus likens Herod to a fox, and then he likens himself to a mother hen. Do you see the juxtaposition? Jesus imagines gathering up all the people of Jerusalem under his wings, like scattered and frightened little chicks. This is what mother hens do when they want to protect their young. They squawk and flap and to scare away the threat. Only, a hen does not stand a chance against a fox. As the passage begins, Jesus is busy, going about the countryside, teaching, healing and casting out demons. He is in the midst of the ministry God has called him to do. At the same time, he is making his way toward Jerusalem. A group of anxious Pharisees, Jewish teachers, find Jesus teaching the crowds. They give him a warning, “get away from here, Herod wants to kill you.” Herod Antipas is the tetrarch, not a true king. He has jurisdiction over Galilee. He has killed John the Baptist, and we know that he is now worried that John has come back to life in the shape of Jesus. He needs to get control over these Rabbi/healers who are disrupting his rule over the people. No sooner does he kill one than another pops up. Herod’s fragile relationship with the Roman rulers keeps him in power and maintains his decadent lifestyle. He has to be on the watch for possible revolutionaries on his turf who might upset that balance. Jesus is not naïve. He is well aware of this political scene as well as the situation in Jerusalem. He replies to the Pharisees “Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work …” Jesus isn’t out to save his own skin. He knows that this path of healing and teaching leads only to his death. But he has no intention of being killed by this insecure minor ruler. He intends to go all the way to Jerusalem: the city that kills prophets. As he anticipates coming to Jerusalem, he laments over the city. It is a place he loves. It is the religious center for his people. It is the city of his birth and his ancestor, David. And it is the place where he came of age in the temple as he engaged in conversation with the Rabbis. He called the temple his Father’s house. And yet, he knows that the occupying Roman rulers and the collaborating religious authorities in Jerusalem are not ready for his “good news for the poor.” Even in his lamentation and longing, Jesus does not resort to power and control. He remains in that hard longing place. “O, how have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings … and you were not willing!” Foxes, like Herod, have always been there and will always be among us. There are times when it seems that these control freaks want to stamp out the life of us. Over the past weeks, we have been horrified by the images and stories of the Russian invasion in Ukraine. I heard this chilling comment in one news report: “The Russians bomb what they cannot control.” The atrocities have been committed at the instruction of the authoritarian Russian president, Vladimir Putin. The Ukrainian people are resisting Russian control. Women try to flee to safety for the sake of their children. Men aged 18 to 60 are obliged to stay and fight. And meanwhile, other nations look on, trying to find ways to stop the Russians without making provocative acts that might lead to a full-scale war in Europe and beyond. American Quaker author, Parker Palmer, writes: “My heart is broken by what’s happening in Ukraine AND I’m profoundly inspired by the people of that war-torn country. They are driven by a fierce love of life—their children’s lives, their neighbors’ lives, the life of their democracy. They make me wonder, again, about myself and my country.” Palmer goes on “The opposite of loving life isn’t hating life—it’s fearing life. Authoritarians everywhere fear life’s diversity, complexity, exuberance, unpredictability, and creativity, the kind that challenges old orthodoxies. They feel safe only when they have the power to force the world into a form that meets their needs. What they love is death—the death that leaves the world unchanging as the grave.” [1] Control is death. In our own nation, leaders in Texas and Florida seek to control the sexuality of children, by denying the existence of gay and trans people. Laws banning books concerning the uncomfortable truth of racism are being enacted in various states. Palmer goes on “In every realm from religion to politics, [authoritarians like Putin] will do whatever is necessary to get unruly life ‘under control.’ In the long run, they will fail, of course: life always overcomes. But God help those who have to live ‘in the meantime.’” Of course, we have no control over authoritarians. But, we do have control over our response to them. We also have the opportunity to watch out for our impulses to control. We are often tempted to try and take control, when we fear for my loved ones. When our children struggle socially we long to rush in and fix it. When they make choices we don’t like, we want to stop them instead of allowing them to experience the consequences. Twenty years ago, when my husband’s parents were dealing with terminal illness, we wanted to talk with the doctors and insist that they did everything in their power to fix things. We were sure that if we brought my mother-in-law or father-in-law to the right hospital in the United States, the problem would be solved. The benefit of experience has allowed me to be more accepting of my dad’s failing health and his need to finally give up and be at peace. Over the past week, I have been thinking back over my life with my dad and I’ve found many reasons for gratitude. One very important reason is that my dad was not authoritarian. He did not try to control my choices as a child and teenager. He was quietly proud of my successes, but never made academic achievement the “be all and end all.” He was there to comfort me when I failed, but he did not need to fix it. When I became a parent, I realized how much presence of mind and courage this gift takes. Our son, Ben, began to reject food that he didn’t want at about the age of 2. I was astonished at my own desire to force him to eat, which would have been a losing battle, believe me. As parents we walk a fine line. Our children need boundaries and discipline and at times they will need our advocacy. And yet, once we try to control them or fix them, their lives, or even who they are, we are no longer loving them. Control is the antithesis of love. Perhaps Jesus also experiences the impulse to control the children of Jerusalem. Instead, though, he says that he longs to gather them together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. But the children of Jerusalem are not willing. These children – these little chicks - are not only the lost and the lonely, the destitute and the oppressed. They are also the oppressors. They are the Romans who try to exert control over the Jewish people. They are the religious authorities, who are determined to control the religious by keeping the Jesus’s message under wraps. In today’s world the infants and children who are being bombed in Ukraine are frightened chicks. The mothers who are traveling without their husbands or partners, to bring the children to hoped-for safety, are like frightened chicks. And the men, teenagers, fathers and grand-fathers, who are staying to fight are like frightened chicks. Putin is like a frightened chick. The Russian soldiers are like frightened chicks. The leaders who are trying to control the sexuality of our children and dissemination of uncomfortable truths are like frightened chicks. I shared a picture of a sculpture called "Tower of Mothers" in the Wollaston Congregational Church weekly email. This sculpture was created in 1937 by a German artist, Käthe Kollwitz. Sue Monk Kidd writes "The sculpture depicts women standing in a circle to protect their children from the horrors of war. It’s one of the most powerful anti-war images I’ve ever encountered, a metaphor of fierce determination and solidarity, and a portrait of Ukraine. The artist lost her son, Peter, to World War I and went on to create works that inspire resistance. 'I am in the world to change the world,' wrote Kollwitz."[2] The way Kollwitz envisions change, is through the protection of children from the horrors of war. Enacting this kind of protection means remaining in a place of longing rather than control. It is hard to stay in a place of longing … the longing to wrap our arms around someone who is not willing … the longing to protect our children or our elders from harm … the longing to steer our nation, our community, our church in the directions that we know are best. It’s especially hard when we know that a hen does not stand a chance against a fox. Except, as Parker Palmer says “In the long run, [attempts to control] will fail, of course: life always overcomes. But God help those who have to live ‘in the meantime.’ We who live in the meantime are like chicks, insecure in our world, scurrying here and there in search of someone who will take control. Instead of taking control, Jesus simply extends mother-hen wings for any who would take shelter with him. We learn from Jesus that this is how we protect and how we help. We live in the longing, extending our own mother-hen wings for those who are willing to take shelter. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.facebook.com/parkerjpalmer [2] https://www.facebook.com/suemonkkidd Real Bread is Good Enough For the First Sunday in Lent, March 6th 2022 Scripture: Luke 4:1-13 This Sunday we begin Lent with a series of services and sermons whose theme is “Good Enough.” We are reminded during this time of Lent that this world, this place, and this time are all Good Enough. We are reminded that in God’s eyes we are not only Good Enough, we are beloved. In these days when we can become distracted by what we do not have, what we have not achieved, what we cannot be, we are reminded that all is good enough. We begin this week with bread. Jesus teaches the disciples to pray to God “give us this day our daily bread.” Bread is a simple basic food and that is enough for us and for our lives: bread for each day. In ancient times, and still today, bread was and is life. For thousands of years, it has been known that a measure of grain can be turned into a delicious risen loaf. Bread takes time. Time to knead, time to proof, time to be knocked down and then proofed again before baking. Bread making takes as long as it takes. I know this because my grandfather was a baker. He got up early every morning to bake bread for the day. Bread has to be sold the day it is made. It is best eaten fresh. Bread is not made from stones. Two years ago, as lockdowns began, people began to bake bread. The sudden interest in baking caused shortages of flour and yeast in the stores. Looking back we might wonder why. Was this renewed interest because people always wanted to bake bread and now they had time? Was it because people were suddenly hungry for bread? Was it because they longed for the delicious smell of fresh baking in their homes? Was it because doing something that “takes as long as it takes” would give them comfort in those anxious and uncertain times? The passage we read this morning from the gospel of Luke occurs immediately after Jesus’s baptism in the River Jordan by John the Baptist. We have rewound the story, from last week’s telling of the Transfiguration, so that we are back again at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry. This story of Jesus’s temptations in the wilderness is something we hear at the beginning of Lent every year. In Luke’s telling, the Holy Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness, where he remains and is tempted by the devil for forty days. During this time he does not eat anything and becomes famished. Jesus encounters the devil when he at his weakest. And so the first temptation concerns bread. “Since you are the Son of God” the devil begins … mocking … pointing down at a hard, dry desert stone, “command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” But Jesus resists, quoting from the book of Deuteronomy "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone.'" Luke’s readers can complete the sentence “but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.” Bread is necessary for life but faith in God is also necessary. The two cannot be separated. Jesus resists the temptation to turn a stone into bread in the wilderness. But to be clear, this doesn’t mean Jesus spends his life hungry, constantly resisting the temptation to eat bread. The gospel of Luke mentions bread many times. Jesus eats bread, often. He breaks bread with his disciples, with friends, and with sinners. Jesus talks about bread in his parables, and he presides over the miraculous feeding of more than 5,000 people from only five small loaves and two fish. At the end of the gospel story, Jesus blesses bread, breaks it and gives it to his disciples, saying “take and eat, this is my body broken for you.” And then again, following his crucifixion, two of the disciples meet Jesus walking along the road to Emmaus. They do not recognize him until they all sit down for supper. Then they know him “in the breaking of the bread.” Throughout the gospel it is apparent that Jesus likes bread and feels no need to abstain from eating it. The story of the temptations tells us that Jesus has chosen to fast in the wilderness. We are told that the Holy Spirit leads him to this time of fasting and so we can imagine he wants to remain faithful to that calling. He will have time to eat later. And so, why does the devil come up with this idea that Jesus could be tempted to turn a stone into a loaf of bread? And why does Jesus decline the invitation? Perhaps it has something to do with the time it takes to make bread. Perhaps it has something to do with the nutrients, the flavor and aroma of a properly baked loaf. Perhaps it has something to do with breaking bread together in community. Jesus knows that life-giving bread, eaten in a community that trusts the life-giving word of God, is not made from stones. Bread takes as long as it takes. There is no quick fix. My grandfather, the baker, sold his bread in the shop that he ran with my grandmother. They went out of business before I was born when a large, cheaper store opened in town. Plastic packages of sliced white were less expensive than the loaves my grandpa baked early each morning. The supermarket bread had additives that allowed it to remain soft for days. The fake aroma of fresh baking was pumped into the store. The supermarket bread was not made from stones, but it might as well have been. Sliced modern bread was introduced in the 1920’s. Chemicals were added during the 20th century, in order to make the bread softer and last longer. Sugar was added for taste and browning. White bread was thought to be superior, and so the flour was bleached. The result was cheaper bread that is less nutritious but will keep for days. Over the years, with more and more modifications, some say that our bread has begun to cause food intolerances and allergies. The devil tried to tempt Jesus to satisfy his hunger by planting the idea of turning a hard desert stone into a loaf of bread. But, Jesus knew that even if he tried, this would not satisfy his hunger. Bread conjured from a stone would be fake and unsatisfying. It would not come with the necessary life-giving nutrients. There would be no fresh baked aroma. The bread would not come with the life-giving word of God. In Lent, we enter the wilderness with Jesus. The stories we read, the hymns we sing and the music we hear put us into a place of discomfort. We are led to confront the hard things of our lives and of our world. And so, as we enter the wilderness time of Lent, how are we being tempted to turn stones into bread? Perhaps by calling for peace and reconciliation without addressing the underlying causes of conflict Perhaps by blaming others for our frustrations and unhappiness instead of looking within at the thoughts and habits that keep us from a life of faith and peace Perhaps by searching for a “perfect” friend group, church or community in which everything meets our needs, so that we don’t have to do the work of building community. In essence, trying to make bread from stones is like eating the Easter eggs that are already filling supermarket shelves before we have passed through Lent and Holy Week. It’s like having the resurrection before the cross. We know that real bread is not made from stones. And so, through this Lenten time of “Good Enough” may we know that real bread and the word of God are enough to sustain us each day. Jesus says “one does not live by bread alone … but by every word that comes from God” That’s good enough for Jesus, and it’s good enough for us. May all God’s people say Amen Loving Kindness: the Impossible Becomes Possible Preached on February 20th, 2022 For Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 6:27-38 This week our gospel reading continues on immediately after the passage we read last Sunday. Jesus has been on an overnight retreat on a mountain, praying alone and in silence. Then he comes down the mountain to preach to the assembled crowd of people. Many of these are already followers of Jesus: they are disciples. In spite of the large group, this seems like an intimate moment. Jesus raises his eyes to meet the eyes of his disciples directly. He speaks to them on the level. This is Luke’s Sermon on the Plain. We can imagine that he speaks gently, not rushing, making a safe space for the hearers. He wants them to pay attention because he is delivering the very core of his message. He does this with mercy and loving kindness. “Love your enemies, do good for those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you” he says. As current day disciples, we might well stop Jesus at this very first verse. We ask: How are we supposed to love our enemies, the ones who wish us harm? This teaching is disarming. To practice it would leave us vulnerable and open to more harm, more abuse. Who would ever do this to themselves? This teaching sounds impossible. We might begin by asking Jesus “who is our enemy, we are supposed to love?” Who is my enemy? Putin? ISIS? Foreign and domestic terrorists? Enemies like terrorists pose a corporate threat. The way they operate means that they instill fear in entire communities, besides the individuals they actually target. Black American communities and churches may fear white supremacists. Jewish communities and congregations may well fear anti-Semitic hate groups and terrorists. And yet there are some luminous examples of these communities finding the courage to love and show forgiveness for these kinds of enemies. On June 17, 2015, the senior Pastor of Mother Emanuel AME church in Charleston, SC welcomed a troubled young white man to their Wednesday evening Bible Study. This turned out to by white supremacist Dylann Roof. The Chicago Tribune reports “The Rev. Clementa Pinckney … even invited the stranger to take the seat beside him … He wanted him to feel at home, comfortable," says Sylvia Johnson, the minister's cousin. "Nothing to be fearful of. This is the house of the Lord, and you are welcome." An hour later eight members of the Mother Emanuel Bible Study group had been shot and killed by Roof. They included: “Tywanza Sanders, Doctor, Coleman-Singleton, Hurd, Jackson, Lance, parishioner Myra Thompson, 59, and Pinckney, who in addition to serving his church was a state legislator for 19 years. Daniel Simmons Sr., 74, a retired minister who'd became a regular attendee at Emanuel, died at the hospital.” The Chicago Tribune reports that Roof’s trial took on the air of a church service. “One (disembodied) voice after another shared with [Roof] the lessons they'd learned at Emanuel, and from their lost loved ones. They had been taught to forgive those who trespass against them; to hate the sin, but love the sinner … Roof lowered his head slightly when Nadine Collier, Lance's daughter, tearfully offered her forgiveness. ‘You took something very precious away from me,’ she said, choking back her tears. ‘I will never talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again. But I forgive you and have mercy on your soul.’” [1] The saints of Mother Emanuel embodied love and forgiveness for a most feared enemy at that trial. Another example shines through in the actions of Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker of synagogue Congregation Beth Israel in Fort Worth, Texas. On January 15th, this year, the Rabbi and four members of his congregation were held hostage by armed gunman, Malik Faisal Akram. This has been described as a terrible anti-Semitic act of terrorism. Mary Louise Kelly of NPR reports “Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker let the man who had knocked [on the door] into his synagogue ... The man was cold so Rabbi Charlie, as he's known, made him a cup of hot tea.” The man stayed in the synagogue as the Rabbi began prayers with a small congregation. During silent prayer he heard a click and so he left the bimah and went to talk with the guest: "I spoke with him one on one, quietly … I said that he was welcome to stay for the rest of the service or that if he had just come in to get warm, he was welcome to leave. He didn't have to feel that he was being rude. While I was talking with him, he pulled out a gun." [2] Akram held the Rabbi and his congregants hostage for 11 hours. While the perpetrator was drinking juice, the Rabbi threw a chair at him allowing an escape. Akram was subsequently shot dead by security services. When asked if he would do anything different if he had the time over, Rabbi Charlie said he would invite in the stranger and given him tea again. 'We can't live in fear': “hospitality means the world.” Rabbi Charlie was asked if he had a message for the hostage-taker’s family. “Give me a moment — a moment of compassion” he said “while I try to respond. I've not been asked that before. I would say to his family I am so sorry. I am so sorry that you had to endure this tragedy. It's horrible for all of us.” I pray that I may have the grace and the presence of mind to act with the same love and compassion as the members of Mother Emanuel, or the Rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel, if I am ever in a similar situation. But I have never been held hostage at gunpoint, nor have I ever been subject to an active shooter situation. We, you and I, as disciples of Jesus, have been called to love when we have been more inclined to fear. Now, no one should ever hear a sermon, from me or anyone else, that says they should put themselves in harm’s way with an enemy or abuser. In the case of an abuser, distance is may be necessary. Secrecy about the abused person’s location may be needed. Physical threats must be taken seriously. When someone really is a threat, love must be from a distance. Or, perhaps we are not able to love at all. We might pray from a distance. Or, perhaps we are not be able to pray for them either. This is OK. We’ll talk later about extending our circles of love and blessing gradually as we are able. And yet, there are circumstances where our fear of the enemy is “in our own heads.” The perceived enemy may be someone we allow to push our buttons and trigger us to anger or breakdown. It may be someone who we let under our skin, so that we are irritated. It may be someone who seems prickly and rude to us, simply because they need love but are afraid to ask for it. On occasion I have needed to walk into a situation of tragic loss and I’ve feared that I will not know what to say or do. People might be so embittered they become reactive and defensive. They may yell “Call yourself a pastor! How will your pious prayers help us now?” How do I summon the courage to love in that kind of situation? Other times, I’ve been asked to provide spiritual support for someone whose behavior is unpredictable, due to mental illness or addiction. The person appears to be threatening, and yet what they really need is someone to listen with patience and love. In those situations, I’ve been mindful of putting measures for my physical safety in place. Then I need to find the courage to face the challenge to my emotional and spiritual safety. Over the years, I have learned that this requires me to be centered in God. If I walk into a fearful or threatening situation without centering, I can be thrown off balance. I’m inclined to react defensively when fear comes to the fore. A couple of years ago, I was introduced to tool that enables the kind of centering I’m talking about. It is the Buddhist practice of the “Loving Kindness Meditation.” I’ve experienced this meditation in a number of groups and settings. It has always centered the group, with compassion for themselves and indeed compassion for the whole world. The loving kindness blessing begins with the self, and moves outward in circles. The next circle includes someone who is a benefactor: a spouse, parent, or mentor. This is someone it is easy for you to love and respect and care for. In the next circle you focus on someone you feel neutral about, perhaps your mail deliverer, a grocery store clerk. This is someone you see from time to time but don’t know well. In the next circle, the blessing is extended to someone you find difficult to love. Most leaders of this blessing will say that this is not your “worst enemy” or someone you find impossible to love. Instead the participants are invited to simply extend their circles of blessing incrementally. That way they show compassion for themselves and their own limitations. They also have the courage to extend their love just a little more than the last time they prayed. The circle of blessing may be extended to all the people and the creatures of the world. Or it may remain within the participants’ circles of family, friends and acquaintances. It is particularly powerful when the final circle extends to those who are joining together in the blessing. And so, we have circled back to Jesus and his Sermon on the Plain. He looks us in the eye and says, with loving kindness, “love your enemies, bless those who curse you, pray for those who wish you harm.” And then he goes on to lead a life that shows the way to practice this teaching, even in his death on the cross. As we close this time together, let’s show one another the way to become so centered in God, so filled with courage, that we might be able to begin, just begin to extend our circles of blessing and love to our enemies and those who would wish us harm. The congregation was then led in the Loving Kindness Meditation Amen [1] https://www.chicagotribune.com/sfl-you-are-welcome-the-night-emanuel-opened-its-door-to-evil-20150620-story.html [2] https://www.npr.org/2022/01/20/1074191124/hostage-synagogue-texas-rabbi Who Will Laugh Last? (Told Plainly) Preach on February 13, 2022 for Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 6:17-26 This morning we read a passage from the gospel of Luke that is not often acknowledged. When Christians talk about the Beatitudes or “blessings”, they generally refer to verses from Matthew’s gospel. These teachings are given during Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount” a text that is understood to be central to Jesus’s message. But Luke presents his Beatitudes a little differently. Jesus stands on a level place with the disciples and the crowd, the language is subtly different. Today we look at the Beatitudes from Luke’s perspective, and we meet Jesus’s gaze as he looks us in the eye. There is no squirming out of it. Jesus had recently gone up onto a mountain to pray. He spent the night praying amidst the craggy rocks. In the morning he calls his followers to join him. This is when he chooses the 12. These are the ones who will be the apostles, the ones who are sent out to bring Jesus’s message to the world. Having done all this, Jesus comes down with the disciples to a level place. This is where our gospel reading for today begins. There is a great multitude of people from far and wide and there are a many disciples who are already following him. The people press in on Jesus. They want to hear his words and many seek the healing touch that they have heard so much about. The people, the disciples and Jesus are all on a level. Then Jesus makes eye contact with the disciples. Perhaps they know what is coming. Perhaps this teaching is especially for them. He begins: "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets." (Luke 6:20-26) I wonder if some of the hearers break eye contact with Jesus, as he recites these uncomfortable “woes”. Or perhaps they gaze at him in awe hearing these counter-cultural statements. The world says that the poor are to be pitied, they are not blessed. And isn’t wealth and prosperity a sign of God’s blessing, not a woe? In this teaching there are echoes from earlier in the gospel of Luke. Mary sang of the hungry being filled and the powerful being cast down from their thrones while Jesus was yet unborn in her womb. And when Jesus first spoke in the synagogue in Nazareth, he proclaimed “good news for the poor.” This theme is known as “the Great Reversal” of Luke’s gospel. God does not see the world with the world’s eyes. Worldly values are reversed. While the world rejects or pities the poor, God lifts them up and pronounces them blessed. While the world admires those who are wealthy, God anticipates their spiritual demise. God sees blessing where we see misfortune. God shows favor for the poor, the outcast, the mourning, and the hated. God sees misfortune for the materially rich, the ones who are full, the laughing, and the ones who are held in high esteem. Their reward is already here. Sadly their material reward causes them to separate from one another and from God’s purposes. They are poor indeed. It is as though Jesus is saying: “If you don’t mourn now, you will mourn later.” “If you cut yourself off from God, with wealth and status, you will suffer later.” “If you make jokes about the unfortunate ones on earth, you will be the one who is laughed at later.” It is not that God wants people to be poor. Rather, God shows compassion for the poor, and grieves that the wealthy who could help them, keep too much for themselves. And listening to the text, we may think that God wants us to refrain from laughter. I can’t believe that is true. Perhaps what the beatitudes have more to do with why we laugh? Sometimes people laugh because they enjoy flaunting their wealth. Or they laugh at others who lead miserable lives, glad that they are better off. Or they laugh at people they call “crazies”, the mentally ill and the addicted. We laugh at what we fear we might become. But, this is a lonely hollow laughter. And at the same time, life would be unbearable without laughter. Laughter is welcome in worship and in church life. Where would we be without it? But our sense of humor is better when aligned with the coming kingdom. Lasting laughter will be found in the joy of the hungry when they are filled with good things. Or it will be found in the joy of someone who has come through grief and has begun to live again. Last week I watched the movie “The Mauritanian” with my husband. I can recommend this movie, but I have to warn you, it has some very disturbing scenes. It’s not for everyone. The movie tells the story of Mohamedou Ould Slahi, a young Muslim Mauritanian man who was held in Guantánamo Bay for fourteen years. For many of those years Slahi was held without a charge. He now lives in the Netherlands, at the invitation of the Dutch government. Slahi is portrayed as a gentle person in the film. He is arrested while celebrating a family wedding in Mauritania. He fondly kisses his mother good bye, assuring her he will return home soon. American lawyers, Nancy Hollander and Teri Duncan, travel to Guantánamo to learn about Slahi’s case and to defend him pro bono. Their first objective is to find out the charges against Slahi and bring his case to trial. This does not occur until Slahi has been in prison for 8 years. It turns out that Slahi’s only connection with the September 11th attacks is that he had one of the bombers stay overnight in his apartment while he was studying in Germany. Over the course of his imprisonment Slahi is tortured because he will not confess. He endures all kinds of abuses and degradations. Gradually any kind of comfort is removed from his cell. He is expected to sleep in the freezing cold and unrelenting bright light. Heavy metal music is blasts day and night. Somehow Slahi survives. He prays at the prescribed times of day whenever possible. He continues to appeal to God to protect him, if that is God’s will. We had watched about three quarters of the movie when my husband turned to me and said “his faith is the only reason he got through it.” When the interrogators threaten to arrest his mother and bring her to Gitmo to be tortured and raped, Slahi finally breaks down and confesses. Slahi’s mother died in Mauritania while he was still imprisoned, he never saw her again. Slahi finally has his trial and is cleared. Then he is kept seven more years in Gitmo before being released. Tahar Rahim portrays Slahi in the movie, but film ends with shots and and a brief interview with Mohamedou Slahi himself. Slahi had written a book while imprisoned in Guantánamo called “Guantánamo Diary.” He laughs as he holds up many copies of his book in many different languages. He plays with his young son and revels in his freedom. This man speaks the truth about what happened to him and he is also full of joy. Perhaps Slahi is one of the reviled and defamed that Jesus is speaking of, when he talks to us on the level. Jesus eye contact with the disciples reminds me of my mentor who stops me when I joke at my own attempts to avoid what God would have me do. She smiles and then she looks me in the eye with a serious expression. She asks: “What are you afraid of?” “What are you afraid to let go?” I think the joking will distract her, but she doesn’t let me get away with it. “What is God’s invitation for you in this?” she asks as I attempt to skate around an “invitation” that is challenging me. I can be flip when I’m faced with a serious situation. This is an avoidance tactic. Making a joke allows me to wriggle out of uncomfortable conversations. It allows me to hold back tears of compassion and grief that ought to flow. As the Apostle Paul wrote in the letter to the Romans, we are to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. And so, we may ask ourselves who is weeping now? Certainly people of Ukraine, as they brace for war between powers on either side of their country. And also the suburban community where my children grew up. They are grieving the loss of a High School student who died in a tragic single vehicle car accident in the early hours yesterday People who have been bereaved are weeping whether their loved ones were taken by COVID, by other diseases, or by violence or accidents. People who are lonely and alone are weeping. Those who are addicted or love someone who is addicted weep now. And those who are homeless, without housing, or refugees who do not even have a home country. Friends, we may and we must laugh now, because life would be unbearable without laughter. And we must also grieve now, because our world – our families – our communities – are broken and bereaved. But we leap with joy at the prospect of the kingdom coming in our midst, where the hungry are fed, and the mourning are comforted and the poor are lifted up. Jesus tells us this plainly. May all God’s people say, Amen Exhausted? Go Deeper Preached on February 6th, 2022 for Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 5:1-11 Today’s story, from the gospel of Luke, is the first of many miracles and parables set at the Sea of Galilee. Simon, who is renamed Peter later in the gospel, and the other disciples will have a many adventures with Jesus on this lake. Several of Jesus’s miracles will involve fish and he will tell and act out parables centered on the stormy lake. These stories will tell of God’s care and provision for all people even in the storms of life. In the passage we heard this morning, Jesus calls the first disciples who are fishermen. Jesus arrives on the shore of the lake. He has already gathered a crowd, who are following him to hear more of his teachings and witness his healing miracles. Much of Jesus’s ministry will take place around the lake. Jesus decides to preach to the crowds from the water. Simon and his fellow fishermen are mending and cleaning their nets nearby, and so Jesus asks Simon to take him out in his boat a little way offshore. We don’t know what Jesus told the crowds that day, although we do know that they had come to hear the word of God. Our story focuses on the conversation in the boat. Once the sermon is over, Jesus tells Simon to put out into deep water and let down his nets for a catch. Now, Simon is exhausted. He has been fishing all night in the shallow waters with his partners James and John. The night’s work was a wash, they had caught nothing. Add to that, they have spent the last hour cleaning their nets of weed, sand and gunk. The fishermen want to go home for breakfast and then to sleep. Putting out into the deep water is the last thing on their minds. Still, Jesus commands respect with Simon. “Boss, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." Simon resigns himself to taking the boat into the water further out from the safety of the shore. The nets will need cleaning yet again, but there is something about this Jesus that makes him go along. Low and behold, the nets become filled with a huge catch. The other fishers in the cooperative have to be called. It takes two boats to bring in this haul, and even so they begin to sink. Simon suddenly realizes he is the presence of holiness. He falls down, saying “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” But Jesus isn’t looking for confession and subservience. He tells Simon not to be afraid, he has a new vocation. From now on he will be seeking out people, not fish. Simon, James and John become the first disciples. I come from a seafaring nation. I live closer to the ocean now than ever before, but when I think of commercial fishers I usually think of the British coast. When I was young, my family would often visit the seaside towns along the North Sea coast. Scarborough, in particular, has a fabulous harbor and a long history of trawler fishing. I remember walking along the harbor wall slippery and treacherous, with slimy weed and tightly clinging limpets. The salt and whip of the sea breeze and the smell of the fresh catch is unforgettable. The fishermen worked, throwing weather-worn ropes around the concrete bollards and sorting through their orange nets, picking the shellfish from the weeds. They seemed oblivious to the noisy gulls swooping and squabbling around their heads. The massive catch of cod or haddock was already safely stowed in large tanks on the ship. If we continued our walk along the sea front, we’d be met by the aromas of fish and chips and paper cones of shellfish. This was an ocean to table experience. I’ve never really known a commercial fisher. They have always seemed to be a breed apart. The weather-beaten men I used to see on those trips to the coast looked tough and hearty. They spoke with such a strong dialect I couldn’t quite grasp it, probably using curse words I had not yet learned. I was reminded of the hazards the fisher folk faced daily, when I heard the cryptic shipping forecasts broadcast the radio with warnings of gale force winds and severe storms. I imagine that Simon and his partners were more integrated into the community than the commercial fishers of today. And the Sea of Galilee is a lake not an ocean. But life was still treacherous for the fisher folk of Jesus’s time. Fishing was and is the most hazardous occupation. Simon most likely witnessed many of his fellow fishermen being injured or drowning. These frontline workers of Jesus’ time were certainly a tough and hearty breed. Simon and his partners fished close to the shore, using the same trawling technique as the fishermen of North Yorkshire. Fishing in the shallows was more of a sure thing. They could get back to land quickly if a storm blew up. Perhaps they were more likely to make a catch closer to the shore, where their nets could reach the bottom. Perhaps they feared the deeper waters because of the unpredictable storms and the very real possibility of drowning. Perhaps they had heard rumors of strange lake monsters and wanted to stay away. When Jesus asks Simon to put out into the deep, Simon is also exhausted. He’s done his work, even though he has nothing to show for it. He’s ready to quit. But when Simon does as Jesus asks, the experience is not terrifying in a life-threatening kind of way. It is terrifying in a holy way. The abundance of the catch is totally unexpected. Simon is suddenly aware that he is in the presence of divinity. Perhaps you can relate to Simon in his exhaustion. Two years ago, when the pandemic hit us, many people were already exhausted by their work and daily life. Healthcare workers, first responders, teachers, school bus drivers, transportation, food supply and restaurant workers were already worn too thin. Patients dying alone and in great numbers; irritable, uncooperative customers and passengers; and fellow employees out sick, have added to the exhaustion for essential workers. These circumstances have pushed many people over the edge. It’s not surprising that so many have quit. These past two years we have witnessed “the Great Resignation.” Perhaps you have quit your job. Perhaps you had to, even if you didn’t want to. Retirement has come on suddenly for some of us and we wish that we had more control over the situation. Others want to retire but cannot yet, because of financial constraints or a sense of responsibility. When the pandemic first began, many congregations and pastors, felt the same exhaustion Simon experienced having worked the whole night to no avail. We lamented; “Really God? How do you expect us to carry on now? We were already working to the max.” Many Sunday Schools have folded, as parents feared bringing their children to church and were also weary of online learning. And when churches returned to in-person worship, attendance was diminished. And at the same time, the appeal of online services has waned. Many pastors have reported to me their weariness with pivoting from in-person to online and back again. They are tired of dealing with frustrated congregants; they are exhausted by an unrelenting feeling of responsibility for their congregation and worry for their own health. Many pastors have conducted far too many funerals and not enough baptisms these past two years. There have been a great many resignations and retirements in ministry. In some ways, Wollaston Congregational Church has fared better than many churches. I tell my colleagues that we were ahead of the curve. We were already dealing with the major cultural changes that resulted in few families coming to church. We were already thinking and talking about what it will really mean to be church in the future. Staying in the shallow water means keeping on doing things the same way and expecting a different outcome. We know that is the way of insanity. Fortunately, Jesus has already gotten into the boat with us and is saying, “I know you’re exhausted. That’s why I’m saying ‘do something different’.” This is something like the advice “don’t work harder, work smarter.” Friends, I am proud of this congregation because we have already begun push out, albeit tentatively. We are entertaining the possibility of selling our premises, so that we can rent back the space we actually need. We are handing over responsibility for maintenance of the building and for providing community space. And so now we venture into the deeper waters. What is in store for us, what will be the great yield? Is our yield tied to the number of attendees at Sunday worship, or is it something deeper than that? Is our yield the bottom line on a budget sheet, or does it have more to do with lives transformed – our own lives, and those of our community members? The answer to these questions is still hidden from us, somewhere in the depths. Perhaps our yield has something to do with the satisfaction of knowing that we began turning this great ship, the Church, by facing into the future with courage. The deeper water is scary, it’s uncertain, it’s unfamiliar. But Jesus reminds us “I am there with you … there is abundance to be found here.” In these times we may feel disappointed, imagining that our work is done in vain. However, Jesus reminds us that we are not alone in our boats. He is here with us and is calling us to summon the courage to go into deeper water. Will we quit because we are tired, or will we discover what abundance Jesus has in store for us in the deeper places? May all God’s people say, Amen Honoring the Body Preached on January 23rd, 2022 For Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a In our reading this morning from the letter of the Apostle Paul to the early church in Corinth, Paul uses an analogy. The human body represents the Body of Christ, the Church. Each member of the body has a different function, and all work together under the leadership of the head, to perform the work that the body must do. At the time Paul was writing, this was not a new idea. The notion of members of the body working together at an organized group was well known in the ancient world. The “society-as-a-body” metaphor would be familiar to Paul’s congregation. Only in the Greco-Roman world there was a clearly define hierarchy or caste system. The slave class was dispensable. Individual members of it were unimportant. When one slave was hurt and could not work, there were many others to replace them. The Greco-Roman family also operated under a strict hierarchy with the patriarch at the head. When everyone functioned as they were supposed to, being appropriately subservient, things ran smoothly. But this is not what Paul is saying about the Body of Christ. Paul address peoples who have been deemed “unimportant” in the body of society. Paul tells them, that while they may be seen as weak and dispensable in the culture, they are to be honored in the Body of Christ. He says “God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the (supposedly) inferior members.” The recipients of Paul’s letter need to hear this message, because instead of being honored, their own bodies are being dishonored by the community. Even today, there are bodies that are not honored in our culture and in our religious communities. And, when individual bodies are dishonored, the Body of Christ is dishonored as a whole. Perhaps you have heard the expression “put on your own oxygen mask first.” This is the guidance offered by airlines in the event of an in-flight emergency for which oxygen will be needed for survival. Anyone in a position of caring for someone else should not delay accessing their own oxygen supply. Once a parent has put on their own mask, they have the ability to deal with their infant’s need for oxygen. If they prioritized the infant, the parent may suffocate in the process. If the parent dies, the child would be orphaned. And there would be one less capable adult to assist the vulnerable ones on the airplane. Caring for self is not only a matter of emergent life and death situation, though. Self-care means understanding our own wholeness as being intrinsically connected to our bodies. And self-care is essential if we are to recognize the value of other bodies, and indeed the value of the whole Body of Christ. Stephanie Paulsell, a professor at Harvard Divinity school, is author of the book “Honoring the Body.” Paulsell describes honoring the body as a Christian practice, with chapter titles like: “Bathing the Body”, “Clothing the Body”, “Nourishing the Body”, “Exerting and Resting the Body”, “Honoring the Sexual Body”, and “Honoring the Suffering Body.” Paulsell says that “by choosing the metaphor of the body to describe themselves, early Christians acknowledged that it is through our bodies that we love and serve one another.” [1] She cites the fourth century Christian scholar, Jerome, who taught that “the body was a great equalizer of persons [saying] ‘He whom we look down upon, whom we cannot bear to see, the very sight of whom causes us to vomit, is the same as we are, formed with us from the self-same clay, compacted of the same elements. Whatever he suffers, we can also suffer.’” [2] Even with the benefit of modern healthcare and the opportunity for a healthy lifestyle, things can go wrong. Our bodies are vulnerable. We all experience sickness and injury at sometime or other. When we are suffering, though, we are still honored members of the Body of Christ. Jesus was at one with the bodily suffering of all humanity, when he suffered and died on the cross. Paulsell reminds us that it is Jesus’s wounded body that gathers us for the Lord’s Supper, saying “this is my body [broken], this is my blood [shed].” [3] While the goodness of the human body is baked into our faith, Paulsell points out that “many people have experienced religious traditions … as repressive institutions that deny the goodness of the body and its pleasure.” [4] This especially applies to women and those who identify as non-male as well as people of non-white races and ethnicities. These bodies have been designated as weak and dispensable by oppressive institutions and cultures. The western world has inherited negative attitudes toward the body thanks to “The Protestant Work Ethic” and “Catholic Guilt” among other things. Honoring our own bodies in our world today means swimming against the tide of our culture. Our culture tells us that sleep is optional and nutrition is a luxury; that healthcare is a choice and driving is a necessity. Our culture tells us that overwork is honorable and that the need for rest shows weakness. Thinness and extreme fitness are idealized, but care for one’s average body is considered to be selfish and unnecessary. Most of all, our culture tells us that we are not members of a body. Instead, the culture says, we exist individually and alone separate from one another and separate from the rest of the world. Because of these false assumptions, the health of our population is worse than that of many other developed nations. And still, individuals are not to blame. In our culture too many people work multiple jobs with no time for exercise or to cook from scratch. Too many people live in unsafe neighborhoods, where walking out is dangerous. Too many families live in food deserts, where only unhealthy processed snacks and sugary drinks are available. Food and drink companies focus on sales of addictive products, rather than quality nutrition. And, ironically, in this nation we then spend far more that the rest of the world on the medicines and treatments that keep our neglected bodies going. We are often shamed when we suffer from ill health. And at the same time, individualism leads us to believe that care for our bodies is a private choice. The repercussions of this thinking are playing out right in front of us. A philosophy of individualism runs counter to the necessity of a vaccination campaign for the health of the human population. My family of origin did not put much emphasis paying attention to our bodies. My meals were regulated by how much was put on my plate, rather than how hungry I was feeling. Leaving food was considered wasteful. I got used to eating more than I needed. I was also discouraged from complaining when I didn’t feel quite right. Trips to the doctor were time-consuming, but thankfully there was no financial charge. My mom would become impatient with me if I said I felt unwell but the doctor could not find anything wrong. I internalized the idea that I imagined pain and sickness, and if I ignored it would probably go away. I’ve spent years trying to undo this assumption. It’s taken me a long time to re-connect with my body, and I still have a ways to go. Before Christmas, I met with the Wollaston Congregational Church Pastor Parish Relations Committee: Mary Treacy and Mary Phillips. I’m thankful for these two wise women who have career backgrounds in healthcare and healthcare education. Together we decided that I should work on goals for the upcoming year in my ministry with the Church and that I should base these goals on the United Church of Christ Ordained Ministers Code. In my times of reflection I worked through the code, identifying areas where I needed to improve. The section entitled “Covenant with Self and Family” includes the item “Attend to my physical well-being by adopting a healthy life style including diet, exercise, and rest, setting aside time for Sabbath and vacation.” [5] I confessed to Mary and Mary that this is an area I needed to work on. I had been putting off some routine healthcare, partly due to the pandemic, and partly due to my own procrastination. I resolved that one of my goals would be to make appointments for those visits in the beginning of the year. When I visited my healthcare provider, I was a little surprised to realize that I’m now in an age category that requires more routine tests. And so I scheduled and had a couple of these, which were done in the hospital over the past weeks. I am not used to being on the receiving side of care. But I was moved by the nurses who provided dignity and care for me. They brought warm blankets and crisply laundered cover-ups to comfort me in my vulnerability. The machines they use for diagnostics may be cold and impersonal, but human care is healing in itself. And the nurses’ care encouraged me to show respect, even honor to my own body. I have to thank them for this gift. Of course, you are not required to make goals for this coming year. But it might not be a bad idea. If you do, I suggest you start with honoring your body. How will you covenant with yourself and God to attend to your physical and mental wellbeing? How will you nourish your body, exercise your body, clothe and bathe your body? Will you ignore aches and pains or pay attention? Will you clothe yourself lovingly, or quickly throw on coverings in shame? Will you blame your lifestyle for weakness, or will you seek out respectful, dignified care? However you feel about your body, remember God treats those members that seem to be weaker and dispensable with the greatest respect. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Stephanie Paulsell, Honoring the Body: Meditations on a Christian Practice, (Minneapolis, MN: John Wiley and Sons, 2002), 5 [2] Ibid., 11 [3] Ibid., 8 [4] Ibid., 7 [5] https://www.ucc.org/what-we-do/justice-local-church-ministries/local-church/mesa-ministerial-excellence-support-and-authorization/ministers/ministers_ordained-ministers-code/ |
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