Come and See Preached on January 19th, 2020 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: John 1:29-42 This week we return to the gospel of John, and hear his version of the first days of Jesus’ public ministry. As with our reading from Matthew last week, we hear the first time Jesus speaks in the gospel. Those first words are our focus for today, as we hear Jesus ask us “What are you looking for?” and hear the invitation to “come and see.” Our gospel reading today told of the first two days of Jesus’ appearance with John the Baptist. We assume they are in the wilderness region close to the River Jordan where John baptizes the people who come to him. John has his own group of disciples, but soon there will be a transition. Jesus will begin his ministry and John the Baptist will encourage his own disciples to follow Jesus. On the first day John sees Jesus coming toward him, he exclaims to his disciples “Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” The next day, John is standing with two of his disciples when Jesus walks by once more. Again, John exclaims “Look, here is the lamb of God.” These disciples of John’s decide to go and follow Jesus. When Jesus realizes what is going on he turns to them and says “What are you looking for?” They reply “Rabbi, where are you staying?” To which he extends the invitation “Come and see.” They go and remained with him all day. Then these disciples, Andrew and the other, go to find Simon, Andrew’s brother. They tell him “we have found the Messiah.” What are you looking for? Where are you staying? Come and see. Jesus’ first words in this gospel, are the question he asks Andrew and his companion: “What are you looking for?” What are you looking for? The question assumes they are looking for something or someone, some place or some event. It is not the question many of us would think to ask if we were being followed by a couple of strangers. It’s not the first question we think to ask visitors to our church. It’s not the first question we ask when we are introduced to someone new. But it is Jesus’ first question. And, so let’s pause for a moment and ask ourselves this question: What are you seeking? The universal answer to this question might be: God. We are all seeking God. And yet, the way in which we answer the question would indicate what it is about God that completes us. What space inside ourselves needs God’s presence, and where we would go to seek that out? Jesus does not assume he knows what Andrew and his friend are looking for. He pauses to ask. Perhaps he is asking, so that these disciples of John will question themselves, perhaps he is truly curious. Being truly curious about the answer to this question for one another, our family, friends and neighbors, might be illuminating. As human beings, do we all seek the same thing? Do we have common hungers, thirsts, and desires? And if so, would discovering what our neighbors are seeking help us to learn what we truly seek too? Jesus does not say, I have the answers to all your questions: come to church once a week on Sunday, get down on your knees and say the sinner’s prayer. These kind of commands would shut us down and restrict our thinking. Instead Jesus uses questions because they present openings, they invite creativity. What do the people of our community seek? This is a question we will need to ask in the coming year. Perhaps members of our community are seeking: - Somewhere to gather - Somewhere to connect - A place of peace for meditation - A place of healing from anxiety, depression, or addictions - A place of reconciliation for families and communities or perhaps, a place of acceptance and radical welcome, when they have not received that welcome elsewhere. The disciple Andrew and his friend don’t really answer Jesus’ question. They simply return with another question “where are you staying?” We might suppose this is their answer. They want to know where Jesus is lodging while he is the area. Has he pitched a tent among John’s wilderness community? Has he been offered lodgings in someone’s home? Or is it something deeper? They want to know where he is going to be, because they want to be with him. The word “staying” also means remaining or abiding. Abiding carries a deeper meaning, it refers to a continuing, lasting presence. So much more than simply asking where is Jesus’ place for that night. Perhaps, hidden in the disciples’ question, where is Jesus abiding, are other questions: - Where can we find you? - Where can we abide with you? If they are hoping for an address, or a destination, they will be disappointed. We can follow Jesus through the entire gospel and we will never find him staying in one place. He is always on the move, traveling about the countryside, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, teaching the disciples. For those of us who like to find a comfortable and stay there, this may be a hard thing to accept. Following Jesus does not mean resting in one place. Literally or figuratively, followers of Jesus are always on the move. And so, Jesus finally responds to the disciples’ question with an invitation. “Come and see.” Does he mean “come see the cute little airbnb I found”? Come check out the hotel pool, come see the view. No, come and see, is a much wider invitation. It’s an invitation to readers of the gospel, for all times and places. “Come … let’s go on a journey together, you are going to see what you never thought was possible … the Word of God living here on Earth, among us. Come and see.” The adventure begins … and continues with sign after sign of God’s abiding presence. Water is turned into wine at a wedding in Cana, the son of a royal official is healed i, the lame are made able to walk, the sight of the blind is restored, 5,000 hungry people are fed from five small loaves and two fish. Stories are told, lives are transformed. Come and see, Jesus says to Andrew and his friend, and they are about to be taken on the journey of a lifetime. While I was in seminary, my professor of preaching always used to say to the class “don’t tell … show.” This is what we see Jesus do. Jesus reveals the presence of God by showing the presence of God. When he teaches in words, it is through stories rather than instructions. And he is also always showing God in his deeds. I have learned that when someone has a fixed idea or prejudice, they will rarely be talked out of it. If anything, arguing the opposite point of view with someone will cause them to double down. During one internship for ministry, I asked my supervisor for ideas on how to approach people who expressed biases against people of a different sexual orientation or race. She said the only way to change minds is through the power of experience and relationship. Time and time again we see that when we remain in our silos it is easy to build up stereotypes and prejudices about “the other.” For me, this may be my white-protestant silo; my hetero-normative silo; or my socio-economic group silo. I am grateful for the new group in Quincy, the Quincy Interfaith Network, QIN, of which this church a member. QIN has helped bring me out of my white protestant silo. The monthly QIN meetings for faith leaders are hosted in our various buildings and places of worship. When the faith leaders of QIN sit down together we “come and see” the struggles of our different populations and neighorhoods. We ”come and see” what families of other faiths are dealing with. I “come and see” the things that I, belonging to the dominant race and religion, did not notice before. This last Thursday John Yazwinski, President and CEO of Father Bill’s place came to speak to QIN. The Quincy shelter has been located in the old RMV office behind the Police Station since 1988. This is a site that that the Mayor’s office is planning to redevelop. John told us of how Father Bill’s never turns anyone away, of how they accommodate 140-150 people each night. And he told of how they asked the people they serve what they needed most, what they are seeking. The resounding answer was housing. And so there are plans for Father Bill’s place, to be moved to a new facility. This facility will organized to help move people out of homelessness. They will expand their mission to include a day center with resources like laundry, showers, and efficiency apartments as well as overnight emergency shelter. Their focus will be on preventing homelessness in the first place. Through his talk, John effectively said “come and see” what we are facing, “come and see” how we minister to people who have no housing. Quincy Interfaith Network’s first service together was an interfaith vigil “Lights for Peace on the Longest Night” held on the evening of December 21st. For Christians, this was an opportunity to “come and see” what a non-Christian, non-Christmas faith gathering looks like. The first speaker on that occasion was a Unitarian Universalist minister, Rev. Clyde Grubbs, who honors his Native American heritage as a Texas Cherokee. Rev. Clyde drew our attention to the land we were standing just across from Quincy Town Hall. He named, for us, the indigenous groups who had inhabited that land. He offered prayers of peace for the rocks, the rivers, the trees and the earth, as well as the people of this land. What a powerful way that was to invite others to “come and see.” We were to come and see something beyond the huge Santa Claus, and snowman, the enormous Christmas trees and life sized Nativity scene that adorned Hancock Adams Common. Wollaston Congregational Church, as we begin a New Year and new decade, may our question, for ourselves and for those around us be: What are you looking for? May our question for Jesus be: Where are you staying? And so, may we all live into Jesus’ incredible invitation to: Come and See. May all God’s people say, Amen
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Blessed and Beloved, Re-member Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On January 11th, 2019 Scripture: Matthew 3:13-17 This Sunday we celebrate the Baptism of Christ. We remember that from the beginning of his ministry God blessed Jesus and pronounced him as beloved. Traditionally in the church, we also remember our own baptisms on this day. In some churches the congregants renew their baptismal vows. Sometimes they are sprinkled with drops of water from evergreen branches. Or, as we will do today, they are invited to put their hands into the baptismal waters to remember the day they were baptized. And, like Jesus, we are reminded that we are blessed and beloved, we remember. We even re-member. Jesus received his own baptism from his cousin, John the Baptist. In the gospel, Matthew writes that John “appears” in the wilderness preaching a message of repentance and baptizing the crowds from the whole region of the Jordan, who are drawn to him. Jesus takes his place in the line, as John baptizes each person one by one. And so John is taken aback as he is confronted by his younger cousin. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows that his time of preparing the way for the Lord has come to fruition. And yet, here is the Lord in line, waiting for baptism from him, John. And so John says "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" Jesus speaks, for the first time in this gospel. "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." And so John and Jesus go down into the waters of the Jordan. John feels humbled beyond belief, but Jesus has submitted. This is the order of things. This is what God has called him to do. John is to inaugurate Jesus’ ministry with this seal of baptism in the water. This is the long expected One, the One for whom John has been preparing the way. And now, here he is in the water, having hiked out into the wilderness. The sandals he has just removed are dusty and worn. His tunic is sweaty and rough. As he steps onto the riverbed mud seeps between his toes, grit gets under his toe nails. And so John looks to the sky and says a prayer. He places a hand on Jesus’ head and gently pushes him into the water. As Jesus emerges from the waters, earth and heaven meet. He is fully human and his vision is clear. He can see God his heavenly parent, and the Holy Spirit who descends on him. All who witness the baptism hear the same voice “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Sometimes we make the mistake of thinking of Jesus as a disembodied spirit. We say that he was above being human. We think that he possessed super powers to perform miracles and that is why we should revere and worship him. And we sometimes believe that we fail to be like Jesus because we do not live on his spiritual plane. We interpret our earthliness as sinfulness. We think that we are instructed to rise above the needs and desires of our bodies. And when we fail to do that, we point to what has been described as “original sin.” This is all a big mistake. Jesus’ specialness comes from him being the most truly human being. He owned his body and lived fully in it, from birth to death. Jesus did not take a break from his body. He did not try to numb the feelings of it, or escape it. He got hungry and thirsty, he got tired, he got dirty. He laughed and he cried. The voice from heaven says “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” The heavenly voice speaks to Jesus in his fully human condition. We fail to be like Jesus not because we inhabit our bodies fully, but because we don’t. We try to separate and hide our desires and needs from our relationship with God. When things get too hard, we’d prefer to numb ourselves than face the pain. We separate from our relationships and we isolate. We not only separate from our own bodies, we separate from the greater body of the community and the church. As I have said, on this Sunday when we are called to remember our own baptisms. Re-member. Perhaps we are also called to re-member our own selves. To reintegrate and reconcile our embodied selves. On Being is an award-winning public radio show and podcast. In each show the host, Krista Tippett, interviews a different guest, asking questions like: “What does it mean to be human? How do we want to live? And who will we be to each other?” [1] Recently I listened to Krista Tippett, interview Dr. Bessel Van der kolk, in her On Being podcast. Dr Van der kolk is a psychiatrist and professor who specializes in trauma care. He notes that psychiatrists have been aware of the impact of trauma for some time, but generally relate it to the experience of war. The diagnosis of PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, came about following the Vietnam war and advocacy for the veterans. [2] Later, doctors realized that the diagnosis applies to victims of rape and childhood abuse. And more recently, they have realized that it applies to anyone who has had terrible experiences. Over a lifetime, even if we do not have PTSD, the majority of us have experienced some kind of trauma. In our churches and communities there are people who have lived through World War II, the nuclear age, the Cold War, the events of September 11th 2001, and now the climate change crisis: just a few events that have caused communal trauma over the past 80 years. And in our individual lives, many are the victims of imperfect parenting, alcoholism and other addictions in our family systems. We have experienced bullying in school and in our work places, hazing in the military, sports teams or fraternities. Many of us live with memories of abuse by teachers, clergy people, medical professionals, and coaches. The older we are, the more likely we are to be carrying some kind of trauma. And it is not surprising that we humans try to distance ourselves from the pain of trauma. As Dr van de Kolk says, “The big issue for traumatized people is that they don’t own themselves anymore. Any loud sound, anybody insulting them, hurting them, saying bad things, can hijack them away from themselves.” This is what is known as being “triggered.” When we are triggered our rational brain disengages and our amygdala, our reptilian brain, takes over. Ironically, when someone is “out of their body” and triggered they cannot notice what is going on with others. Dr. Van der kolk says that if someone can learn to “own themselves”, they may become resilient to their trauma. If someone says something that is hurtful or insulting, they can simply notice what is going on. They can differentiate themselves from the other person. They may even understand that the person is coming from a triggered place themselves. Jesus’ owned his own body in a noticing kind of way. He noticed what was going on with him and he also noticed what was going on around him. He could differentiate between his own feelings and those of others. He knew his own membrane: where he ended and another person began. And so, when someone came to him for healing he knew what was required. He knew which body part to touch, he knew intuitively what kind of spiritual care was needed. I am a recent convert to the idea of being in my body and noticing what I am experiencing. In the environment of my upbringing, the body was something to be disregarded or conquered. Pain and other symptoms were best ignored, unless there was a complete system failure. Then you wound up in the hospital, where “they”, the health service would take care of things. As a young adolescent, I knew I was supposed to be careful about my diet. I had a tendency to gain weight, apparently inherited from my dad. My dad had been overweight as a young man, but now he was on a Spartan regime. He at a meager breakfast, took three pieces of fresh fruit, in his brief case for lunch, and then ate a substantial dinner. He had no trouble maintaining a healthy weight. My attempts were not so consistent. I’d eat less for a while, but then one day I found myself in the pantry eating a whole leftover dinner. I had been hungry when I began, but now I was just stuffing it in. My stomach was full, I could no longer taste the food, eating didn’t even feel good. And yet I didn’t stop. I didn’t own my body. When I first began to work with a spiritual director a few years ago, I would describe an experience to her. Often she would gently ask, “how did that feel in your body?” I’d be floored. I didn’t know or I couldn’t recall. But then I began to attempt to pay attention, and I noticed how anxiety felt in my body. It was a revelation. Soon I was able to notice anxiety as it actually happened, instead of looking back on an event and saying “I think I behaved that way because I was anxious.” Dr. Van der kolk notes that “Western culture is astoundingly disembodied and uniquely so …. the notion that you can do things to change the harmony inside of yourself is just not something that we teach in schools and in our culture, in our churches, or in our religious practices. But, if you look at religions around the world, they always start with dancing, moving, singing: physical experiences … the more ‘respectable’ people become, the more stiff they become somehow.” Perhaps this is what Matthew is trying to teach us, with this story of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and this baptism in the River Jordan. Jesus walks into the wilderness, unties his own sandals, descends into the chilly waters of the river. He is baptized by John and then emerges. He is blessed as the beloved child of God, the beloved truly humanly embodied child of God. And so, we inherit that blessing and that beloved-ness. We are beloved in our bodies, whatever they are … male, female or neither one, black, brown, or another of the many hues of human skin, LGBTQ+ or straight, strong and able to do most things, or differently abled and in need of human or mechanical adaptations. Whatever the size of shape of our bodies they are utterly acceptable, totally blessed. And so, it would be OK to reclaim our embodied-ness. It is OK move in church, to sing and dance and own our physicality. It would be more than OK to share this with others. And so, I invite you to check in with your body, feel in right now … sitting on the pew, your feet on the floor. Your arms by your side, you hands … clenched or relaxed. Feel the breath coming in to your lungs and out again. Then come to the waters of baptism and re-bless yourselves. Re-member that you are beloved. Amen. [1] https://onbeing.org/series/podcast/ [2] https://onbeing.org/programs/bessel-van-der-kolk-how-trauma-lodges-in-the-body/#transcript Rumbling with Vulnerability, thanks to Brené Brown Preached on January 5th, 2020 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: John 1:1-14 Last week, during our Christmas Music and Meditation, Marian talked about the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols that is broadcast live by the BBC on Christmas Eve. The service is held in the chapel of King’s College in Cambridge. The chapel is, in fact, a grand stone church resembling a small cathedral, with an immense nave and high carved stone ceiling. It was founded by King Henry the VI in 1441. On Christmas Eve the air is clear and cool, the acoustics are perfect. The service begins with the clear high voice of the single boy chorister, singing the first line of “Once in Royal David’s City” the processional hymn. As the worship progresses, the organ swells, the full choir and congregation raise their voices. There are many anthems and carols. The readings are imparted clearly, articulated by the best of speakers. They begin with the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, leading through the prophets to the birth story of Jesus as told by Luke and Matthew. The second to last carol is a rousing rendition of “Noel, noel!” good news, good news! This is the pinnacle of the service. The church falls silent. The Dean of the College steps up to the lectern, and with the most perfect diction announces: “St John unfolds the great mystery of the Incarnation.” Then the reading of our gospel passage for today begins, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God.” The lesson is taken from the King James Version of the Bible, in which the light “shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not.” The congregation gives full attention to this poetic reading of the great mystery, ending with this verse: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us … full of grace and truth.” There are no more readings or prayers. This is the ultimate message. The congregation is invited to depart in peace, singing “Hark the Herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King!” We do not hold a service of nine lessons and carols here at Wollaston Congregational. And still, in our Christmas Eve service, that same passage is our ultimate reading. It takes place just before we gather in a circle, to share the candlelight as we sing the carol “Silent Night.” Like the congregation at King’s College, John’s hymn to the mystery of the incarnation is the last message we hear before we depart to celebrate Christmas. And so, I ponder, what did I, what did we, what did the people in the congregation at King’s take away? For myself, I know it was a warm glow, a misty eye and a feeling of comfort. God has come to us in the Word made flesh, we are going to be OK. Like every gift at Christmas, though, this passage also needs to be unwrapped. Warm glows, misty eyes and feelings of comfort depart as the New Year begins and we return to work. Reality sets in again as we are faced with worrying news. On a global level there are threats from Iran in the wake of the killing of General Qasem Soleimani; and reports of devastating wildfires in Australia. In our lives we may face difficult diagnoses, family strife, or conflict at work. And, here in our church, we know we will be facing difficult decisions this year. We must grapple with what it means to the community of faith in these times. How might we be strengthened in our personal struggles? How might we provide leadership for the community? And how do we differentiate our faith community from other social gatherings in our culture? The wrapped gift cannot be left on the mantel, or under the tree. It needs to be opened and put to use. And so, this morning, we are going to unwrap that gift John eloquently “unfolds” to us at the beginning of his gospel. We won’t explain the mystery of course. But we can get a little closer to what John really intends to communicate. We can be drawn more deeply into what it means for our church, our lives, our community and our world. And so we pause to ask what is really meant, in the phrase “the Word became flesh and lived/dwelt among us”? The Word, according to John, has been with the Father since the beginning of time. The Word was present as God spoke the world into being. And now, in this grand introduction to John’s gospel, the Word comes to us in the person of Jesus. The phrase “dwelt among us …” comes from the poetry of the King James Version. It’s not everyday language. It’s not what we would say, for example, when our long lost homeless cousin comes to sleep on our couch. And it’s not what John said either. John’s words are most literally translated as “the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us.” Or to use Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase “the Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.” This isn’t a Word who lives in the towers of academia, or in a fine bishop’s palace. This isn’t a Word who resides in a gated community, or is protected by bodyguards. This is a Word who gets up close and personal. This is a Word who pitches a tent among unhoused tent-city dwellers, travelers, and refugees. This is a Word who shoots hoops in the neighborhood, and goes to community development meetings. This Word – who was with God from the beginning, who spoke creation into being – lives among us in the rough and tumble of everyday life. That is to say, the Word – God come to us in Jesus – is not afraid to lead a vulnerable human life. During Jesus’ life time the disciples called him teacher and Lord and yet, according to John’s mystery, Jesus does not Lord it over them. Instead of conventional leadership of power and control, Jesus adopts an attitude of servant leadership. If we skip to the end of the gospel we will recall an event on the night before Jesus’ crucifixion. After supper Jesus knelt on the floor of the upper room with a basin of warm water and a towel. One by one he removed the disciples’ sandals and washed and dried their feet. When they objected and asked why he, their leader, was doing this he responded “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:12-15) The attitude of Jesus, the Word, who lives among us in the rough and tumble of life is “servant leadership.” We might also call it vulnerable leadership. Author Brené Brown writes about vulnerable leadership in the book “Dare to Lead.” This book is concerned with leadership in organizations. And yet Brown connects leadership with love, as she quotes a writing of Christian writer and theologian C.S. Lewis, “The Four Loves”: “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” Brown repeats Lewis’s message: “To love is to be nerable.” Thinking of leadership in terms of love throw us off balance a little. We are used to love in terms of intimate relationships. We expect love from our romantic partnerships, in our family and among our close friends. But what about vulnerability and love in leadership? Does that ring true for you? This, Wollaston Congregational Church, is my hope for us here in our church this coming year: that we would bring an attitude of vulnerability and love into leadership. That we would take on the attitude of daring leadership that has been modeled for us in Jesus, the Word, who moved into the neighborhood. According to Brené Brown, daring leadership means building a community of trust. It means creating wise boundaries. It means sharing our truths appropriately and wisely. It means, according to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, speaking the truth in love. Brown calls this “rumbling with vulnerability.” Our speaking the truth in love, or rumbling with vulnerability, does not depend upon me preaching a fine sermon or impressing you with my ministerial credentials. It depends upon us cooking and breaking bread together. It depends on us meeting in one another’s homes to talk through the difficult stuff. It depends on us going together to hold the hand of a loved one in hospice care. It depends upon us speaking the truth in love, about our lives, our world, our congregation and our future. It depends on us naming the elephant in the room and speaking out loud about our greatest fears. In this coming year, I hope you will trust me enough to be vulnerable, so that I can serve as your leader. And I also hope that you will each rise to the occasion and claim your role as leaders too. That will take courage. It will also take vulnerability: rumbling with vulnerability. There are many ways that this could go wrong. And there are also many ways it will go right. That is why it feels like a risk. For the past three years, here with you, I have wondered how to differentiate the community of the church from a typical social gathering. Now I think I know how it is different. The church is a community in which the Word has become flesh. It is the neighborhood where Jesus has made his home. That is how we are distinct from other social groups. We dare to lead – one another and the community. And we rumble with vulnerability. So, as we begin this New Year of ministry, let’s not be afraid to unwrap the gift of God come near, the Word, made flesh and living among us. May all God’s people say, Amen |
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