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.
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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 |
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