May the Cognitive Dissonance of the Season Be With You Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On Sunday November 21st, 2021 Revelation 1:4b-8 Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen. "I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty. John of Patmos lived on an island in the Aegean Sea. He railed against the Roman Empire and it’s persecution of the early Christian Church, envisioning this conflict of Empire and the Body of Christ as a great cosmic battle. Scholars agree that John wrote the book of Revelation to the “seven churches in Asia.” These were early Christian churches, who were persecuted by the Roman Empire and needed a message of hope. The book of Revelation is that message told as an apocalyptic vision of the author. The excerpt we read today is from the very beginning of the book. The message shares grace and peace with the congregations, and paints a picture of the risen ascended Christ descending on clouds to reign over all creation. All the tribes on the earth will wail at this awesome scene, and God will declare that God is the alpha and omega, first and last, the one who is and who was and who is to come, the beginning, the middle and the end. Some of the imagery of John’s Revelation can be quite disturbing because John wrote from a dire situation. The Island of Patmos looks inviting now, with picture postcard bays lapped by the turquoise sea. Today’s Patmos is scattered with white Grecian homes rising up a hill toward an eleventh century monastery. In the first century, Patmos was a deserted mountainous island. John must have wandered the rocky outcrops scavenging for food and water. It’s not surprising that some of his writings are close to hallucinatory. If we can get past the imagery, though, we are reminded that John is writing to people who are experiencing cultural oppression. He writes in coded language, so as to escape the censorship of the Roman rulers. John is reminding faithful Christians, struggling to survive in their persecuted little gatherings, that God is on their side. He reminds them that the Roman rulers are temporary, and that their power is nothing compared with the power of God. He encourages them to think that Christ is returning soon to take them up, with a vision of the risen and ascended Christ descending on the clouds. Human rulers rise and fall and disappear into the dust, but God is the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end of time. John’s apocalyptic vision has inspired many responses. Not all are life-giving. Some interpretations attempt to be “literal”. They ascribe direct equivalences with modern day issues, instead of reading the book for what it is and in which culture and era it was written. For example, there has been a very harmful theology spreading around some evangelical churches, that the coronavirus vaccine is what John calls the “Mark of the Beast.” Many ministers in the United States have been eager to debunk this misinterpretation. But once a rumor takes hold in a community it can be hard to shake. And, moreover, misinterpretations like these completely miss the message impact of John’s letter to the church. Instead we would do better to look at the community John is writing to, and wonder where are the places those kinds of communities exist in our world today. I must confess that I feel a little cognitive dissonance today. I am trying to pull together the threads of the American Thanksgiving holiday, on Thursday, and the last Sunday of the liturgical year, today, which is “Reign of Christ Sunday.” At its best, Thanksgiving is a lovely celebration in the United States. Ideally the holiday unites families, friends, neighbors and communities. Gratitude for what we have inspires us to generosity to those who are in need. Charitable organizations capitalize on the feelings of gratitude and generosity at Thanksgiving, even though they need to feed the hungry throughout the year. Interfaith Social Services takes full advantage, having the local churches and other places of worship do an ingathering, in order to stock the pantry shelves for the coming cold months. “Reign of Christ” is not so comfortable. A few years ago I shared one of the many Byzantine paintings of what is imagined to be the risen, ascended Christ reigning over all. Our beloved church member, Ellie Cleveland recoiled, declaring that the person in the picture who was supposed to be Christ looked evil. Ellie was not comforted by the image. I guess that is the purpose. Reign of Christ is supposed to make us quake a little. We are supposed to fear the great disruptions predicted for the coming of the end of time. The gathering together of all things under one Lord, Jesus Christ, will mean immense changes to the status quo of the world. The final realization of God’s reign means the end of human kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers, anyone in authority over the world, the nation, the state or the city. While, these people sometimes make us angry, we recognize that the world might devolve into chaos, if our human structures of authority were to fall apart. And so you might well wonder “why disrupt the ‘positive vibes’ of Thanksgiving with John’s apocalyptic writings?” The reason is that Thanksgiving is lovely, at its best. But of course, our world and our culture is not “at its best” for all people in every place, and in every moment. Until heaven and earth flee away, as Revelation and the Christmas carol tells it, there will be pain and suffering, injustices and inequities, and the failure of leaders to take action. Over the past couple of weeks, inequities and injustices have been coming to light in our local public schools. A racist video – including hate speech - made by a white High School student was shared on social media. A black student confronted the creator of the video and the two got into a fight. Subsequently the black student was suspended from school. To my knowledge, the white student has not suffered any consequences. The black student told TV reporters he regrets resorting to violence. Other students joined the suspended student during a walk out from school. They are demanding a substantive response from the school administration to the racism in the schools, that is boiling to a head. [1] Approximately 60% of students in Quincy schools are non-white and 93% of educators in the public schools are white. No doubt the white administration and teachers are culturally aware, compassionate people, doing thoughtful and difficult work. But they do not have the perspective of the non-white students and their families. Students need to see themselves and their concerns reflected in the adults who are in authority. And the staff need guidance from those who have lived the life of a child who has been taunted for the color of their skin and the indignities suffered by their ancestors. The Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion Subcommittee of the Quincy School Committee is working to address some of these issues. [2] This example of injustice and inequity in our culture today and is very close to home. I have a feeling that these are the students who feel underrepresented in the school system and in authority in generalare the kind of people John of Patmos is writing to. I’m reminded that my Theology Professor in seminary used observe that people who are comfortable with the status quo prefer not to think about the end times. Whereas people whose lives are miserable under current human authority actively long for Christ’s coming. I count myself among people who are comfortable with the status quo, I prefer not to think about the end times and God’s judgment. Many preachers say that the gospel comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable. And I’m pretty comfortable. Fortunately though, for those of us who are resistant to upheaval, the change of the liturgical season is the perfect opportunity for self-examination. One of my most respected former pastors caused a stir in the church one year when he taught the congregation that Advent is the perfect time to make New Year’s Resolutions. That’s right. Advent is the beginning of the church year and also it is a penitential season. Advent begins next week when we will switch to the liturgical color of penitence, purple, until Christmas. On Friday I talked with Mary P and Mary T during our Pastor Parish Relations Committee meeting. Without really thinking about it, I got a head start on the making resolutions for Advent. The committee has tasked me with making goals for my next year in ministry with you all. I decided to formulate my goals by revisiting the “UCC Ministerial Code” I had committed to uphold at my ordination 5 years ago. One of the part of the code jumped out at me “I covenant with all ministers to work cooperatively and collegially with intercultural awareness.” I confessed to Mary and Mary that this is a growing edge for me. As a white minister, I am still working on the practice of allowing colleagues of color to speak first in group settings. I am still trying to practice allowing their truths to be heard, without projecting on my own cultural assumptions. Working on these practices will be a good goal or resolution for me for Advent and the coming liturgical year. Of course, the liturgical tradition of penitence and resolutions flies in the face of our cultural “holiday season” of parties, feasting and shopping for gifts. None-the-less over the coming month I invite you try a little cognitive dissonance. On Thursday I pray that we will all take a deep inhale. I pray we enjoy the feast: turkey or vegan alternative, cornbread, gravy and mashed potatoes, sweet pies, crisp apple cider or a rich red wine. I pray we will also enjoy the blessings of our lives, family, friends, neighbors and community and give thanks. And then, before our Christmas lists, let’s make some New Years resolutions to prepare for the coming Reign of Christ. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.nbcboston.com/news/local/quincy-high-to-hold-meeting-after-students-fight-over-racist-video/2564846/ [2] https://www.quincypublicschools.com/school_committee/agendas_and_minutes/2020-2021/10-28-2020_school_committee_meetings
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Pouring Out Our Souls Before the Lord Preached on Sunday, November 14th, 2021 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: 1 Samuel 1:4-20 In those days, Elkanah and his family used to go, year by year to worship at the shrine in Shiloh, where Eli was the priest in charge. They made sacrifices and ate the roasted meat, and celebrated. It was a holiday, and families would gather there. Children, who saw one another each festival time, dodged between the tents playing hide and seek and tag. The adults sat and told stories around the camp fire. When the time came for Elkanah to marry, he brought his lovely young bride, Hannah, to Shiloh. She was his beauty and his love. Soon they would have children too. Boys, to continue the family name. Girls to help Hannah with the chores and to birth new generations. Times were good, life was good. But the sons and daughters they hoped for did not arrive. Elkanah gave it some time, but it wasn’t wise to wait too long. After a couple of visits to Shiloh, with no sign of a baby, he decided to take another more fertile wife, to continue the family name. It was only expected. It was to fulfill their dream. No reflection on Hannah, of course. He loved her too. Penninah was ideal for the purpose. She popped out babies year after year. It should have been perfect. He had the one he loved, and the fertile, voluptuous one. Sister wives: what could be better? But it wasn’t so much. Penninah picked on Hannah, taunted her. And Hannah got upset. She stopped eating, she became depressed and withdrawn. One year, they all came, to Shiloh as usual. Fewer families were there by now. All the old priest, Eli, could do was keep watch by the entrance to the tabernacle. Rumor had it that Eli couldn’t control his sons, the ones who would take over from him. They didn’t care. They took meat from the sacrifices, but they didn’t fulfill their responsibilities. There were other, unspeakable shenanigans too. It was happening all over the land, people were forgetting about the Lord. They were doing their own thing. Eli’s energy was spent, he had nothing left to devote to God. The tabernacle became run down, the worshipers were few. This was the year that Hannah hit rock bottom. She had had it with Penninah’s taunts and Elkanah’s shallow comforting. Late one night after the feasting, when the rest of the camp was sound asleep, she crept into the tabernacle. She didn’t see Eli squatted on the stoop by the entrance, keeping watch. The feelings of despair and brokenness had built up inside her over the years. There was no safe place she could go to let it all out. She couldn’t let Penninah know how much her bullying hurt. But there was One who could hold all the despair, the pain, the emptiness. It was the Lord. Silently, trembling her body jerking hysterically with the sobs, Hannah poured out her soul to God. Finally, she tried to bargain. If God would give her a son, she would dedicate the child to the Lord’s service. Eli stirred from his post, angered. What was this desecration? Hadn’t things gotten as bad as they could be? Now there was a drunken woman, muttering and keening in the sanctuary. He got up as swiftly as his old bones would allow, she must be expelled from this place. Hannah refused to be sent out, accused of being drunk. She had been pouring her soul out to the Lord, and Eli had better listen. If he did not, he would miss one last opportunity for ministry. Fortunately, she convinced him: fortunately for Hannah, fortunately for Eli, fortunately for Israel. Eli reluctantly joined in her prayer, asking the God of Israel to grant her petition. The outcome of this petition? Hannah was blessed with a child, Samuel. True to her prayers, she dedicated him to the service of the Lord. Samuel enters the salvation story at a pivotal point in Israel’s history. He becomes a companion, serving alongside Eli. He brings new hope for Eli and for the temple. Samuel will hear God’s call and will become a prophet for all Israel. In time he will obey God identifying David as the future King, the one who would unite the divided kingdom and bring the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s think back to Hannah in the temple, pouring out her soul to God. Have you ever felt despair like Hannah’s: a barrenness of body, or soul? You may have experienced literal infertility. Or perhaps it is a job that you need, so that you can feel whole again. Has your marriage become barren and bereft? Do you have loved ones, like Eli’s sons, who have gone off the rails, with drink, drugs, or crime? Are you bargaining with God, or the authorities that be, for healthcare or rehab for you or loved ones? Have you received soul-draining news from medical tests? Do you fear you are losing you faculties, mental or physical? Do you fear the day when you will have to leave your home? This is this place, this sanctuary, where you can pour out your soul before the Lord! Perhaps you can’t let it out at home, or at work, or at school. Perhaps that bully, like Penninah, is always looking over your shoulder. But this must be the place, my friends, where we can be our real, authentic selves --- pouring out our souls before the Lord. There are other reasons why we may feel barren and bereft. We live in confusing times, not so different from the upheaval in Hannah and Eli’s times. We are exhausted, weary from COVID restrictions and the uncertainty of our times. Some are exhausted from taking precautions, others from pretending that everything is back to normal. Perhaps you are weary of the need to plan and then plan again, every family event, every trip, every meeting. Many congregations are struggling at this time of tentative re-gathering following a year of online worship. Their members have grown accustomed to watching services from home, and do not want to return. Others have found activities they would rather do on Sunday. The volunteer pools have dried up. Has our institution has become barren? Have the saints of our churches grown old, too weary for the task any longer? Perhaps, like Eli, we have become tired and dejected. We are witnessing a decline in the mainline Protestant church. Our churches, once fertile ground for growth, are drying up. At the same time, there must be many people desperate for a place to pour out their souls. At a time when sanctuary is so badly needed – have our churches become barren? Do we have nothing left to offer? As so many churches turning inward, are we missing opportunities to minister: just as Eli almost missed the opportunity to minister to Hannah? Have we lost our spirit of welcome for those who are seeking out true sanctuary --- abused women, homeless children, bullied teens, jobless parents, drug addicts, vulnerable LGBTQ youth? A few years ago, I learned something about ministering to people who are looking for sanctuary. I was serving as an intern in a city church that lives out an extravagant welcome. My supervisor was a young, truly authentic and faithful minister. Together we led an early Sunday service in an intimate side chapel. This service welcomed in many guests: some were tourists or young professionals just moved to the area. But others looked a little rough around the edges, having spent the night outside or in homeless shelters. The greeters and ushers would worry when someone appeared to be drunk. Was it safe to let them in? Would they cause a disruption? My supervising minister reassured the ushers. It was OK. If there was a disruption, we’d deal with it. He countered their anxiety with calm. We were there to provide a welcome. During the winter a woman I’ll call Ginny came to church. She was enthusiastic, colorful in dress and character, but a little “off”. She seemed unaware of her own behavior and loudness. She carried so many bags with her that she required an extra seat in the chapel. Ginny always sat up front, responding vocally and enthusiastically to the prayers and sermons. On one occasion I sat listening to the prelude. I was up first to give the Call to Worship, and welcome. Across the aisle, I realized Ginny was playing her Walkman at top volume, humming along. She was completely disrupting the lovely atmosphere. What should I do? Was there time to ask her to turn it down? How would she react? How could I do so without offending her? Before I could think any more about it, my supervisor quietly moved across the aisle and sat down next to Ginny. His body language was gentle and accepting, he leaned in to listen to what she had to say. They exchanged a few words and, she turned off her Walkman. He moved back across the aisle and whispered to me, “Liz, could you offer prayers for Linda, today?” The service began. Afterwards I thanked my supervisor, and asked how he dealt with Ginny’s situation. “Oh,” he said, “Ginny asked for prayers for her sister, Linda, last week, so I went and asked how she was doing. Then I asked if she would turn down her Walkman because the service was about to begin.” And so I learned a lesson … so simple, so authentic, so obvious! My friends, there are people in the world who need to pour out their souls, just like us. They don’t need much encouragement, just a sanctuary in which to do it. And when that happens God makes fertile what was barren. God has a history of doing that. We should not fear, it isn’t the first time that God’s people have felt barren and defeated. It seemed that way in the time of Hannah, and yet Samuel rose out of that barren place to lead the people toward the Davidic monarchy. It seemed that way as the Romans patrolled and circled Jerusalem in the first century. Yet Mary gave birth to Jesus, a promise of hope for the future. It may be that we, the church, are exactly where God wants us to be - ready for a new way of being church to emerge. We are reduced to pouring out our souls and we are reduced to listening, to those who would pour out their souls too. We are ready for a new authenticity, a practice of faith in which nothing is held in, nothing is held in. Let’s begin, by pouring out our souls before the Lord. Amen, Amen Wisdom for Changing Times Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On November 7th, 2021 Scripture: Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17 This is our final sermon of the series on the Wisdom Literature of the Bible, and we conclude with a second reflection on the book of Ruth. The Wisdom Literature we have encountered over these past weeks has generally focused on stories. These have been stories of everyday people, often people at the margins of society. God has not been a major character, but instead has been assumed to be present in these human lives. The book of Ruth is a story of loss and change, ends and beginnings. Two widows, Naomi and Ruth journey from Moab, a place where all is lost and their life is over. They emerge in Bethlehem in Judah, a place where they find health and happiness, life and security. This story marks a threshold for themselves and for all the people of Israel. At the beginning of the story Naomi is broken and bitter, she has lost everything: her husband and her sons. She is facing starvation for the second time in her life. She left Bethlehem with her husband years ago because of a famine. Now there is bread again in Bethlehem, and there is none in Moab. Ruth, Naomi’s daughter in law, is a Moabite, an outsider belonging to an enemy tribe of Judah. None the less Ruth insists of remaining with Naomi. Naomi’s other widowed daughter in law, Orpah, decides to return to the security of her own family. Naomi and Ruth depend on the mercy of the Judahites in Bethlehem, who are instructed to welcome the stranger. The law says they must allow the poor to glean grain from the edges of their fields. Naomi brings Ruth to the fields belonging to a distant kinsman, Boaz. They join the harvesters gathering grain. Boaz has instructs his workers to be kind to the women. Gleaning is hard, back-breaking work. The women are allowed to gather the stalks that are dropped by the harvesters. They may cut, or even pull the grasses that have been missed by the workers’ scythes at the edges of the fields. It takes a great many hours of labor gather enough grain for a little flour. The women work out a deal to thresh and grind the grain with Boaz’s workers. Not only that, they take lodging with them in the threshing house, sharing meals and bedding down together. Boaz is glad of the extra hands and treats the women as employees. But this is not enough for Naomi. She needs more security for herself and her daughter-in-law, for when the harvest is over. Naomi comes up with a plan. Young Ruth must go to Boaz during the night, and offer herself to him. To sweeten the deal Naomi can also offer a field in Bethlehem that belonged to her husband, Elimelech. Ruth goes along with the plan, and finds favor with Boaz. Still, there are legal matters to attend to. Boaz will not marry Ruth without first offering her to another kinsman who has a closer relationship. This process is out of Naomi and Ruth’s hands. It rests entirely with the male elders of the city and the other male relative. The relative allows Boaz to go ahead and take Ruth, along with the field. The story ends well. Ruth gives birth to a baby boy who is named Obed, servant of God. Obed will become the father of Jesse, who in turn is the father of the great King David and the forerunner of Jesus of Nazareth. Generations later, Jesus will also be born in Bethlehem. The new mom, Ruth, is absent from the final scene of the story. Naomi receives all the attention instead. The women of the community of the community gather around her, blessing God for her good fortune. Now she has a male next of kin who will provide for her and protect her. She rocks the child in her weather beaten, gnarled hands. This is a threshold moment for herself and her family and also a threshold moment for all of Israel. In this moment, God says: “You are not broken, you are not voiceless, you, Naomi, have great worth in the arc of the history of my people.” Benedictine sister, Joan Chittister, is author of “The Story of Ruth: Twelve Moments in Every Women’s Life.” The first moment she describes is “loss.” The loss that Naomi and Ruth experience is evident from the first chapter of Ruth, they have lost their husbands and sons, their sources of hope and security. The second moment Sr. Joan describes is “change.” In order to begin a new life in Bethlehem, Naomi and Ruth must accept many changes. Sr. Joan says “Change and loss, it must be realized, are two different things. Loss takes something away from life. Change adds something to it. Loss is a black well; change is a fork in the road. Loss is not an option; it is a necessary and inevitable part of life. Change, on the other hand, is only a possibility. It can be resisted or embraced. It can be seen as temptation or as grace. It can be borne reluctantly or it can be chosen.”[1] Friends, in our own personal lives and in the life of the church, there are eras and transitions. There are uninvited times of change. They do not always feel comfortable right away. Our young lives tend to be times of optimism and hope, times of abundance of energy and possibility. As time goes by, losses seem inevitable. Losses bring changes that are less hospitable: such as the loss of a life partner, or our home. Last week I talked a little about my experiencing immigrating to the United States. That was certainly a great change in my own life and one that was not entirely expected. When Simon and I first arrived in Boston, I was anticipating a year of two of adventure before we returned to settle down to life in the United Kingdom. I had no idea that this would be our home 35 years later. At the time my concern was to obtain a work permit, rather than a resident visa. The evening we landed, we checked into an efficiency in a seedy hotel in Brighton. I’d anticipated the beautiful New England fall, but the next day as we headed out to pick up the newspaper and check the job opportunities and real estate listings there was a freezing rain. Not a great start. We were pretty miserable, walking from one expensive apartment to another. And we were not well prepared for the brisk Boston attitude. Fortunately the college housing office soon helped us find a nice apartment within walking distance. And I enjoyed a beautiful fall exploring the area and found a well paid job while I awaited my working visa. The winter did not go so well. We were not used to the extreme cold, and the way that people hunkered down during the winter months. I expected more camaraderie in my workplace, but it seemed that everyone had already made their own friend groups. Americans socialize differently from British people. Americans get together for a purpose. New Englanders don’t eat leisurely Sunday lunches together, or hang out in the pub for hours discussing politics, religion, sports passionately but amicably. Gradually, though, we adapted to a new way of life. The church we found felt like home. A workmate taught me that it’s important to get outside and enjoy the winter sunshine sledding, snow shoeing or skiing. We traveled as much as we could to many parts of the United States: New Hampshire and Vermont, California, Arizona and New Mexico, New Orleans. The beauty of the land and the diversity of the cultures were inspiring. These were the first half of life changes that were not so hard. Second half of life changes present more challenge. Over the past couple of years it has been particularly difficult to be far from family, as my parents age. And still, the difficult changes have to be faced as well as the easy ones. As I enjoyed a visit with my parents last week, we had to have some difficult conversations. These days, when we part we are not as hopeful as we used to be about seeing one another again. Sr. Joan says “Some people take charge of their environment at times of change; they reach down into themselves to release an energy long untapped and rouse themselves into whole new worlds. Others cower in the corners of the past, withdraw from the outer world, accommodate, and scrape life out one day at a time.” [2] This is a powerful message in the book of Ruth, and a wise message for our lives and our church. Change will still happen whether we acknowledge it. Naomi acknowledges the change in her life and takes charge of her environment. She finds the untapped energy to propel herself and the fate of her family into a new world. Wollaston Congregational Church is aging now. The building in which we are sitting is close to 100 years old. Our church experiencing the same kind of lifecycle changes as we experience in our individual lives. The times of plenty and optimism, such as a full sanctuary twice on Sunday and multiple choirs, are past. And so over the coming weeks and months we may make the decision to sell the church premises and rent back our worship space. This will free us from the burden of maintaining a too-large, too-old, too-expensive property. It will allow us to enter a new era of worship and ministry. That is a momentous decision and those of us who are empowered to make it can view it either as loss or as change. When we view it as change, we can determine that this is truly a threshold moment for our church. As Sr. Joan writes “We are all Naomis on the way from the grave, all Orpahs on the way to security, all Ruths on the way to a strange tomorrow.” [3] May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Joan Chittister. The Story of Ruth: Twelve Moments in Every Woman's Life (Kindle Locations 236-239). Kindle Edition. [2] Joan Chittister. The Story of Ruth: Twelve Moments in Every Woman's Life (Kindle Locations 272-274). Kindle Edition. [3] Joan Chittister. The Story of Ruth: Twelve Moments in Every Woman's Life (Kindle Locations 280-281). Kindle Edition. |
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