What If God was One of Us? Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On December 20th, 2020 Scripture: John 1:1-18 Some years ago … I know, I begin so many of my stories this way …. I was a student intern in a church. And in this church, my responsibility was the leadership of the small youth group. And, you know the story, you’ve heard it before … the youth were not so happy about this situation because their beloved leader, Rev. Jess, had been taken away from them. Rev. Jess had been diagnosed with very serious cancer and had to resign her from her position abruptly. Both the Rev and her son, Josh, who was a mainstay of the youth group, had gone. And with Josh gone, Josh’s best friend had also left. And so, this little youth group was decimated and disappointed in this student pastor who was supposed to figure out a way for them to grieve the loss of Rev. Jess and Josh. The youth didn’t say much about the situation, but their facial expressions and apathy told the story. This is a stage in life where young people are already questioning the assumptions of their childhood faith. One of the boys, Jonny, had reached a conclusion: God does not exist. God had not saved his aunt, who had died the previous year. And now God was not saving Rev. Jess. His response, when I invited the youth to write down their prayers on slips of paper, was to submit blank slip of paper. Jonny had nothing to say to God. Atheism was he refuge. Jonny was silent in a way that only a teenaged boy can be silent. His parents were worried about him. His mom who helped out with the youth group tried to push him to participate more. But still he said nothing, silently communicating – loud and clear – that so long as my questions presupposed the existence of God he had nothing to say. Until one day, I played a popular song for the group, I’m sure you’ve heard it … What if God was One of Us by Joan Osborne. “What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus Tryin' to make his way home?…” (Joan Osborne) When the song was over I asked the group … what do you think? How would you respond to the question: What if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus? “No!” Jonny spoke! I tried to hide my surprise. “What do you mean, Jonny, why not?” “No!” he repeated “God can’t be one of us … God is separate. God is different. It just can’t be another person, certainly not a slobby person on a bus. That just isn’t right.” Jonny, the atheist, had discovered the scandal of the incarnation. And this is how the gospel of John begins. We call John’s origin story “the prologue.” This poetic book, quite different from the other gospels is not a narrative telling of Jesus of Nazareth’s life. It is a reflection of Jesus the Christ, now ascended to the Father. The one whom Fr. Richard Rohr calls “The Universal Christ.” This gospel is full of signs and symbols. And John begins with the scandal of the incarnation. “The Word became flesh.” Word. The Word had been with the Godhead since the beginning. The Word was how the world had been spoken into being. And now the Word was the one thing the Godhead wanted to say to humanity. This is how the Word came to us. The Word became flesh, and moved (as Eugene Peterson says in the Message translation) into the neighborhood. The high and holy being who had ushered in the entire cosmos, became contained in an infant. And with that flesh, the Word had become a person who could hurt, who could feel hunger and thirst, who could grieve and despair, who could stink. The Word had become a person who could fall in love, write a symphony, invent a vaccine, perform a transformative dance, grow a garden, or tend to and care for others. And the Word had become a person who could hate, kill, cheat and lie. The Word had become a person who could feel jealousy and pain, a person who could respond to others with kindness or indifference. And with all these attributes of being human, the Word could also experience what it meant to belong to the entire body of humanity. And by being in the flesh, the Word could know what it meant to feel the pain of any one part of that body as though it was his own. And so, it’s not surprising that Jonny said “No!” I think most of us, if we are honest, want to say “no!” too. Because, to embrace God as one of us, a stranger on the bus, would sometimes just hurt much too much. Enter “Sweet honey in the Rock.” Dr. Bernice Johnson Reagon was the lead singer and founder member of Sweet Honey. Her voice is mellifluous. One artist who worked with the group describes the “color of her voice” as “snow on a peach.” Reagon was the daughter of a Baptist minister, and like so many Africa American musicians she learned to sing in church. She was a founding member of the Freedom Singers, who brought music to the non-violent student civil rights movement (SNCC). At mass meetings, the singing was done in a congregational style. She says “There weren’t soloists; there were song leaders.” Song leaders began a song, but “the minute you started… the song was expanded by the voices of everyone present.” The effect was powerful and empowering. [1] In an interview with NPR, Reagon said she knew that “gospel hymns were going to be a strong foundation for the civil rights movement's many freedom songs, because most of the black activists already knew them and it was quick and easy to replace the word ‘Jesus’ with ‘freedom.’” [2] According to the movie, “Sweet Honey in the Rock: Raise Your Voice”, attending a Sweet Honey concert is an experience. The group includes a sign language interpreter, because they believe that deaf people should be able to enjoy their music too. The interpreter’s job is a little complicated, because much of the music the group sings is without words. Beat bops, hums and harmonies. The interpreter moves her hands, arms and body to express what the music is saying. During concerts the house lights are not dimmed. Reagon wants to see her audience, to talk with them. They travel the United States, drawing audiences whom they teach to sing songs of freedom for all humanity. Sweet Honey in the Rock concerts are not performances, they are events of communal singing. You are not allowed to hide in the back, or stand still while others are dancing and moving with the beat. The rhythms and melodies are infectious. Members of the audience are taught the harmonies, they are given their parts. They are expected to move their bodies. The Sweet Honey singers do not only sing with their voices, they sing with their whole selves. The music is a product of their bodies, the sound comes from deep within, and their hands, arms- legs, faces, heads - move with the rhythms and the beat. Sweet Honey in the Rock reminds us that music inhabits our bodies. And music binds our bodies as one. Their goal is to connect the audience with the music, viscerally, and so to connect them with one another. And having connected them with one another, it connects them all with the truths the women sing. A most poignant case is Ella’s Song: “We Who Believe in Freedom …” The women take the words of civil rights activist Ella Baker to make their song “We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes Until the killing of black men, black mother’s sons Is as important as the killing of white men, white mother’s sons.” [3] The singers hone in on the scandal of incarnation. They sing with their bodies, they sing about bodies, specific bodies: black bodies, white bodies, all colors of bodies. During the movie, one of the Sweet Honey singers watches on as her son prepares for his Prom. He is a handsome boy and she reflects on the fact that he was only four when she started out with the band. She says that she worries about him, as a young black man. What assumptions will be made about him by police and others? And at the same time she knows she needs to let him go. This is so hard. Sweet Honey in the Rock hold me accountable, me, the mother of a white son. They call me to recognize that when one body hurts we all hurt. I do not have to worry very much about my white son’s body. He can come and go freely. When he gets into a fix the police will believe his story. He can go for a drive, a hike, a run, without fearing for his life. This is not so, for the sons of my black sisters. And so the question is, how can I rest, while black mothers do not enjoy the freedom from worry that I enjoy? How can we rest, when any time, any day, God could be any one of us. And so we recall, the Word became flesh. He moved into the neighborhood: my neighborhood, your neighborhood, a black neighborhood, an immigrant neighborhood. What if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus, just trying to make his way home? May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://snccdigital.org/inside-sncc/sncc-national-office/freedom-singers/ [2] https://www.npr.org/2018/01/16/577690049/we-who-believe-in-freedom-shall-not-rest [3] https://www.childrensdefense.org/child-watch-columns/health/2014/ella-baker-my-civil-rights-generations-fundi/ Until the killing of Black men, Black mothers’ sons, becomes as important to the rest of the country as the killing of a White mother’s son—we who believe in freedom cannot rest until this happens. –Ella Baker
0 Comments
Mary Sings “Joyful, Joyful!” Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On December 13th, 2020 Scripture: Luke 1:26-38, 46-55 This morning we read from the origin story of the gospel of Luke. We heard of the angel who visits Mary and tells her she will become the mother of Jesus, who will be called the Son of God. And then we heard the song of joy, sung by Mary, at this astonishing news. The visitation of the angel to Mary takes place in Nazareth in Galilee, far from the religious and political hub of Jerusalem. Mary lives in a Jewish and Roman outpost, an insignificant place. Once Mary has recovered from her shock, she accepts the responsibility that Gabriel has brought to her. She agrees to carry, birth and raise the infant Jesus. Despite her initial fear, Mary acts with courage. She gets up and travels to her cousin, Elizabeth’s house in a village in the hills. She needs to confirm the angel’s story and perhaps she needs a place to hide while the child grows in her womb. She will spend the next couple of months of her pregnancy with Elizabeth. Presumably she is helping out her relative who is also pregnant and of an especially advanced age. When the two women meet and greet one another, Elizabeth’s child, the infant John the Baptist, leaps with joy inside her womb. He has recognized Mary as the mother of his Lord, Jesus. This prompts Mary to pour forth a song of praise to God, anticipating the great transformation that the birth of Jesus will mean for the world. This is a song of joy and a song of freedom. We remember that song today, by the name the Magnificat. The Magnificat is the gospel in a nutshell. Mary sings of the mighty being brought down, the proud being scattered, the poor and powerless being lifted up, and the hungry filled with good things. These themes continue through the gospel of Luke. One detail about the Magnificat that sometimes goes without mention, is that it uses the Greek aorist tense for its verbs. This is the tense of “Already and Not Yet” and it is the tense of the gospel. I wish English had this tense, but it does not. The verbs of the Magnificat are translated as past perfect: “God has brought down the mighty with his hand.” This might be better translated as “God has brought down the mighty, God is bringing down the mighty, and God will bring down the mighty with his hand.” Many of you know that I have a special attachment to the Magnificat. In my very first class in seminary I chose this passage as my New Testament text for in-depth study. It was also my chosen gospel passage for my ordination. And my ordination gift from you all, Wollaston Congregational Church, was the gorgeous Magnificat stole I wore to light the Advent candles this week. The Magificat inspires me when I lose heart, and it chastises me when I chicken out and back down from the call of justice. The Magnificat reminds me of the courage and resilience of Mary. The Magnificat is pure joy: the joy of the already and the not yet. When we sing with pure joy, we sing of freedom. The Magnificat has resonated with many Christians through the ages. It has been arranged to music, of course, and has served as a hymn from the very beginnings of the church. Usually it is presented as a medieval chant. It is sung with a haunting melody, often by a single female voice, or a choir of unaccompanied monastic tones. But what if, the Magnificat was performed in a different way? What if it was heard as a rallying cry, or a protest song, like “We Shall Overcome”? What if the Magnificat was sung to the tune of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, with the power of a full orchestra, and thousands of voices? The music of the Ode to Joy comes from the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Beethoven composed this movement to include voices, soloists and full chorus, which was quite unusual for his time. He took a poem “Ode to Joy” written by a German poet, Frederich Schiller, for the words of this movement. It is amazing to think that Beethoven was almost completely deaf when he composed the Ninth, which is considered to be his greatest work. “Following the Ninth” is a documentary movie that demonstrates the power of Beethoven’s Ninth symphony and the anthem to joy, for people who are deeply immersed in places of struggle and suffering. [1] In Tiananmen Square, Beijing, in 1989, the symphony was played over loudspeakers, during the student uprising and protests. The loudspeakers had been erected to convey the Chinese government’s propaganda. But the students blocked out the voice of the government by playing the symphony for the thousands of protesters who were assembled. The protests reached a climax when 3,000 students went on hunger strike. Many of them wrote farewell letters to their families and loved ones, and they fainted due to the lack of food. But as the Ode to Joy played they raised their voices in harmony. They called out for the freedom to express themselves through art and music. They called out for the freedom to speak the truth and to be in dialogue with their government. The student leader, Feng Congde, describes this as a moment of hope and solidarity, when, to quote the Ode to Joy, “all people become brothers.” He says the music restored their dignity. Moments later the military tanks rolled in and soldiers fired at demonstrators, killing many of the students and their hopes and dreams. In 1973, Augusto Pinochet took power in Chile, following a Coup d'état. Socialists and political critics, like Renato Alvarado Vidal, were imprisoned and tortured. Pinochet’s dictatorship interned tens of thousands, and executed more than 1,000 members of his opposition. Vidal describes the prison as the “deepest, darkest hole … music was banished, happiness was banished.” He was imprisoned 14 times. Many young men had been “disappeared” by the regime, but the young women of the resistance movement did not give up. When all the young men were gone, the women began to protest outside the prison walls. As the military patrolled around them tossing tear gas canisters into their gathering, they sang the Ode to Joy, bringing hope to the prisoners inside the walls. Lene Ford grew up in East Berlin during the Soviet era. She was a well-behaved young girl, dutiful to her country the party. And yet she also wondered what was beyond the great wall that divided her city. When she began High School she could see that the wall was patrolled by armed soldiers, who looked down from high towers. She was terrified by the idea that she might be shot if she got too close to the wall. And she weeps as she tells the story of friend’s brother who was shot and killed as he attempted to cross “no man’s land” between the East and West sides of the wall. As a teenager, Lene enjoyed writing to pen pals all over the world and developing her language skills: English, Russian, and Spanish. But her curiosity about the outside world aroused suspicion and the Stasi started to observe her as though she was a spy. In 1989 Checkpoint Charlie was opened. After decades of oppression, Lene and her friends were allowed to walk openly through to West Berlin. They were welcomed with hugs and kisses by the people: she remembers this moment and pure joy. On December 25th 1989 Leonard Bernstein conducted Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in Berlin. The “Berlin Celebration Concerts [took place] on both sides of the Berlin Wall, as it was being dismantled. [They] were unprecedented gestures of cooperation, the musicians representing the former East Germany, West Germany, and the four powers that had partitioned Berlin after World War II.”[2] Bernstein changed the words of the Ode to Joy, substituting the word “freedom” for “joy.” As the story of the Ninth is told, viewers may well begin to think that the words freedom and joy are interchangeable. Indeed there is some speculation that the poet Schiller intended this. In Japan, thousands of choirs and orchestras gather during the month of December, to rehearse the Ninth Symphony and the Ode to Joy. The New Years tradition of performing the Ninth – Daiku in Japanese - originated during the First World War, when prisoners of war from Germany brought Beethoven’s music with them. The Japanese chorus members practice and practice until they can articulate the German words and music. Christmas is not a major holiday for them, but the Japanese love to sing Daiku as they look forward to the New Year with hope. Daiku is the holiday music in Japan. In March 2011 a massive earthquake struck the coast of Japan and caused an enormously destructive tsunami. This tsunami sent the Fukishima nuclear power plant into meltdown. This was a major catastrophe for Japan, as many as 20,000 lives were lost. And so, as Japan looked for ways to heal, a massive Daiku concert was put on in Tokyo. The performance included a chorus of 5,000 people in a huge stadium. The idea was to raise funds for the victims of the disaster, and also to bring Japan together following the earthquake and tsunami. As Iwanaga Yuji, a Daiku performer, says, the Japanese culture embraces harmony. Daiku allows them to sing together as one. The message that “we are all brothers” was a powerful message of solidarity for those in the disaster area. Yuji says the Daiku performance proclaimed “Let’s rebuild Japan.” When we end our service today, we will sing our carol of resistance for this week: “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.” This hymn is set to the tune of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy theme. Singing this hymn is a tradition for the third Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of Joy. My hope is that when we sing the hymn, and each time we sing it in the future, we will remember these stories of the Ninth. And we will remember Mary, brave, resilient and strong. In these days of Advent waiting, and in this most unusual year, we may well struggle to find joy. We may feel that our freedom has been lost, amidst pandemic fears and restrictions. Even as the light at the end of the tunnel comes into view, with the newly approved vaccine, we may have concerns. There will be doubts about who will receive the vaccine and whether it will be distributed equitably. We may wonder how we will emerge from the pandemic. Which businesses will be entirely lost? How will a generation of children will overcome missed schooling and other missed opportunities? And how will we begin to grieve the ones who are gone? How will we heal? This is why we need to sing. Like Mary and all those who sing around the world, we need to raise our resilience to defy the odds. We sing the call to rebuild a just and equitable world: better than before. Because in Jesus, God brought freedom and joy, God brings freedom and joy, and God will bring freedom and joy. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPWpV3BWLJs&t=5s [2] https://www.leonardbernstein.com/about God With Us in the Stories Within the Story Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church on December 6th, 2020 Scripture: Matthew 1:1-25 This week we read from the very beginning of Matthew’s gospel. We usually think of the story as beginning, as Mary read, “now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way …” remembering the angel who appeared to Joseph said “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.” This is how we remember that God came to be with us, in the form of a newborn child. In the Isaiah passage we heard today a newborn child is a sign from God. As often happens in the prophets, the child’s name, Immanuel, is the message saying “God is with us.” You may have been surprised to find out, from our reading today, that Matthew actually begins his story with a genealogy, of Joseph, Jesus’ earthly father. There’s a family history that Matthew wants to tell, and like many family histories, there are stories within the story. In seminary I learned to do a genogram, rather than a genealogy. A genogram shows the relationships between family members: healthy, estranged, or over-attached. There are symbols and lines to show divorces and separations, ethnicities and religious traditions, sexual and gender orientation, adoptions, and people with addictions, to name a few. A genealogy presents the larger story of a family tree, giving only the names. A genogram reveals the stories within the larger story. In Matthew’s genealogy of Joseph we also have genogram. Stories that would have been otherwise hidden are told in the scriptures. Matthew alludes to this by naming or implying the presence of four women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba. Matthew’s primary message is that Joseph is descended directly from King David, and Abraham before him. These are powerful examples of Jewish respectability. The connection to David’s line gives credence to Matthew’s argument that Jesus is the Messiah. If this was Matthew’s only message, the genealogy would be a straightforward list of fathers and sons. But it’s not the only message. In the cases where women are named in this genealogy, there is also scandal and messiness. First of all, none of the women who are mentioned are Jewish. These are not the great matriarchs of the Hebrew Bible: Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. These are the ones who existed on the margins. Second, their inclusion in this family tree was generally a result of abusive treatment by the men, or the women’s own clever use of what little agency they had. Tamar was a widow of Judah’s sons, whom Judah sent to live back in her parents’ house. And so she tricked Judah, disguising herself as a prostitute, and securing her place in the lineage of Joseph. Rahab assisted Joshua’s army in overcoming Jericho. She lived on the edge of the city and was a prostitute, and so she was able to have the Hebrew spies come and go from her home without any suspicion. Rahab helped the Israelites in exchange for their clemency and the inclusion of her family in their tribe after the invasion. Boaz of Bethlehem took in the Moabite woman, Ruth, when she arrived, destitute with her mother-in-law Naomi, from a famine her homeland. Naomi advised Ruth to appeal to Boaz to marry her, as her closest male relative. Obed was their first child, who grew up to become the grandfather of King David. The last woman, Bathsheba, is not explicitly named by Matthew. But her husband, Uriah, is named. David lusted for Bethsheba and took her, as a King can do. This was one of David’s gravest sins, especially as he arranged for Uriah to be killed in battle when he discovered Bathsheba was pregnant. And yet, God eventually redeemed the whole situation. Solomon was born to Bathsheba and became the wisest king in Israel’s history. The documentary movie, “Girls on the Wall”, tells the story of a group of girls who are incarcerated in the Warrenville Juvenile Justice Facility. A drama teacher, Ms P, comes to the facility to lead the girls in creating a musical to tell their own stories. This is not exactly a “feel good” movie. It is hard for the girls to tell their stories. In every prison there are stories within the overarching story of crime and correction. These stories tell of drug-addicted parents. They tell tales of abuse, and neglect, by both the girls’ family members and the system as a whole. For some of the girls, the musical will be a turning point in their lives. It is an opportunity to confront the past and go forward in a new direction. A kind of redemption. For others, their journey will not be changed. They will remain lost in the criminal justice system for the foreseeable future. Most of the girls in Warrenville are creative and articulate, and already in the habit of improvising raps and dances. They point out that many successful black artists write their songs while incarcerated. But the girls also carry a deep anger. Their tempers wear thin, especially when painful memories are triggered. One girl, Christina, has been jailed because she is a “runaway.” That is to say, she ran away from various foster placements because she wanted to find her mother. All her life she has worried for her mother, who is addicted. Her whole quest is simply to find her mom and care for her. During the movie, Christina is adopted by a suburban Christian family, who want to help her mend her life. And yet, it is too difficult. They are loving people but they don’t seem to understand how alien their world is to Christina. She runs away yet again, continuing on the quest find her birth mother. Another girl, Rosa, is a natural leader. She is intelligent and articulate, even charismatic. She helps the other girls when they struggle during rehearsals. She gives them a safe space to talk. The other girls trust Rosa because she has been through the same things as them. Ultimately Rosa prevails and after she is released she goes to work with Ms P, helping others in juvenile facilities express their stories through drama and music. It’s been some years since I have visited a prison. Back when I was in seminary I served as a mentor through a prison ministry group for the college behind bars program. It’s been some time since I listened to the stories within the story of a young, woman, Isabel, whom I mentored in the women’s prison. Going into the prison as a visitor helped me to begin to understand the brokenness of the prison system. There are good people who work in the system, and they try to do what they can for prisoners. They root for them, encouraging them to take advantage of educational opportunities. They try to show them a way to transform their stories. And yet, it seems that the entire system is set up in favor of failure. When I went to visit Isabel I’d sit in the waiting area for hours. The office would slowly process each visitor, making sure they were on the approved list for the woman they were visiting. We were taken three at a time through the “trap”. All valuables must be stored in a locker, all metal objects must be removed from your body. Under wires trigger the metal detector. Eyeglasses must be passed through on a tray. I had been warned, “helpers” like myself were not very welcome. The Correction Officers were usually friendly the women’s family members and gave them a pass on the dress code. That was not the case with the mentors. Perhaps they were suspicious that we were working against them in some way. I was supposed to write to Isabel to arrange visits but it was a convoluted process. We were not allowed to share our last names or home addresses. And so the prisoners’ letters were delivered to a mailbox at the seminary. So I’d go along hoping that I’d be allowed in. Sometimes I’d arrive and discover that Isabel was not allowed visitors that day. One time I discovered she’d been taken into solitary confinement. Isabel was so embarrassed to tell us that she’d been in “the hole.” She explained that it was just one of those days. There was a woman who’d been getting at her, wearing her down and finally pushed her over the edge. She’d gotten into a fight. And so she been sent to solitary. If that happened again she’d be thrown off the college program. The other mentors and I did our best to encourage Isabel to keep her act together and focus on the larger story. At the same time we knew that it would be hard. Prison life is stressful, always pushing the prisoners back into their messier stories. Isabel was an incredibly intelligent young woman, determined to earn A’s on all her classes. After a day of hard work on the prison building, she’d settle to study in her cell, trying to block out the noise of the place. The aging building was always too hot or too cold. She had to write her papers by hand, and read the textbooks hunched on her bunk. Her work paid off, she graduated with honors and she was valedictorian of her class at the prison. Her graduation was held in the visiting room that was transformed, for once, into a celebratory space. Family members, course instructors, mentors and prisoners were free to mix and mingle. We took photos and ate cake: just like normal life. I was so proud to attend the event and hear Isabel give a speech. Isabel’s prison sentence was not over, but my mentoring relationship with her was. I know that she continued with her work in the building as well as taking more courses. And I’m confident that Isabel is destined to lead a productive and valuable life, once she is released. She has found the way to turn her story around. Joseph was of David’s line, but there are stories within the larger story. God does not reject the messiness of human life and human relationship. Instead, this is the way God enters the world, in the midst of the stories within the story. We all have our messy stories within the story. Some of us will let “God with us” in, to redeem and transform those stories. But for others the journey will be longer and harder. Whether the story is redeemed or whether it is not, God still comes in. God comes is as an infant born to a young woman. The child’s relationship with the woman’s husband in complicated. It’s a messy story. And the family history of the husband, who seems so respectable, also has messy stories within the story. But that doesn’t matter. Because, no matter how messy the story is, God is with us. And that is what matters. I remember a phrase a colleague of mine would pray before he began to preach: If God is with us nothing else matters … And if God is not with us nothing else matters. May it be so. Amen |
If you enjoy a sermon or have a question, please leave a comment. If you would like to quote any of my material in your own sermons or writings, please use appropriate attribution. I look forward to hearing from you!Archives
April 2022
Categories |