It’s All About the Party Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On January 16th, 2022 Scripture: John 2:1-11 Who doesn’t love a good wedding? Admittedly some of us have attended weddings we didn’t enjoy. These days weddings can be complicated and extravagant. Sometimes the hosts’ anxiety over every little detail can lead to some tension that is felt throughout the party. I doubt that this was a concern, though, in the time of Jesus. Weddings had a set pattern. The entire community was invited so no worries about who was or was not included. Everyone catered: the women of the community probably cooking and baking for days for the days-long feast. If the family could afford servants, they would serve the food and wine, leaving everyone else to relax. And, of course, the wine would flow for as long as needed and for as many guests who showed up. I have attended a number of weddings during pandemic times and have even officiated one. I have to say that they have been more joyful, beautiful, touching than anything in the “before times”. Of course, it has been stressful and incredibly sad for couples to have to postpone weddings planned for 2020. Our close friends’ daughter, Hannah and her now-husband Brad, as well as our own son, Charlie, and his wife Louisa were among that group. Hannah and Brad were both medical residents in large hospitals at the time, on the front-lines of the battle with COVID-19. They decided to postpone their main event by one year. They still wanted to be married on the original date. And so they went to the Court House and Zoomed in their parents and siblings for a simple and sweet ceremony. A year later, in May 2021, there was a wonderful wedding celebration at which joy flowed in abundance. Tears came to many eyes, as Hannah and Brad’s 2 month-old baby boy was brought down the aisle wearing a tuxedo onesie. They had not wasted any time. Our son, Charlie, and our daughter-in-law, Louisa, decided that the most important aspect of their wedding was to gather with family and friends. And so they also decided to postpone one year. Still some family members from the UK and Europe were unable to attend and the guest list shrank. But the wedding was perfect in every other way. In the 100 degree real feel heat we could remain outdoors and feel safe enough to celebrate without restraint. And, of course, there was the beautiful ceremony we hosted in WCC for Alice and Miles. Alice’s family members also had to Zoom in, and the wedding party was very small. And still, their close friends brought wonderful music and Miles’ parents brought the needed support of family. We will remember their wedding for many years to come. In today’s reading, from John’s gospel, we meet Jesus and his disciples, along with Jesus’s mother at a wedding feast. My own church-going family is pious about weddings, saying things like “the service is the most important part” and keeping long serious faces during the proceedings. In the story of the wedding in Cana, though, there is absolutely no mention of a ceremony. Jesus has only just gathered the disciples. He has not yet begun his public ministry. This threshold moment is an event that demands our attention. The very first act of Jesus’ ministry is to turn the water from six enormous stone jars into fine wine. Jesus and his new friends, the disciples, seem to be kicking back at the wedding party. They’re just a few of a great many guests from all over the community. It’s a few days into the celebration now, so things have really loosened up. The little children duck and weave through the gathered adults in a rambunctious game of tag. The old men who are huddled in one corner, have pulled out a smuggled pack of cards. They’re done with the talking and the social graces. They’ve had out their arguments over politics, the state of the village and now they are engrossed in a game. The older ladies have produced so much food that everyone is stuffed. Now, they sit together, finally taking a cup of wine for themselves, and placing low stakes bets on the gender of the couple’s first child. The musicians have struck up the best dance music, and the bridesmaids have shed their responsibilities to join the dancing. The groomsmen relax in another corner. This is not their first cup of wine. They laugh about which one among them will be the next to marry. The servants look at one another, hopeful that this means their shift is over and they can relax too. But Jesus’s mother is paying attention. She notices a tense exchange between the Chief Steward and his head servant. Listening in, she realizes that they have run out of wine. This will be a grave embarrassment for the groom, not an auspicious start to married life. And so, Mary intervenes, telling the Steward to do whatever Jesus says. Jesus is not asked to step in as an officiant at this wedding. In fact, Jesus is never asked to perform civic or priestly duties in the gospels. Instead, his mother, Mary, comes up with the idea that Jesus will be able to help with a sudden shortage of wine. She is right – he is able and he does. You know the rest of the story. Six massive stone jars, are filled with water that becomes the finest wine. Even though the guests are already drunk and can’t tell one wine from another, there is an abundance of new wine to bless the wedding party. This is the first sign. This is the way that God chooses to reveal the God’s glory in Jesus. This is the way that God is with us. And the way that God plans to be with us. This points the way to God’s dream, God’s kin-dom on earth. Some people mine the Bible to try to figure out what a marriage should be. But this is the reverse of what the scriptures can tell us. We, people, already know what marriages and wedding celebrations are like. Wedding feasts and marriages are described in the Bible so that we will know what God is like. Old Testament scriptures talk about the adornment and eagerness of the bridegroom, to describe God’s love and passion for humanity. In the gospels, a wedding banquet is a metaphor for the great heavenly community God anticipates when the kin-dom is brought to fruition in our midst. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells the parable of an extravagant wedding banquet in which the original guests refuse to come. And so, people who live on the streets – both the good and the bad - are invited. The vision for the great heavenly banquet is much like Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s vision of “Beloved Community.” The rich and the poor; peoples of all nations and ethnicities; peoples of all genders and orientations; people of all political parties - people who formerly rejected the other – all will gather and eat, at peace with one another. The Beloved Community provides justice for all people so that joy will flow in abundance. We rehearse this community over and again, each time we celebrate communion. And so we may wonder, does our communion look like the wedding feast? Does our worship look like the wedding feast? Does our invitation and welcome to worship look like an invitation and welcome to a wedding feast? During the times when we have been unable to gather in person, I suspect that coffee hour has been missed more than worship. The conversation and connection, as well as the hot drinks and treats, bring out joy in a way that worship does not. And I wonder, what it would look like to bring our coffee hour into worship, or worship into coffee hour? Would the joy and relief of water turned into abundant fine wine become a part of our service? Would we see laughter and loving kindness in one another’s eyes? Would we create a place where all are welcome and all feel welcome? Think of the enthusiasm people have for the Holiday Fair, the Yard Sale or the Trivia Nights. If Jesus was to look in on our worship services, perhaps he would laugh at our long, serious faces. Perhaps he would chuckle at our insistence on a priestly role for our pastors and ministers. Perhaps he would say “do you actually remember my first act in ministry?” There’s one more thing. If you think that this story of water being turned to wine has something to do with alcohol and it’s use in social settings here’s another story. Perhaps you know that there is a trend to serve cocktails named for the marriage partners in weddings. Charlie and Louisa thought that they would follow this trend, as Louisa really enjoys a particular recipe made with maple syrup from her grandfather’s farm. But, Charlie does not drink. Not alcohol, not juice, not soda, not tea or coffee. He simply drinks water and a lot of it. And so, the joke plan was that wedding guests would be offered “the Louisa” with maple syrup, lemon juice and bourbon, or “the Charlie” – a simple glass of water. In the 100+ degree heat, we ate, and drank – many Charlies in particular – and danced for hours to joyous music. Family members, college, school and work friends: people from all over and all kinds of backgrounds. Somehow this young couple had brought together a unique gathering and crafted an event to make everyone feel at welcome at the table. In the end it didn’t matter, whether you had drunk water, wine or cocktails, the joy was the same. Church, our separation from one another has been long and hard. And still, we hold onto the hope that our separation will pass and in time we will be able to gather fully and without restraint. And when we do, we will feel the happiness and relief of the wedding couples of 2020. Whether we drink fine wine or water, joy will flow in abundance! May all God’s people say, Amen
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Baptism in the Holy Spirit: God is at the Center Scripture: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 Today we celebrate Baptism of Christ Sunday, with the renewal or reaffirmation of our own baptisms. And yet, the story we read this morning, from the Gospel of Luke, may leave us feeling a little disappointed. Jesus’s baptism does not seem to be central to the story. Luke focuses on a transition of leadership in this infant religious movement of baptism and repentance. The transition is from John the Baptist to Jesus. As I sat with this story, I began to imagine that the heart and the themes of the story fit together like a Russian doll. A Russian doll is really a family of dolls nested one inside the other: the largest doll is the outermost layer, the smallest doll is at the center. In our story, one theme is nested inside another, with God at the center, as is always the case. In my imagined Russian doll, the transition leadership is the outermost layer, the largest doll and she is the one you see first. But, you know there is more to this doll than meets the eye. Open her up, and inside you will discover the baptism of Jesus among the crowds who come to John. Open one more layer and you come to Jesus, beginning his ministry, submitting to baptism by John, and receiving God’s blessing. Inside the Jesus doll, of course, is the Holy Spirit of the living God, the center of everything. We first encountered John the Baptist, this liturgical year, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. We read the verses that introduce today’s story on that “John the Baptist Sunday.” You may remember that John’s preaches to crowds who come to him for baptism. His message is quite stern, he scolds the people calling them a “brood of vipers” and asking who warned them to flee from the wrath to come. He tells the Jewish ones among them not to assume that their ancestry will save them. Instead he compels them all to repent, and to bear fruit worthy of their repentance by helping the poor and the hungry. In spite of John’s severe message, the people keep coming. They are filled with expectation and hope, could this be the Messiah, the one who will lead them out of oppression and to freedom? According to Luke, John responds humbly, telling the crowds that one who is more powerful than himself is to come. John gives up any desire for power and influence in the Christian story. He relinquishes his leadership role, saying he is not even worthy to untie the thong of the new leader’s sandals. John says that he is only able to baptize people with water. The One is coming will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. This is dramatic stuff. The One who is coming is by no means milder than John. John uses farming imagery, saying he will “clear the threshing floor, gathering the wheat into his granary,” but will burn the unusable part of the grain in an unquenchable fire. Jesus’s arrival in their midst of this scene is almost an anti-climax. There is no dramatic baptismal scene. It is as though Jesus does not yet even know that he is “the One.” He simply gets in line, with all the crowds. Baptism, in Jesus time, and still today, is a communal event a great leveler. Jesus is simply baptized in the river like everyone else. Afterwards he prays. Perhaps he comes out of the river and finds a quiet spot to connect with the Holy One. Maybe he prays for guidance, or prays for his people, or even for the whole world? Perhaps he simply basks in gratitude for the blessing of John’s leadership. Whatever it is, this is the moment, for Luke. This is the moment when the heavens open, and the Holy Spirit comes down – in bodily form, like a dove – and a voice resounds “You are my Son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.” That is the story, except there is a little insertion between one section and another. Perhaps this is another layer to the Russian doll. These verses are often left out, because they describe something that is out of sequence with the story. John is arrested and put in prison, because he has spoken out against the king. John has already been speaking truth to power, but now he attacks the king for his decadent lifestyle. Herod has divorced his wife and married his own niece, Herodias, who is also already his brother’s wife. The critique of Herod’s personal life is the final straw: Herod takes John out of the picture. Luke makes is plain: John is locked up and so he is taken out of action. Later he will be beheaded, but Luke does not tell this story. John is simply gone. The leadership must transition to Jesus. The crowd expected that John was the Messiah. And so, Luke shows John passing the mantle by declaring that his baptism with water will be replaced by Jesus’s baptism with the Holy Spirit and fire. And so, here it is, inside the transition of leadership, there is the baptism layer of the story. The mark of the transition from John to Jesus is a baptism with the Holy Spirit (and fire). I wonder, if this leaves us feel that our own baptisms with water are lacking. If the true baptism, from Jesus, involves the Holy Spirit and the unmistakable presence of fire, why are we in the mainline Protestant church still satisfied with a little sprinkling? Many years ago, I got caught up in a quest to understand the baptism of the Holy Spirit. I had become curious about the Charismatic movement that was sweeping through some of the churches in England at the time. I had heard stories, from trusted sources, of miraculous healings and lives transformed by a “Baptism in the Spirit.” I wanted to see what it was all about. So I went to a number services and events in churches and among groups that had adopted the charismatic way. I persuaded my new boyfriend, who is now my husband, to come along to the first church I had in mind. It was a Sunday evening service, but the music was loud and upbeat. There was lots of singing and all kinds of instruments. It was a Baptist church and there were going to be a number of baptisms, all total immersions in a large baptismal font. The sermon given that night was a little “off”, but the baptisms were really moving. One young woman, in particular, emerged from the water with so much joy you could feel it. I was sure she was filled with the Holy Spirit and I wondered where I could get that baptism like that myself. I had been baptized as an infant, at around 2 months old. The exact date is inscribed in the leather-bound Bible given to me on the occasion. Photographs were taken in our garden at home after the church service. Only my mom tells me the roll of film was lost by the developers and so I have no pictures of the event. But I do have a story. I know that I was sprinkled. It was done at the great sandstone font that confronted everyone who stepped inside our Victorian Parish Church. I know that I was wearing a white dress, and that my mother’s sister, Shirley, my dad’s brother, David, and my mom’s college friend, Pat, served as God-parents. My parents tell me that they insisted that I was baptized during the Sunday morning service. They didn’t want the Sunday afternoon Christening slot that the Vicar usually arranged so that he could “do” several babies in a row. My parents wanted me to be baptized in the presence of the congregation, because it was my introduction into Christ’s family. I am so glad that they did. And so, I decided that I could not be baptized again, even with the hopes of receiving the Holy Spirit “this time.” In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes that there is only “one Lord, one faith, one baptism.” That is why a baptism in any church ought to be recognized by any other church. Was the Holy Spirit present in my baptism? Was She present and in yours? Of course. The Holy Spirit is every bit as present in a quiet sprinkling as in loud singing and total immersion. We generally do not have pyrotechnics during baptism at Wollaston Congregational Church. But still, in every baptism I have ever performed, I have been quite sure that the Holy Spirit was present. And those baptismal candidates who’ve been old enough to say so, have all described a feeling of deep blessing and welcome into Christ’s family, the Church And so, we return to the Russian doll of the story. The outermost doll, a transition of leadership, is important. In these days we know that wise leadership is necessary in our churches, in our communities, in our nation. That leadership often seems to be sadly lacking, as in these past weeks and days, when we witnessed a very rocky return to school after winter vacation. The next doll is baptism: our baptisms along with all the other people. Baptism makes a place of belonging for you and me, among the family of Christ, the Church. And, also, it is our reminder – a leveler if you like – that like Jesus, we are baptized together with the whole congregation, all the saints of the Church. And with that, we relinquish our need for power and influence, as John did. We are content to serve among the family of the saints. And yet, the Holy Spirit is always present. In the next doll, Jesus promises that she will be. Belonging to Christ’s family marks the beginning of our service and ministry with God. A life of ministry is joyful and it is challenging. When leadership is inadequate we may be called, like John and like Jesus, to speak truth to power and suffer the consequences. But, we can rest assured, that no matter what … our God – through the power of the Holy Spirit – is at the center of it all, saying “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” May all God’s people say, Amen Call the Midwife Christmas Message 2021 Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 2:1-7 Picture by Lane Connors On Christmas Eve we always read the story of Jesus’ birth from the gospel of Luke, because Luke offers us the most human details. These are details of location, circumstances, and a particular moment in history. The whole world is changed because one particular child was born in Bethlehem. This child is born in the same way everyone who ever lived came into the world. This is the way the Holy One chooses to come to be with us at Christmas. When Mary and Joseph arrive in the little town of Bethlehem, there is chaos. It is not still or silent, and no way is it calm. The town is still as small and insignificant as the day when the shepherd boy, David, was called in from tending the sheep many generations before. A great family has descended from David’s house since those days, and so very many have returned to comply with the rules of the Roman census. Joseph brings his new young bride, Mary, who is pregnant. They seek out shelter, but this should not be a problem. Joseph has family in Bethlehem, after all, cousins, aunts and uncles. They will be happy to accommodate the carpenter who had migrated north to work in the new Roman city. We’ll imagine that great aunt Miriam and great uncle Rubin take the young couple in, along with other cousins who have arrived in town. Miriam embraces Mary, and looks down at her belly. “She is going to deliver while she is here,” she thinks, “I must notify the midwife.” They set the young couple up, next to cousins Judah and Ruth whose three children are bedded down around them. Rubin laughs at the sight of all the relatives crammed into their one room. “We should set up as an Inn, Miriam, we could make some good money.” Perhaps that night or the next night, but some time during their stay, Mary begins to feel labor pains. Miriam takes the young couple aside, “you can’t have your baby in here, it’s too crowded. I’ll take you down to the animals’ room.” They gather their bundles and bedrolls. Mary has brought swaddling for the new infant. She clumsily negotiates the rough incline to the animals’ nighttime quarters beneath the house. Miriam has put out fresh clean hay. They will have the company and the body heat of the household livestock: a goat and her kid, a few chickens, the donkey resting after his long journey. Once they are settled, Miriam rushes off to call the midwife. The long running BBC TV drama series “Call the Midwife” celebrates it’s tenth season this year. This series tells the story of the midwives of Nonnatus House, a nursing convent in the deprived East End of London, during the late 1950’s and 1960’s. Anglican nuns and non-religious midwives serve the community of Poplar, based out of the communal house. They deliver babies, and care for families of all kinds, as well as the elderly and infirm. The word midwife means “with woman.” A midwife is with the mother through her labor, never leaving her side, empathetic and encouraging. “Call the Midwife” is a compelling series and - full disclosure - I am a fan. The writers do not shy away from important social issues. Over the course of the decade they have dealt with attitudes to towards disabilities in parents and babies, racism and anti-immigrant sentiments, homophobia and hypocrisy, domestic violence, poverty among the working classes, the huge social change brought about by the birth control pill, and the dangers of backstreet terminations. There are times when the nuns’ strict religious beliefs run contrary to the common sense of the non-religious midwives and there are disagreements. In spite of dealing with tough issues, the show is always heart-warming. Each episode features at least 2 or 3 births, which are beautifully and accurately portrayed. Birth is a painful, messy process and the outcome is not always joyful. In the 1950’s most babies were born at home. In the overcrowded slums of Poplar, that often means a one-room apartment with outside plumbing shared with other families. The midwives are summoned by from a public call box or by a child sent running to Nonnatus House. The midwives arrive on their bicycles, donning gowns and masks, and ushering the men outside. They demand boiled water, clean towels and fresh newspapers, and a requisite pot of tea. In a recent episode, the midwives were so shocked at the rat-infested conditions one woman was living in that they summoned the absentee landlord, much to his shame. I have watched the show devotedly for these past 10 years. I never get tired of seeing the births. Birth is such a vulnerable and precious moment. Whether a child is born in a royal palace, or on the road to a refugee mother, the process is the same. And the needs of mother and baby are the same: healthcare, compassion, cleanliness, encouragement, nutrition, warmth, and privacy. Like her mother and grandmothers before her, Miriam knows to call the midwife. All the way back to the time of Moses, midwives has ushered new life into the world in all kinds of circumstances. And so, we hope that Miriam has found a skilled midwife who will gently encourage Mary to push at the right time, who will massage her back and wipe her face, who will loosen the cord if it is around the baby’s neck, who will receive the child into a clean blanket, rub him to get him breathing, clear his airways if they are blocked, and gently place him on Mary’s breast. Luke’s story reminds us that Jesus experienced all the particularities of the time in which he is born: the Roman rule that dictated his parents return to Bethlehem, the culture of extended family and hospitality, the profound sense of identity of the Jewish people. He experienced the vulnerability of birth, received love and belonging among family and friends, and he endured the pain of grief, rejection, suffering and death. And, as John’s gospel tells us, God in Christ is universal, the eternal Word. Like a midwife Christ is with every child, with every adult, with every elder who was ever born into the world. And, like a midwife, Christ lives among us knowing our every joy and our every pain. This is the way the Holy One chooses to come to us this Christmas. May all God’s people say, Amen Finding the Holy One in Forgotten Places Preached on December 19th, 2021 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 1:39-55 We have finally reached the 4th Sunday in Advent, as we continue our Advent reflections on “Housing the Holy.” This week we are invited into the vision of two prophets, who see what God is doing in our midst. They remind us that God is to be found in the seemingly insignificant and forgotten places, because that is where the Holy One is housed. The first prophet is Micah, of ancient days, who prophesied to the “powers that be” in Jerusalem many generations before Jesus. Micah resides in one of the small towns outside Jerusalem. He lives at a time when the Northern Kingdom of Israel has fallen, and the Southern Kingdom, Judah, is fighting the overpowering Assyrian Empire. The kings of Judah are determined to fight, but towns outside the city bear the brunt of the warfare. While the political and religious elite keep themselves well-fed and comfortable, the people of the forgotten places outside Jerusalem suffer terribly. No wonder Micah looks forward, with a prophet’s view, to the coming of a new ruler who will bring peace. In his poetic style, Micah anticipates that “swords will be beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks” (Micah 4:3). The money and resources spent on war will be redistributed to the poor and the hungry. “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4:4) Micah envisions the coming of the new king of peace who will appear in the smallest most insignificant town, Bethlehem Ephrathah. The second prophet this morning is Mary, who is the first prophet and disciple of the gospel of Luke. She has been recently visited by the Angel Gabriel, who has broken the news that she is to gestate and birth the coming savior, a child who will be called the Son of God. Mary’s response was “yes, let it be” and so she is in the early stages of pregnancy, unmarried and very young. In the passage we read today, Mary has traveled to her distant cousin, Elizabeth’s, house. By contrast Elizabeth is elderly and assumed to be past her child-bearing years. None-the-less, she is pregnant too, in her sixth month with the child who will grow up to be John the Baptist. These two women not only prophesy with their voices, they prophesy with their whole bodies. This is the way Luke chooses to begin his gospel: with a coming savior so embodied that even his herald is still in utero. And Mary and Elizabeth’s bodies communicate with one another before anything is said! The child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy and expectation, recognizing that Mary is also pregnant and will birth an even more significant child. Mary and Elizabeth also speak, of course. They give voice to the vision that is evolving in their meeting. Elizabeth goes first: "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." (Luke 1:42-54) And then Mary responds with a song that envisions a world in which God reigns. Mary uses a prophetic device in which she speaks as though what will be has already happened. God has scattered the proud, God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, God has filled the hungry with good things. Months before she and Joseph arrive in the little town of Bethlehem desperately seeking shelter, Mary makes a house for the holy. The uterus is a wonderful home, perfectly evolved. Nature sees to it that the developing embryo, then fetus, and eventually infant, is protected against the outside world. The fetus is supported in perfectly balanced amniotic fluid. They are fed – to the point of malnourishment of the mother – via the placenta. Their bones are formed and their lungs and brains develop over the course of the pregnancy. They are totally dependent upon the mother’s body. The possibility of a live birth depends entirely upon the safety of the mother. Of course, not every pregnancy will become a child. There are losses and tragedies for both mother and child. In Mary’s time – still in our time today – pregnancy and labor can be dangerous for both. A culture that houses the holy protects expectant mothers, with pre-natal care and support for the family when the baby is delivered. Let’s be sure to say, we are not judging a woman’s medical decisions here. We are talking about pregnancies in women who wish to carry them to term and have given their consent, like Mary. We are talking about the kind of care the prophet Micah demands of the leaders of his day: care for the women and children of the community with safe affordable housing, adequate food and clothing. Mary houses the holy one in her body until the delivery in Bethlehem. We can tell from the outpouring of her song of praise, that she has a clear vision of what his coming means. She has seen it from her little town of Nazareth and she sees in from Elizabeth’s house. Mary’s child will be born to an insignificant young woman in the forgotten and disregarded town of Bethlehem. He will usher in the world that Micah speaks of: where ploughs are beaten into pruning hooks, the hungry and fed, and mothers and children are housed and protected. The Holy One often appears in the forgotten and disregarded places: in our world, in our cities, in our towns. Not only that, the Holy One often shows up in the forgotten places of our heart and our souls. A couple of years ago, I rediscovered a long-forgotten place in my heart. I had no idea that it would be used to house the holy. I was feeling a strong desire to do more with my hands. I had always made things in my younger years. Now it felt as though I was spending too much time in my head. Fond memories of learning to crochet with my grandmother were surfacing in my mind. She had crocheted a colorful blanket for my most beloved baby doll. When I was old enough she taught me some skills. We made small items together and created all kinds of patched together projects: purses, hats and ponchos. Our church expert in crochet, Kate, kindly helped me relearn the basics again. The techniques began to come back to me. I wanted to create blankets and shawls, something I could share that might bring comfort to someone else. Besides, my family didn’t really want too many of my projects around the house. After making a few cozy Afghans from squares, I graduated onto more delicate white baby shawls. Even with my frequent mistakes they were beautiful. I crocheted shawl after shawl, uncertain of where they would be going. Finally it came to me. A friend was serving as a chaplain in the mother and baby unit at St Elizabeth’s Hospital. Perhaps some of the mothers there would like them for baptism shawls. My friend took them gladly, telling me, these will bring comfort to mothers who are having difficult pregnancies or whose babies had complications. A forgotten gift from long ago had come to the fore. Now there were shawls: to wrap around an anxious mother’s shoulders, or to swaddle a struggling infant. These shawls would house the holy. There are forgotten places in our church, too, that might gestate and birth the holy this Advent. Just this past week Kate told me that we had some sleeping bags that could be donated to our Advent drive for the population served by the Manet Health Outreach Team. [1] The people who are served by Manet’s team are homeless or have substance use disorders. I’m sure you’ve seen the kinds of places people sleep rough: in underpasses, derelict properties, sometimes parks and woods. A makeshift camp may be set up in any forgotten corner, where the residents won’t be moved on too soon. When Kate told me we had sleeping bags, I pictured a couple of scruffy unclaimed “lost and found” items from the youth groups who have stayed in our building. But in a cabinet at the back the storage room downstairs she showed me 10 beautiful, sturdy, warm, and practically brand-new sleeping bags. They had been purchased by City Mission for their groups who stayed at Wollaston Congregational Church. We had to suspend the youth group program soon after the bags were bought. Since then City Mission has changed their focus and stopped hosting service groups. [2] Having taken out the sleeping bags, our storage room was a little less cluttered. At the same time Kate found gifts that can truly house the holy: the overlooked people who cannot come inside. Sleeping bags from a forgotten place on our church will house the holy this year. All it took was the vision that it is time to let them go. Do you have a vision of a forgotten place where that the Holy One might be birthed in you, this Advent time so that Micah’s and Mary’s visions might be realized? Maybe -a long forgotten passion for peace? -or a treasure, stored away, no longer useful to you, but still of value to someone who needs it? -perhaps you have rusty constructions skills that could be put to use on a Habitat for Humanity project? -or out of practice, nesting and home-making skills – cooking, sewing, mending, knitting – that could make room for the holy? Or maybe, just maybe, your long forgotten gift is love, love buried deep within. You could house the holy simply by loving them, befriending them, wrapping your arms around them. Mary’s body housed the Holy One, who was born in Bethlehem of Judah. And so, as the carol says, “O Holy One of Bethlehem … be born in us today … O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Immanuel.” May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://www.manetchc.org/manet-community-health-center-opens-new-community-outreach-and-prevention-services-office-in-quincy/ [2] https://citymissionboston.org/ How Much is Enough? Joy Sunday Preached on December 12th, 2021 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Luke 3:7-18 On this third Sunday in Advent when the theme is Joy, we hear the echoes of rejoicing in most of our lectionary texts. The minor prophet, Zephaniah, begins “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” The text from the prophet Isaiah, that serves as our psalm for this Sunday reminds the people of the abundance of God’s saving grace, saying “with joy draw water from the wells of salvation.” And, the letter from Paul to the church in Philippi, exhorts the early Christians to “rejoice in the Lord always.” Then we come to the gospel passage that brings us back to the wilderness and John the Baptist. Crowds come from all over the region around the River Jordan to be baptized and John calls them a brood of vipers! He asks them “who warned you to feel from the wrath to come?” And exhorts them to “bear fruits worthy of repentance.” This is not a feel-good passage. It is not what we expect on this third Advent Sunday. The crowds who come to John include the despised tax collectors, who work for the Romans and are known for extortion. He advises them to collect no more than what it due. And then there are brutish soldiers, who hail from many places around the empire. They patrol the villages, keeping a check on any uprising. It’s easy for them to abuse their power, and take what is not theirs: food, money, the young women of the countryside. John tells them not to extort money, not to threaten the people. He tells everyone in the crowd, if you have then share. An extra coat? Give it to someone who doesn’t have one. If there is food in your pantry, provide for those who are hungry. The people cannot argue that the problems of poverty and homelessness are too large to solve. John tells them to start right where they are. This is the work of their repentance and their baptism: who is on their doorstep? What do they have that they can share? How can they provide hospitality for the people they encounter in their own neighborhoods? The gospel passage selected for Joy Sunday this year seems oddly out of sync. The story of John the Baptist’s appearance may make us wonder why we devote an Advent Sunday to Joy in the first place. John addresses matters of extortion, violence and poverty. While Isaiah celebrates the never-ending spring of God’s mercy and salvation, John challenges those who take and keep too much for themselves. John anticipates God’s action as being one of pruning and cutting away. John does not shy away from the pain and suffering of his time. Instead he reminds his followers that what they have right now is enough. Simply having one extra garment allows someone to share the gift of clothing and warmth. Simply having food on the table allows someone to share the gift of a meal. And perhaps this is how they will find joy. In some churches, there is a tradition of holding a “Blue Christmas” service on December 21st, the longest night in the Northern Hemisphere and the winter solstice. A “Blue Christmas” is a service honors members who have lost loved ones or are experiencing grief for some other reason. It is a time to recognize that not everyone will be merry, or even happy, at Christmas. The intention is to provide space for those who feel left out of joyous Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations. We have not observed this tradition while I have been at WCC. But I hope that our Advent services and evening reflections, and even our Christmas services, make space for anyone who is experiencing grief or pain. To be honest, most of us experience some degree of grief or pain at Christmastime. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise. Even if we have not recently lost someone, memories of loss come back to us at this time of year. We may also experience the pain of unmet expectations. Our hopes for a happy family gathered around the hearth are rarely met. There is usually someone who is out of sorts, drinks too much, or doesn’t show up. The expectation of a perfect celebration in a spotless home with every detail of decoration and festive food perfected, lead to someone feeling exhausted and underappreciated. And how many of us hope that this will be the year when our parent, our child, our spouse or our partner perfectly reads our minds and present us with the most lovingly chosen, perfectly wrapped gift? Here at Wollaston Congregation Church, we may lament that the Christmas services are not as lavish as they used to be. Each year, it may seem that there are not enough poinsettias, not enough people in the congregation, not enough singing, not enough joy. We may not see an abundance of joy in the story of John the Baptist. But perhaps this is the place where we find out what is really meant by Advent joy, and how much is enough. Later in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus is an adult and has begun his ministry, we will hear a parable. Jesus warns his followers about greed and seeking an abundance of possessions in life. The story of the “rich fool” tells of a farmer whose land produces so abundantly that he runs out of room in his barn. Instead of sharing the abundance and celebrating with the community, the man re-invests all his money to build more barns. He wants to store away his grain and his possessions. Once he has built the barns and stored his things away, then he will relax, eat, drink and be merry. But that day never comes, because the man will die before he has a chance to enjoy himself. The story of the rich fool contains a word frequently used at Christmas and yet rarely found in the gospels. That word is “merry”. The man who is on a constant quest to store away more and more, imagines that when he finally has enough he will eat, drink and be merry. This story says nothing about joy. Although our gospel passage this morning does not sound very joyous, the gospels frequently mention joy. In fact, first occurrence of joy in Luke’s gospel is said by the angel to Zechariah, who will be John the Baptist’s father. Zechariah is told that his son will be a joy, and many will rejoice because of his birth. Even dour John will bring joy! The contrast of the word “merry” with “joy” brings up a particular memory for me, concerning my grandmother who lived with my family in her later years. I’ve spoken about my grandma before. She was generally a quiet person although she had some strong opinions. Her life was one of both austerity and kindness. During the depravations of the early of the 20th century and then World War II, she had learned to give away her second coat. When she heard that a church member had fallen on hard times she walked down to her home and handed her a ten pound note. When my grandfather died, Nellie, an unmarried congregant with intellectual challenges became her regular Saturday dinner guest. When my mom and my aunt were young, Grandma began preparations for Christmas by having them decide which of their toys they would give away. My mom continued this practice with my brother and myself. We had to “make room” for our new gifts by donating some toys to the children’s hospital. After Grandma moved in with us, she continued her various activities including a weekly “women’s meeting” at our church. When Christmas came around, we were informed that the Women’s Meeting would be leading the Christmas Eve service. My aunt and my cousins, my mom and myself crowded into the usual “family pew” in the chapel. When it was time for the message, our jaws dropped in unison, as Grandma stood up. I’d never known Grandma to speak in church. That had been my grandfather’s role. She began a reflection on a greeting that was becoming more popular in UK at the time: “Merry Christmas.” Typically we would wish one another a “happy Christmas,” but probably as a product of movies that hailed back to the Victorian times, “Merry Christmas” making a come back. For my grandmother’s generation of Methodists this was a conflict. “Merry,” in English parlance, sometimes refers to intoxication. The Methodists of my grandparent’s age continued to abstain from alcohol. This was because of the great social problems caused by alcoholism, particularly among the working classes. To my knowledge my grandma never drank a drop. But this isn’t what her message was about. Her reflection concerned the deep happiness of Christians because of the birth of Jesus, as opposed to the surface merriment of celebrations of the season. And so, Grandma concluded the message by saying that, yes, she did wish us all a “Merry Christmas” but much more than that, she hoped and prayed we would have a “Happy Christmas.” I hope you can understand that the expression “Merry Christmas” will always remind me of this short, simple and profound Christmas message. Even that was enough that Christmas Eve. And, so, friends, it turns out that John the Baptist points the way to joy on this third Sunday. He reminds us that we have enough, even enough to share. He reminds us that hoping for future merriment, by storing away our abundance in bigger barns, is not a wise goal for our lives. Instead, we are to find joy in opportunities to share what is already enough. This year here at Wollaston Congregational Church we have the opportunity to share the gift of warmth and clothing, through our Missions Project for the population served by the Manet Community Health Centers Outreach Team. This team targets people who are homeless and those with substances use disorders. And, also, as a Church, we are in the midst of determining how much is enough for us … enough space, enough activity, enough accumulated “stuff” of our historical church. If and when we decide to turn over the majority of our space to the community, we will need to do some pruning and cutting away. May we do it with joy. May all God’s people say, Amen Opening the Door: Bringing Down Mountains and Leveling Valleys Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On December 5th, 2021 Scriptures: Baruch 5: 1-9 and Luke 3:1-6 This week we begin our new Advent sermon series, “Housing the Holy.” [1] This series will unfold as we go along. We will pray, sing, take in the minor keys of Advent, as we ponder the theme. We will be reminded that while our culture is full of the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations and celebrations, here in church we pause and wait. Instead of filling our lives with activities and stuff, we are invited to make room, clear a space, both physically and spiritually. Last week we would have begun to think about “Making Room” for the Holy. And this week we turn our thoughts toward “Opening the Door.” The scriptures we hear at this time of year focus on the prophets. And over the course of the next weeks we will be introduced to many prophets, some we already know and some may be new. My Old Testament professor in seminary used to say: Prophets have insight, not foresight. Prophets interpret the signs of the times. They mediate between God and the community. When God calls on them to speak, they generally resist, because they know that what they have to say will make them unpopular. They warn the community about the consequences of their action and inaction: their failure to take care of the poor, the migrants and immigrants, their failure to take care of the environment. And they also bring words of comfort and consolation to those who suffer. This morning we meet two prophets: Baruch and John the Baptist. You may not have heard of Baruch, as his book is not usually part of the Protestant Bible. It is in the Apocrypha of the Bible which is part of the Septuagint: a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. These books were stored in the libraries of the ancient world. Baruch is the person who was the scribe to the well-known prophet Jeremiah. We don’t know exactly when the person wrote in the name of Baruch lived, but we do know that his oracles are intended to comfort a people who have experienced devastation, and are far from home. Baruch offers the hope that the exiled and the displaced will be brought home to Jerusalem, that their paths will be made easier by the leveling of mountains, the raising of valleys. They will bask in God’s mercy and righteousness. The second prophet we meet this morning, is sometimes known at the last prophet of the Old Testament. John the Baptist straddles the time before Christ and the time of Jesus. He lives on the cusp of the two eras. He will gather a following of people who are dissatisfied with the religious and political status quo of his time. And then he will disappear, executed by Herod Antipas, and Jesus’ ministry will take over. We know John as Jesus’s older cousin, the one who prepares the way. In the passage we read from Luke’s gospel this morning, John appears in the wilderness. We have skipped the foreshadowing of John’s birth story in earlier chapters. Luke is careful to name the political and religious powers of the time: the Emperor, the Governor, the rulers, the High Priests. They reside in Jerusalem, and the Roman cities. John resides in the wilderness. It is said that prophets speak truth to power. But the powerful do not often listen. And so John goes around the region on the other side of the Jordan river from Jerusalem “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Baruch re-assures his people that God will make the way level and straight for them to come home. John places responsibility on the people. He instructs and commands “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” Next week will hear some specific instructions on the way of life John proposes, but for now we hear John calling for repentance. To repent means to turn around, to re-orient oneself. “Times are changing,” says John, “we are about to see the in-breaking of God into human history. Turn yourself toward it, pay attention, prepare yourself, make it easier for God to do the things that God is doing.” Let’s imagine, for a moment that we live in the region around the Jordan. We are country dwellers, downtrodden by Rome’s encroachment on our land, and the demand for taxes. Or we steward the land because we are in collaboration with Rome. Either way, we know who we are and what we are doing. Our harvests are taken to provide food and wine for the empire. We have become a part of a vast machinery and have little option but to cooperate. Our religious leaders operate as collaborators, keeping the peace with Pilate, who governs Judea, and Herod who only wants to feather his own nest. The temple collects the taxes that are funneled back to Rome. The occupiers justify it all by claiming to provide us with infrastructure, goods and services from all over the world. But there is little benefit and a great deal of suffering for us. Most of us lie at the bottom of the food chain. Even though we live in the land, we may as well be exiled from Judah and from Jerusalem. It has become foreign territory. This is no longer home. When John arrives to challenge all this, we may think that we have found our savior. Like generations of prophets before him, he speaks truth to power. He reminds the religious authorities of their responsibility to widows, orphans and sojourners: women, children and immigrants. John’s message may motivate us to resist and organize guerilla warfare on Jerusalem. But the Baptist preaches something else. “Come to the Jordan for the baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. If we are going to join this movement to make the way of the Lord straight and level, we must turn around, and reorient ourselves.” Do we understand what it would mean for every valley to be filled and every mountain being made low? -For the mountains that get between the uninsured and healthcare to be made low? -For the vast valleys that are spread between those who incurred student debt and paying it off through meaningful work to be filled? -For the bandit-ridden desert and the rough winter oceans, the migrants must cross toward a better life, to be made smooth and safe? -For the twisted maze, with traps and detours, that keep bringing a person back to the substance to which they are addicted instead of the stability they need, to be made straight? Like John’s community in the first century, we today live on a cusp. For some years now, the mainline protestant church in America has been facing a “new normal.” We have acknowledged the loss of attendees in churches and the distractions of the culture on Sunday mornings. We have noticed the busyness of a new generation of families and their lack of interest in church and faith. Our neighborhoods looks very different from the way they looked in the past. The new normal has come with a new neighborhood and a new community. We cannot assume our neighbors are descended from European protestants. Over the past few years Church people have said to one another “We have to re-imagine. We have to adapt to this new normal. Things will never be the same as they were in the past.” We still have to re-imagine and we still have to adapt, but now we are not alone. Massive cultural institutions are having to adapt to changes beyond their control. Institutions like employment, housing, the service industry, entertainment, healthcare and medicine. Everyone has to re-imagine. In our reading this morning, John offers us the key to “Opening the Door” to the holy this Advent. Our re-imagining means the re-orientation of repentance. And, still the call to adapt and change seems daunting. Some have closed their heart to imagining. Instead, they are doubling down keeping things the way things used to be. Some think there is a “war on Christmas” and they intend to fight back, instead of opening the door to housing the holy. Are there ways in which our hearts are closed to imagining? I know I can sometimes feel that my door is closing instead of opening. I allow the door to swing open just a little and the cold air rushes in. It’s dark outside. There are strangers out there. They speak different languages, laugh at different jokes. They wear strange clothes and cook foods I’ve never seen or tasted before. At the park where I walk there is a large community of people I think are northern African immigrants. There are older ladies, who walk together or alone on weekdays around the perimeter. They wear head-coverings and long flowing skirts with practical shoes and sweaters when it is cold. I hold our dog on the far side as I approach them because they seem nervous of her. I try to smile, but they don’t make eye contact. In my mind these ladies don’t approve of my walking attire and my uncovered hair. Probably, though, they are reserved and cautious of white women like myself. In the summer large family groups gather on the grass and eat picnics. And just a few days ago I encountered a family walking with their 3 children: each child a head taller that than other, beginning with the toddler. The mom tagged along, wearing a lovely red flowing dress and head covering. When they arrived at the soccer field they produced a ball and all played together. I had not expected to see the mom run and kick the ball, but she was good. I don’t know how to open my door this community. We live in the same neighborhood and walk the same paths in the park, and yet there seem to be mountains and valleys between us and our experiences. This morning’s theme is giving me an opportunity to think harder about opening my door. I have a few ideas: maybe get to know where the people I see in the park come from. Perhaps there is a café or restaurant where I can try their food. Do they drink tea or coffee? Are they in need of anything, or do I need something from them? If I am able to offer hospitality, it must be on their terms, not on mine. Also, we grapple with opening our doors to housing the holy. It seems challenging, and yet it is probably as simple as imagining: mountains brought low, valleys lifted up. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Worship Design Studio Worship Series “The Inn”, designed by Dr. Marcia McFee, www.worshipdesignstudio.com/theinn 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 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. The Wisdom of Hospitality to the Stranger Preached on October 24th 2021 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Ruth 1:1-18 When my children were in the 3rd grade at our local elementary school, the class did a “country of origin” project. Each child was required to research the place, or one of the places, where their family had originated before they emigrated to the United States. The students spent many weeks researching their chosen country of origin. They had to find out when and where their first generation family members disembarked to begin a new life in the United States; what method of transportation they used; and whether the circumstances of their immigration were “push” or “pull.” Were they forced out of their homeland by circumstances beyond their control? Or were they drawn to the US because of the hope of a better life? I often wondered what the teacher would have done if a child in the class had been of Indigenous ancestry. At the time my children were in that grade the question had not come up. And, of course, not everyone who arrived on these shores came of their own free will. The teachers would have also dealt with situations where a child’s ancestors were enslaved people. Our son, the eldest, did his project without a problem. He was fortunate enough to have visited his only country of origin on several occasions. He had a detailed history of how his parents had arrived in Boston. At the Open House at the end of the year the children stood up to make their presentations. Every child in the class claimed Irish ancestry. even though we knew there were many other nationalities involved in their parentage. All except for a girl whose father was from Pakistan and our family who are from the United Kingdom. The stories of immigration from Ireland were dramatic. Great, great grandparents who were driven by famine and poverty, survived terrible voyages, were held and inspected on Ellis Island. Some had walked hundreds of miles to find a home and work in this overwhelming new country. When it was our daughter’s turn to do the project, she asked if she could choose a different country of origin from her brother. Maybe she could do Germany? I had to explain that although we did have family members who went to Germany, as far as I knew no one had come from Germany. And so our daughter also did her research on the UK. She was rather disappointed in our uneventful story. When it was her turn to present she stood up and held a picture of a Boeing 747. “My mom and dad came to the United States in 1987 on an airplane, they had a normal amount of money.” She went on “they were not pushed or pulled, they just came here to do some work.” My immigration story is not at all dramatic. It matches that of many British and Western Europeans who have the privilege of education and are offered the chance to study, conduct research or work in the United States. Many of those families enjoy the way of life in the US enough to find a way to stay beyond the usual year or two years. The immigration services have to be navigated. But if you are have an education from one of certain countries, you are in a particular line of work, you already speak English, and you can find the money to pay a decent lawyer, you stand a good chance of getting a Green Card. Having access to the immigration services at one of the esteemed local universities also helps. This week we continue our series on the Wisdom Literature of the Bible as we begin reading from the book of Ruth. Ruth is one of those books of the Bible named for a woman. Some scholars say that the book really ought to be called “Naomi” or at least “Naomi and Ruth.” It actually tells the story of two women: Naomi and Ruth. Ruth is another book that is in conversation with other books of the Old Testament. Ruth argues with the post-exilic books, Nehemiah and Ezra, who advocate ethnic purity among the people of Israel. They blame the misfortune of the Israelites on the fact that they took “foreign wives” and determine that these wives and their children should be cast off (Ezra 10:2-3). Ruth objects: As we discover at the end of the book, there is new hope for Israel because of Moabite Ruth’s immigration to the land of Judah. Ruth is a book that aligns with the in Leviticus to welcome the stranger and the foreigner: “The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” (Lev 19:34) Naomi is the elder of the two women and mother-in-law to Ruth. Naomi, her husband, Elimelech, and their two sons had originally lived in Bethlehem in Judah. There was a famine in Bethlehem and so Naomi and Elimelech left in search of a place where food was available to them. They moved to Moab. The Moabites and Israelites were enemies, but the family had to move in order to survive. Naomi’s family remained in Moab for about 10 years. In that time, Elimelech died and their boys grew up and married Moabite women: Orpah and Ruth. Then, very tragically, the sons also died. The three women were left alone, without any men provide for them. In their ancient patriarchal culture, this was a dire situation. Naomi was now a lone Israelite among Moabites, and so she decided that it would be best to return to Bethlehem. The famine was over and she would seek out her nearest male relative for protection. Naomi begins the journey with her daughters-in-law, but she realizes that this is not good for them. They will be foreigners in Israel, probably ostracized and unable to marry. They will be immigrants without any male protection. And so she tells them to turn back and go to their mother’s homes. They can marry new Moabite husbands and survive. Naomi will continue her sad journey home. Who knows what will become of her along the way? Orpah agrees to go home to her mother, but Ruth clings to Naomi, making that bold and loyal declaration: “Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die-- there will I be buried. May the LORD do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!" Naomi cannot change Ruth’s mind, and so the two women travel to Bethlehem together. They walk the fifty miles from Moab to Bethlehem over steep terrain around the Dead Sea, through the desert, crossing the River Jordan, and through Jericho. There are wild animals and bandits waiting for unprotected travelers. Did they hire a “coyote”? Did they attach themselves to a caravan? Did they have places to lodge, gleaning from the fields as they did when they arrived in Bethlehem? We don’t know, but somehow they made it. As a part of my preparation for ministry I applied to do a chaplaincy internship with the Hebrew Seniorlife Organization in eldercare. I liked the idea of working in a facility where I could develop long-term relationships, I also valued the experience of interfaith learning in that setting. The interview process was quite rigorous. Afterwards I hoped I had made a good impression. I was delighted when I received an offer from Hebrew SeniorLife, but puzzled when my future supervisor said: “As an immigrant, you will have something in common with many of our residents and staff.” HSL does have a good number of residents who are immigrants from other lands. Some of the very elderly are Holocaust survivors. Others came from Russia and other Eastern European countries. A great many of the staff are immigrants too, mostly from Haiti. One of the principles of the Hebrew Seniorlife Organization is “hospitality to the stranger.” But, was I an immigrant? The statement took me off guard. I did not think that I had much in common with someone who had struggled to master English and make a home in an alien culture. I did not experience bias when I was out and about because of the color of my skin or my accent. My experiences with the Immigration and Naturalization Service were not great, but I had not been through a terrible process, in which I feared that I had no home in the US and also no home to return to. I wondered if there was something else in my reluctance to admit that I was an immigrant. What came to mind when I heard the word immigrant? The masses from many lands struggling to make their way from Mexico to the United States, by way of the Rio Grande, in the hands of unscrupulous coyotes? The people who could only do casual, backbreaking work, for less than minimum wages, because they have no papers? The numerous tiny, inadequate boats, crossing the Mediterranean and the English Channel, to bring asylum seekers from the Middle East and Northern Africa to the UK? Or, perhaps, the older Russian couple I saw huddled with their lawyer and awaiting interviews in the INS Office in Boston? Friends, we are repeatedly told by our political leaders and media that immigration is a problem. And we often transfer the problem onto the immigrants themselves: Why do they come, when they know they will be turned away? Why do they endanger themselves and their children? Why can’t they go the proper legal routes? Why don’t they learn English? Why do they cling to the customs and habits of their home countries? All questions that the Indigenous peoples may have asked the Pilgrims. We can all remember: we were all once a stranger and a foreigner in this land. And even Jesus, as a child, was asylum seeker in the land of Egypt, where his family found hospitality. We may not be able to influence immigration policy very much, but we can all empathize and seek out ways to welcome the Naomis and the Ruths: in our lives, in our church, in our community. We meet and see immigrants in our neighborhoods every day. The opportunity to welcome the stranger in right in front of us. Recently I learned that Quincy has the highest proportion of Asian residents of any town or city in Massachusetts. And so, even in this place, I propose we embrace the principle of “hospitality to the stranger.” We were once a stranger in the land and we can all say “I am an immigrant.” May all God’s people say, Amen |
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