what a vacation can do

I've been on vaca for a few days now, having a wonderful time. Doing nothing more rigorous than cooking for my friend Teri's African music class or reading a book at Barnes and Noble. This is what vacation is about - resting, enjoying the simple pleasures that you never seem to have time for in your busy life. As great as this time is, I feel like there should be more - more of this in my day to day life. Why is it true, good rest and renewal is so hard to find in the day to day? Why do I feel I have to get away to get some good Sabbath? I try to incorporate Sabbath into my daily life/routine. Can't say I'm entirely successful. Need to work on that, or not work as the case may be! The blog entry below this one was about a successful attempt at Sabbath - and it was so wondrous to me. I need to remember that - remember that checking work and life concerns at the door for a little bit is a good thing, not a selfish thing. Remember that Sabbath is something God calls me to, not time I'm hording from God. Just because I'm not "doing" doesn't mean I'm not being a good servant.

about town

Today is my day off - and for the first time in a while, I'm actually taking it off. I woke up deliciously late, enjoyed some snuggle time with my cats, ate breakfast/lunch and then went for a walk. I walked down Beverley, from my apartment to Newtown Baking and back. Along the way, I stopped in at Design at Nine, my fav shoe store, had a great chat about shoes and more with the owner, and then continued on my way. I stopped by the new Indian Grocery, had a lovely conversation with the woman there. We talked about Bollywood and family, cooking and foods. Apparently, she's going to be making take-away food on Saturdays - yum!

Even though the wind was blowing (and my ears were getting cold), I kept walking, stopping next at Local Color, the garden/art store. I picked up some flowers for one of our youth whose play I'm seeing tonight, mentioned I had a kid in a play to the woman... she looked at me and asked if the "kid" was mine. Ack! I love this darling but no way am I mother. Too young, people, too young! She wrapped up the flowers very prettily for me, though, so all is forgiven. I continued on my way with a bunch of tulips, one of heather, both wrapped in lovely brown paper and tied with a fun, organic curly string. I felt very European as I continued on my way to the bakery.

Didn't get anything at the bakery, just found out that the yummy chocolate croissants are available every morning (yay). On the way back from the bakery to my place, a car stopped, rolled down its windows, and a young man asked me, in a hurried tone, where a place to eat was. I noticed 3 other young people in the car, 2 women and another man. I asked what kind of food they were looking for. Response: "Food." I made my first suggestion of Pampered Palate; they took it and were off (I noticed the license plate was from New York - definite out-of-towners). It struck me as a I continued my walk back home how fortunate I am. I had a wonderful leisurely day (which I'm continuing even now at the infamous Coffee on the Corner). I had nice conversations with people - some I know, some I don't. I got to enjoy the beautiful blue sky, the crisp wind, the at-home feel I had as I walked down Beverley. I wasn't hurried, wasn't rushed, wasn't looking for "food," whatever was the quickest thing. I have time to enjoy, time to be. What a blessing.

My Soul

My friend Teri did this and so I followed suit. Somewhat accurate descriptor.

You Are a Newborn Soul

You are tolerant, accepting, and willing to give anyone a chance. On the flip side, you're easy to read and easily influenced by others. You have a fresh perspective on life, and you can be very creative. Noconformist and nontraditional, you've never met anyone who's like you. Inventive and artistic, you like to be a trendsetter. You have an upbeat spirit and you like almost everything. You make friends easily and often have long standing friendships. Implusive and trusting, you fall in love a little too easily. Souls you are most compatible with: Bright Star Soul and Dreaming Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Ash Wednesday

Last night we had another Taize service to celebrate the start of Lent. The music was wonderful again - I sat up front by the musicians and could hear the congregation singing behind me. It was so powerful to feel the space filled with prayer to God in that way.

After the service, I went over to the labyrinth, took part in the meditation stations, had some wonderful prayer time. There's some so sacred about a time and space like that. There were about 12 other people in the space, all quiet, all reverent. It filled me with such a sense of wonder, awe, peace. I thought of all the people, across this earth, across time, who have come to God in prayer, all the communities, all the families.

A wonderful beginning to Lent.

Lost Cause

Texts: Jeremiah 17:5-10; Luke 6:17-26

Maybe it’s the snow still lingering on the ground, maybe it’s that my ministry assistant has been singing a few bars of other songs from this movie – whatever the reason, I have found myself humming Irving Berlin’s song made famous by Bing Crosby in the movie White Christmas. I respect all of you too much to singing it – I’m no Fred Holbrook. So just imagine a roaring fire, Rosemary Clooney sitting next to you, and Bing singing:

When I'm worried and I can't sleep

I count my blessings instead of sheep

And I fall asleep counting my blessings

When my bankroll is getting small

I think of when I had none at all

And I fall asleep counting my blessings

I think about a nursery and I picture curly heads

And one by one I count them as they slumber in their beds

If you're worried and you can't sleep

Just count your blessings instead of sheep

And you'll fall asleep counting your blessings

Such a lovely, sweet song, especially when Bing sings it. His words ring true for many of us – what a wonderful thought; in a sleepless night, when life’s problems are rolling through your mind and will not be silenced, to count your blessings – to think about your children, about how even if you have a little, you still HAVE. This song speaks of a sentiment that I hear all the time – say myself even. I’m blessed – blessed by my friends, my family, my calling, my good fortune to have a job that keeps a roof over my head, food on my plate, and my feet in cute shoes. I can fall asleep counting these blessings, fall asleep assured that I AM blessed, favored, happy.

If I want to fall asleep with those lovely thoughts in my head, I probably should avoid for my bedtime reading selections of Luke, including our passage from today. While we might wish Jesus would say “blessed, favored, happy are those who have curly heads to count in their nursery,” he doesn’t. In fact in a later section of Luke, Jesus speaks of woe to those who are with child or nursing children, because of the pains and distress to come in the time of the destruction of Jerusalem.

Nor does Jesus affirm the blessings of counting what you do have. He does not say “Blessed are those who enjoy what you have. He says “blessed, favored, are you who are poor.” Blessed are you who are hunger, who weep now, who are hated, excluded, reviled, DEFAMED! Those who have food, have riches, have LAUGHTER, have respect and favor of those around us – you are not blessed; you are burdened with woe.

Christ’s words don’t make much sense – at least not to those of us who speak about our loved ones, our comfortable situation in life, our JOY as blessings, as evidence that we are indeed blessed. When compared to the words of blessing and cursing of Jeremiah, Christ’s words appear more difficult to swallow. For at least this once, Jeremiah can be the prophet who bears the more palatable word.

Jeremiah does speak God’s word of woe, of cursing before he speaks of blessing, but it’s a woe and a cursing many of us can probably nod our heads to. Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals, and make mere flesh their strength. Sure, that sounds good. We can probably get on board with that.

The cursing, the woe, found in Jeremiah and other places in the Old Testament, unlike other contemporary cultures in the Near East, mostly revolve around God’s law. No idols before me, care for each other, love your God with all your heart, mind, spirit. Those who do not follow this law are cursed, know woe. So cursed indeed would be those who found their strength outside of God. Yes, they would be like a shrub in the desert, yes, they would not see relief when it comes because they weren’t focused on God.

And blessed – well blessed are those who trust in the Lord. Blessed are those whose trust IS the Lord. Yes, they shall be like a tree planted by water; they shall not fear or be anxious.

We can trust in the Lord, have our trust be the Lord, and be blessed, shown sign of divine favor. But why are those who are rich given woe, why are those who LAUGH told “woe?” Can’t we trust in the Lord AND be rich AND be fed AND be happy?

Jeremiah’s speech of God’s words continues. “The heart is devious above all else; it is perverse. Who can understand it? I the Lord test the mind and search the heart.”

Last week Fred treated you to a little Greek love; now it’s my turn to share some of the Hebrew joy. When Jeremiah says that the Lord tests the mind and searches the heart, he means that God looks in your inner most parts, the secret parts, the parts no one else knows, sees, could even begin to understand. The word we read as “mind” – KILYA – is literally translated as “kidney.” The Hebrew people considered the kidney to represent this inner most part of a person – why we don’t fully know. But it’s important for us to know it’s not just about our thoughts or our feelings or whatever WE might associate with the heart and mind. The Lord tests, searches, knows everything about us – things even we don’t know.

Part of what the Lord knows – even if we might like to deny it – is that the heart is devious. Another important Hebrew note – the word devious, AQOB, comes from the same root as the verb – AQAB- which means to take the heel, supplant – it is what God spoke of when cursing the serpent. The one who inspired humanity’s deviation from God’s law, the one who whispered that we need more than God gives, that we may not even need God, is the one who will forever be striking our heel, so sayth the Lord. And this, says the Lord in Jeremiah is like our heart.

Our hearts are perverse, ANASH. This word we read as perverse means sick, desperately ill, an incurable wound. Our hearts, God knows, lead us astray when they find their center, their meaning, their value, their favor, their blessing in that which is other than God. When our hearts – our inner most parts – lead us to putting our trust, our hope, our faith in mere mortals, mere flesh, mere things of our knowing and understanding.

This incurable wound is the one that whispers to us when we are in desolation, saying, the despair is overwhelming, you’ll never overcome it, you might as well give in, what have you got left? This desperate illness is the one that cripples us when we have lost that which we have called our blessings – our parents, our children, our lover, our friends, our job, our health, our home, our happiness. This sickness is the one that seeps into our veins, our pores, our inner and outer parts and tells us we can only trust in the tangible things – only be blessed, only believe if we can see that we are favored.

This perverse heart is what leads us to trusting in these signs of being blessed, trust in human comforts, human means; it is what inspires us to try and find contentment, happiness, wholeness outside of God and God’s truth. This perverse heart keeps thumping away to the beat of its lost cause.

It is this heart’s lost cause of finding blessing outside of God that makes the world a seemingly nonsensical place if we were to believe in it. For it is often when that which we have clung to as signs of our worth, our favor, is taken away from us – that job, that spouse, that cause, that praise – that we find our inner most parts, our hearts, kidneys, and minds, clear. No mere human values or mere human strength distracting us. When we are down, we lift our eyes and hearts up. And we find ourselves calling out to the one who has not left us, who we can trust in, should have trusted in.

It’s an odd but true fact – that during times of economic depression, church giving is up. When crisis hits communities, people flock to centers of faith. For many of us – though I know not for all – it is only when we are left with nothing that we realize all we need is in the Lord – is the Lord.

This is the reality to which Christ was speaking. We can distract ourselves with our own achievements, our own might, our own happiness, our own power so that we do not truly believe or trust in God. We do not believe we NEED God – we’re doing just fine on our own. And those who have nothing, who are poor, hunger, sorrowful, hated – they have nothing to distract them, nothing their heart can point to and say “this is all you need.” This is why when people come back from developing nations, have seen poverty and need beyond our comprehension, they speak not of despair and doubt but of joy and faith. For those who have no earthly blessings indeed often know the ultimate blessing. Those who find their meaning, their being, their living, laughing, loving in the Lord – these are the ones who are blessed. Truly blessed.

Blessed are they.

But for those of us who cannot count ourselves among the poor, or hunger or sorrowful or reviled, we are not without hope. Though we may be surrounded by that which distracts us, though our incurable wound, our inner parts which are as crafty as the serpent, may have much to say – we too may be those who are blessed for we trust in the Lord, for our trust is the Lord.

Before Jesus speaks words of blessing and woe, he does what he came to do. He heals. Jesus heals – heals the wound of poverty, sorrow, hunger, and hatred. Jesus heals the heart, those inner most parts, thoughts, which would strike us, hurt us. Though our heart may be devious, may be perverse, the Lord and only the Lord can understand it. And the Lord and only the Lord can heal us. For Jesus, there are no incurable wounds.

Blessed are those who poor, hunger, who weep now, who are hated, excluded, made outcast, on because they KNOW that God is their center, Christ their healer. Blessed are those who have nothing, no one, but God. For the reward is great – this kingdom life which comes from God.

And, blessed are those who are healed; blessed are those who KNOW they need to be healed; blessed are those who are rich, who are fed, who are filled with laughter and are loved – are all these things and more AND yet are not distracted by their own strength – wealth, health, and yes, even happiness. Blessed are those who know all comes from God, who know they need God, know that they will never be healed, be whole without God. Blessed are those who put their trust in the Lord, who know and live as though they are the Lord’s. Blessed are those whose trust is the Lord. Blessed are they. Blessed may we be. Amen.

Jeremiah Was A...

Texts: Jeremiah 1:4-10; Luke 4:21-30

Of all the prophets in either Testament, Jeremiah is the one with perhaps the most complicated reputation. Jeremiah’s reputation was so intriguing, so powerful, that some of Jesus’ time thought he was Jeremiah come back to them. There are many things we know, we think we know about Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was a child when he was called. The exchange we heard between God and Jeremiah took place when he was young, too young he claimed.
Jeremiah was a child not ready to take on the mantle of God’s word, not ready to tell his people about destroying or overthrowing.
Jeremiah was a child who had the Lord put words in his mouth, words which would later pain him if he did not speak them.
Jeremiah was a child who grew to a man who never become completely at ease with his call as prophet.
Jeremiah was a prophet who called the people to repentance, who warned of the foe from the north, who protested the broken covenant between the people and God.
Jeremiah was a man who carried this burden with few supporters, who became known as an introspective prophet, a weeping prophet, a broken-hearted prophet, a whining prophet, a judgment-bearing, yet small hope-offering prophet.
Jeremiah was a man who knew, who lived, the pain of a prophet’s call. He knew what it was to have to bring words of inevitable punishment, words which made him rather unpopular.
Jeremiah was persecuted, taunted, imprisoned, even put in a pit to die at one point.
Jeremiah was a man who bore a literal yoke for his people in an attempt to get the word of the Lord across to them.
Jeremiah was a man who suffered and he was not one to hold back on God – he let God know his aches and pains.
Jeremiah was self-described “man of strife and contention to the whole land.”
Jeremiah was a man who spoke God’s word and then saw that word fulfilled.
Jeremiah was a man who saw his city invaded, temple destroyed, people exiled.
Jeremiah was a refugee – leaving Jerusalem with other Israelites.
Jeremiah was a man who in all his pain, turned to God both in agony and in hope, in prayer.
But, of all of these, there is one thing Jeremiah is perhaps best known for, at least among this our generation:

Jeremiah was a bullfrog. He was a good friend of mine. I never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine, and he always had a mighty fine wine. Joy to the world, all the boys and girls, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me.

Quite a silly song, yes, but one many of us know. One that whenever the topic of Jeremiah comes up, it seems inevitably someone sings to him or herself. Even though the Jeremiah of this song written by Hoyt Axton and made famous by Three Dog Night is really just one part of nonsensical lyrics, it strikes me that their Jeremiah sounds not too far off the mark from our Jeremiah.

In some ways, a bullfrog is exactly what a prophet is. Someone who speaks in a loud voice which carries over great distances, whose sound is so much bigger than he or she is. These prophetic bullfrogs are ones who carry the word of God – that word which is greater than anyone of us, which covers the face of the earth. These prophets aka bullfrogs are also those whose voice is that annoying sound that you can’t block out, but it’s so annoying you don’t listen to closely enough so that you can’t fully understand a single word.

We may like to think we listen to God’s prophets, God’s words, but let’s be honest. How many of us enjoy the sound of a bullfrog’s call? How many of us welcome words which challenge us, make us uncomfortable, even threaten our way of life? Who wants to hear the words of Jeremiah? Words of destruction, words of despair, all of which will come to be because you strayed from God’s truth. Who wants to hear: your practices mean nothing? You are worshiping idols? You have betrayed your God with your hatred, your prejudice, your privilege? Jeremiah’s listeners didn’t, at least not for the most part. Do we?

Few of us, I would think, want to hear the words of prophets – at least not those tough words. The things we’re comfortable with we’ll take, but the stuff that makes us squirm, no way.

Jesus experienced this when he was in his hometown of Nazareth. He went to the synagogue and was given the familiar words of Isaiah to read. He read a passage about social justice, good news to the poor, the year of the Lord’s favor – even said these words had been fulfilled in the people’s hearing. He spoke powerful words – but non-specific words, words from another prophet who often spoke of hope.

And the people’s response to this – well, they enjoyed this mighty fine verbal wine, just like the good folks at Canaan enjoyed his literal wine. Commented on how well he spoke, amazed at the “gracious” aka palatable words which came from his mouth. They respond “is not this Joseph’s son, how nice it is to see a kid from the neighborhood grow up to be so well spoken, so poised. Wonderful to see the son of Mary turn into such a well-mannered man.”

Jesus, I suppose, could have received these laurels with a smile, taken a bow, and gone about his way knowing he was so loved. But he does not. Instead, he speaks the words he must speak, words of warning, words which his audience will NOT, does NOT receive well, words which take him from nice hometown boy to a dangerous rabble-rouser. He told them that in time of sorrow, of widowhood and leprosy, God sent prophets, prophets who offered solace and healing to outsiders, not Israelites. Jesus told the people who knew themselves as chosen that, at least in sometimes, they were not. They were not the one’s in God’s favor, perhaps not the ones to receive the year of the Lord’s favor.

Jesus knew a prophet would not be accepted in his hometown, in the place where they had too many excuses, too many reasons not to listen to him. They knew him when he was a child, like Jeremiah was when he was called; they knew his family, his history, they knew he was one of them. What right did he have to say such words? Just because he’d garnered a reputation for being able to do a few tricks, because he had a nice speaking voice.

The people in the synagogue were so filled with rage that this hometown kid would presume to be this voice of God, to take such authority, that they drove him out of town. Not only that, but they wanted to throw Jesus, the man they knew since he was a boy, whose family they knew, throw him off a cliff! Murder him! His own people, his own community.

This is what it can mean to be a prophet. Prophets are those so connected to God, that it is God’s words in their mouths, God’s message on their tongues, God’s reality they see, God’s truth they promote. And as much as we may long for a cuddly and comfortable God, when we have strayed, when we have broken covenant, when we have sinned and show no sign of repentance, God can be anything but warm and cuddly. Walter Rauschenbusch, a man was a key figure in the Social Gospel movement at the turn of the century, said that prophets were people “so alive to God and felt God’s righteousness so overpoweringly that they beat their naked hands against jagged injustice and inhumanity. They were centers of religious unrest, creators of divine dissatisfaction, and the unsparing critics of all who oppressed and corrupted the people.” If prophets are the ones to speak God’s powerful, challenging word, it is no wonder Jeremiah suffered, no wonder Jesus’ hometown wanted him dead. Unrest, dissatisfaction, unsparing critics – nothing about these speaks of making friends.

The last few weeks in Kerygma, along with discussing the Gospel According to Mark, we have been engaging in an interesting discussion about prophets – specifically, do prophets still exist in our day? My response: a resounding yes. But who are these prophets, you might wonder, who are our Jeremiahs, Elijahs, Elishas, Annas, Ezekieals, Miriams, who are those among us who see God’s reality, God’s truth, and speak to it?

If we took a survey of who we thought of as contemporary prophets, I’d expect to hear several MLKJrs, a Gandhi or two, a few other religious and perhaps political figures. But I wonder how many of us would name people we actually know and how many of could think of more than a handful of prophets.

We wonder about where our modern day prophets are, where those who proclaim not a new word but the word anew may be. We wonder why the days of many prophets, days seen in both Testament times, before and after Christ, seem to have passed. Perhaps these days have not passed. The conditions of our world seem ripe enough to bear prophets – plenty of God’s word needing reiteration here and now. Perhaps, instead, the days of our recognition of prophets is what has passed.

In the text of gifts we read two weeks ago from 1 Corinthians, Paul speaks of prophecy as one of these gifts. As far back as the Old Testament, Moses expresses a wish that “all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put the spirit on them.” Well, God has put the Spirit on each of us. We could say that each of us may have moments of prophecy in us. While some of us may know prophecy as our main calling, each of us may come across moments where the word of the Lord is placed in our mouths, where we are called not to speak only words which will bring us acclaim, but words which will bring us scorn.

But such a call – who wants to be the one scorned, derided, thrown out of town, even harmed? No wonder we stop listening for it. No wonder we don’t like to recognize it in others.

Whether we are the ones who are supposed to listen, or the ones who are supposed to speak – we don’t pay much attention to the call of prophets. We, like Jeremiah make excuses about the prophet (be that prophet us or someone else) – too young, too uneducated, too liberal, too conservative, too much of an agenda. Or we, like those in Nazareth, let the person’s (even if that person is us) humanness keep us from seeing and hearing the prophet before us – that’s just Joseph’s son, we knew him when he was a mischievous young boy, we knew her when she ran around with the wrong crowd, you know he’s divorced, she’s gay; I’ve got a history, a past, baggage…

None of these excuses stopped Jeremiah from his work, nor Jesus. None of them should stop us. We must listen. Listen for both the call of God to us AND the word of God for us. For no matter who may be speaking it, the word of the Lord is THE WORD OF THE LORD. We must listen for the moments we may be called to speak God’s word, to speak to God’s truth amid those who would not listen, to speak, demonstrate, act – whatever it takes to help the people hear. And we also will be called to listen to those who do just that – listen and receive those words which may be hateful to us because they challenge us, force us to examine our lives, our faith. We will be called to listen, receive, and act.

We will be called, you and I, this much is true. Whether we hear that call with open ears, open hearts, whether we respond, has yet to be determined. Amen.

What's In A Name?

Texts: Isaiah 62:1-5; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

I can’t remember exactly when, but sometime between the end of elementary and the first year of middle school, looking up your name in baby books became the it thing. This followed on the heels of collecting trolls, those ugly little toys for some reason everyone wanted, and preceded the phenomenon known as MASH. Everyone wanted to know what their name meant, who had a cooler meaning than others. The group of prepubescent girls I was friends formed a competition of sorts. According to the books, my name means beloved – pretty good if you ask me. Still, my friend who is named Sarah won our odd little competition. Anyone named Sarah knows it comes from the Hebrew meaning princess. When you’re an eleven or twelve year old girl, a princess is pretty much the top of the top.

Had I known what I know now, though, I think I could have won. When I was in college a friend of mine who was taking Greek told me that my name, Amy, though spelled differently surely, means I AM… You know, as in what did God in the burning bush say to Moses when he asked what he should call the divine. Oh, you know I loved that. And while princess is still pretty cool, I think God’s name for Godself beats anything.

Our names have meaning – and it’s not just about the translation. Our names say something about us, about our history, about who we are. Sometimes our names seem to match well with our personality. When I was a kid going through my marathon readings of the Bible, I was always impressed that people’s names seemed to match up with what their personality or their actions. Like wise king Solomon whose name means peace, complete, or sound. Or Noah whose name means both settle down and lead. Both these men’s names match with who they were. Of course, that doesn’t always happen, which is why you find people changing their first names, saying, I don’t feel like a Barbara or a Wilbur.

Even though I’d like to believe my name which means beloved speaks about my personality, I do know it tells the story of my family. If you know my first and middle name, Amy Danielle, you know I was named after my mother’s cousin and my father. You may also learn that I’m Amy Danielle, and not Danielle Amy, because while my father wanted to name me after him, my mother didn’t believe a child should be named after a parent. Knowing that story, and of course my nice hyphenated last name, you can have a pretty could idea about the dynamics of my parents.

Along with our given names, many of us have nicknames that say something about us. Names have meaning and nicknames, our renaming by family and friends, speak to our relationships. I have two main nicknames. One, Ames, is used only by family and dear friends – if someone calls me Ames, you know they’re close to me. My other nickname, now I’m telling you this in trust, is Amy Dan. If you hear someone calling me Amy Dan, you know they are one of my grandparents or great-aunts and uncles. You know they’ve known me since I was born and that their age and relationship to me makes it so I won’t throw things at them when they call me by that nickname.

The nicknames, our renaming, shows that the namer and the namee have a relationship close enough that one wants to and the other allows a name substitute. Unless you’re Rob Schneider in the Copy Guy SNL skit, you probably don’t go around nicknaming everyone you meet. You save nicknames for people you know, people who care about. And LIKE all of Rob Schneider’s victims in the Copy Guy skits, most of us don’t allow ourselves to be nicknamed by someone we don’t know and care about.

Nicknaming, renaming, is a long standing tradition. I remember in my sorority the given of your nickname was a huge deal, complete with ceremony and everything. It’s not just Greek societies that make a big deal over a nickname. In ancient Viking societies, the giving of a nickname sometimes created a relationship between the name maker and the recipient of the nickname. There might even be a formal ceremony and an exchange of gifts to go along with the giving of a nickname.

Nicknames, renaming, is important moment which speaks about relationship as far back as the Bible. God renamed Abram Abraham not because God looked at him and said, you know, you look more like an Abraham or because God thought it would be easier for folks to pronounce. God renamed him, gave him a “nickname” if you will, to reflect their relationship, their change in relationship. Abram’s name was changed because he was changed – he was no longer the aimless nomad, he was in covenant relationship with God. And as sign of his new relationship, he has a new name.

God seems to enjoy renaming people as reflection of relationship. Abram became Abraham, Sarai Sarah, Jacob became Israel. God doesn’t just rename individuals, God renames communities, whole peoples. The text from Isaiah speaks of change in relationship. The people of Israel are given a new name, a nickname, to show that things have changed, for the better.

This part of Isaiah was written after the end of the Babylonian exile. Before and during the exile, the land was known as Desolate, the city Forsaken. These names reflected the relationship between God and the people. The people had forsaken their God, turned to other Gods, got lost in empty rituals, let power enchant and corrupt. They were unfaithful to the Lord, they became Desolate and Forsaken.

And now, after years of suffering through the exile, the people have come back to their land and back to right relationship with God. To reflect this new found relationship, the prophet tells us that God shall give them a new name. No longer shall the city be called Azubah, Desolate, and the land Shemamah, Forsaken, rather the city will be Hephzibah and the land Beulah.

Because there is a new relationship, they receive a new name. This new name speaks of promise, speaks of hope, speaks of wonderful intimate relationship with the Lord. What you once were is passed, you have new life, a new life with God. As a bridegroom with his bride, so does God delight in the people. With God the old has passed a way, a new life has begun. The covenant between God and God’s people has been renewed, and a new name has been given to mark the occasion.

Most of us, I would dare say, will not find our names changed or find ourselves nicknamed by God. At least not names like Hephzibah and Beulah. But most of us have had our name changed by God, have been given a new name even as we were given new life.

In baptism, we celebrate the given name of the person. When John and I take a baby from his or her parents’ arms, we ask “what is the given name of this child.” In some of the older Christian societies, a child’s full name was not given until the baptism or christening.

In baptism we celebrate the work of the Spirit already at work in the child or adult’s life. These gifts as Paul, once called Saul, tells us are different for each of us, and yet all from the same source, the one and the same Spirit. In baptism we celebrate that the person is welcomed into this faith community, the Presbyterian community, but moreover the Christian community. We welcome the one being baptized into this community who has named itself after the one in whom it finds it origins and meanings.

But more over, in baptism we celebrate the name God has given us. We celebrate that we have been claimed by the one who delights in us. Even as we celebrate the given name of the person, we speak a new name, a name given by God – “child of the covenant.” No matter how old, how young, the person baptized is just that – a child of the new covenant of Jesus Christ.

This is our name, not just our nickname. That is the name God has given us. A name that both speaks of relationship AND who we are. As a child of the covenant, we know we belong to God. We belong to a God who longs for relationship, who renews relationship with us even when we stray, who seeks us out for our salvation.

As a child of the covenant, we know that we are called to a way of living that is markedly different just as we are marked as different in our baptism. We are called to serve the one to whom we belong with all of our gifts, all of our lives. No matter what we are called to, whether we be called to ministry as ordained ministers, or as elders, or as lay persons, we are called to serve God with all the Spirit as graced us with. As a child of the covenant, we have a purpose.

Whether we are named Amy, or Sarah, or Hephzibah, we in this community of faith are named and claimed by God. No competition required, we all receive this delightful and demanding name.

yeah, so then I made up the Latin

Amid the other crazy relatives that came in for Christmas this year, my sister Beth joined me not only for Christmas, but for many of my Christmas activities. What does that mean? It means she sang for the 10:30 service because I offered her up to Jeff; she glued animal headdresses, passed them out, and helped lead the kids at the 4pm Christmas Eve service; and she came with me to the hospital when I was visiting to sing. It's so good to have a little sister who loves you enough to let you tell her what to do!

While we were at the hospital, Beth sat in the atrium, played on the piano and sang. I came out with someone so they could here Christmas music on Christmas Eve. As we made some requests and Beth played, others gathered along the railing of the different floors - not unusual, people usually stop what they're doing to listen to her when Beth sings. After we made requests, one woman asked Beth to sing Ava Maria, which of course isn't in the hymnal she had.

Now, I have it on good authority that this girl has only sung that song once (at our Papa's funeral) and can't just whip it out like she can other pieces. But Beth began to sing, and the woman's face lit up. She only sang one verse but that one verse clearly made that woman's day.

Later when we were in the car driving back to church, Beth confessed a little something to me. "I only knew so much of the song - Ava Maria, gratia plena. Yeah, so then I made up the Latin." This cracked me up - in part because I had no idea that the Latin she had sung was completely made up (and this girl never took Latin, so that means she's just throwing in the Latin words she knows) and how matter of fact she was about the whole thing.

But Beth said something that made perfect sense, that really stuck with me. "That woman just wanted the sound. She didn't care about the words." And it's true. The woman who requested the song wanted the memory of the notes, not the words. She wanted what that sound made her feel. It wasn't so much about the heavy content of praising Mary as it was the memories this song connected her to, the feelings it invoked.

That same day I also noted to Beth that I need the memories, the feelings her voice invokes. I of course appreciate what we celebrate at Christmastide, know that even if the Grinch came and stole all our decorations and feasts, it would still be Christmas. But for me Christmas isn't Christmas until I hear my sister and my mother sing their descant to Silent Night. I need to hear that sound, not the words their singing, but the sound. I hear it and I know, I feel, it's Christmas.

God Bless the Child

Texts: Psalm 148; Luke 2:41-52

Jesus. Jesus! Jesus ben Joseph!!! Excuse me, have you seen a parentless young man roaming about? He looks like, well, he looks like every other kid you see around here. Answers to the name of Jesus. Well, if he ever answers anyone. That boy… I may only be his neighbor, not his mother, but I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when we find him. Leaving his party behind, staying in Jerusalem, worrying his mother so. We’ve been looking for him for three days and the way Mary’s been carrying on, you’d think he’d been dead for three days. But she and Joseph have reason to worry. One young boy amid the thousands and thousands of pilgrims for Passover still left in the city. That’s why so many of us from our party joined them in the search. It’s quite the effort. For three days we’ve been searching through the crowds, in the markets, amid the revelry. I tell you, my legs are getting tired.

We’d had such a lovely Passover here in Jerusalem. Friends and family from Nazareth, all cozy in the upper room as we remembered what God has done for us. Jesus didn’t seem like he was going to cause any trouble. He played with the other children well – went searching around the room with them during the Seder for the lacham anya - the poor man’s bread - which had been hidden. I know Mary had been glad to see her son mingle with the other children this trip.

God bless the child, he doesn’t always fit in. He’s just… he’s just different. Some kids are different because they’re not as quick or they’re mean or something – but that’s not Jesus. He’s a sweet young thing and he’s as smart as any of the kids in town and… well, you didn’t hear this from me, but I’d wager he could give the scribes and rabbis from Nazareth to Jerusalem a good challenge. He’s always asking the most interesting questions, confusing both the children AND adults around him. I’ve scratched my head at more than one of his stories about kings and beggars, seeds and lilies of the valley…

But it’s not just that he’s smarter than most of the people we know that makes Jesus different. It’s like he’s your every day kid but at the same time not at all. He occasionally plays with the other kids – they are all happy to play with him. When he wants to be, he can be quite the charmer. But for the most part, Jesus would rather listening to the elders of our town speak about the Torah or debate the Talmund. For a while, his cousin John would come to play with him – I think John’s mother Elizabeth was hoping some of Jesus easy keeled behavior would rub off. Gossip at the well – not that I listened too closely of course – but gossip at the well was that John would get himself into trouble at least once a week. John stopped coming around though when he drowned one of Joseph and Mary’s sheep. He said it was an accident – that he was trying to practice, whatever that means. After that, we didn’t see much of him. Even when Jesus spent time with John, he never got into trouble. He’s always been such a good boy, too good sometimes.

I remember the first time I met the boy. He and his parents had just moved back from Egypt I believe – why they were there of all places I don’t know. I met Mary first. I had seen her around a few times when she herself was a young child, but I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since she and Joseph were engaged. I recall there had been some gossip about those two, but I don’t pay much attention to stuff like that.

I met Mary at the town well when we had both come to draw water during the early morning. She told me a little about Joseph the carpenter and Egypt, but most of her talk was about her young boy Jesus. Oh, how she doted on her child. Many a mother adores her child – especially a firstborn son – but Mary, Mary more than just adores or even dotes. He had been such a sweet baby, she said – good disposition, not overly needy, and had quickly learned to sleep through the night. The terrible twos and threes apparently skipped right by him. He learned to walk and talk quicker than any other children his age. He always said please and thank you and never had cross word for his parents.

When she was speaking about her son, it almost seemed to me that she was in awe of him. Yes, yes, every child’s first step and first word are wonderful exciting occasions, especially for a first time mother, but I don’t believe I’d ever seen a mother in “awe” of her own child.

I must admit, I thought Mary was a little off when I first met her. Sweet girl, but the time in Egypt must have done something to her. Because no child is that good and no mother should be that impressed by their own child.

I thought that until I met Jesus himself. He was still a young tot then. Not quite old enough to start helping with his father’s work but old enough to leave his mother’s side with no worries. I came across him not too many days after speaking with Mary at the well. A nice looking child, though not as good looking as my own son of course, he was sitting underneath one of the town’s olive trees, watching children play in the field across the way.

I knew who he was – in a town of a couple thousand, it’s easy to spot the newcomers. I walked over to him, planning to encourage him to join the other children in play. We don’t get many new families into town, these kids haven’t had to welcome anyone new in quite sometime. I didn’t know if they weren’t including him in their games.

I didn’t even get to ask the boy if he would like to play with the other children. When I was still a few feet away from him, the child turned his head from watching the games being played to me. He had a look on his face that startled me. The face was that of a young boy’s, but the expression wasn’t. Looking into his eyes, it was like I was staring at a world-wise sage not a child. He unnerved me. And then, he smiled. His smile, kind and sweet, was pure child. It was joyful and innocent just like a young boy ought to be. I don’t remember what words we may have exchanged; I just remembered his two vastly different countenances.

I’ve had conversations with him since that first day we met. I always come away with a similar feeling to the one I had the first time we met. When you speak with him, he’s completely listening to you. And yet, he’s not there. Does that even make sense? How can a person be two opposing things at once? But that’s Jesus, at least that’s how I see him. He’s your average every day child in some ways, and yet he’s not a child at all. Don’t know how to explain it any better. He’s just different… I know it, his mother knows it, goodness, I think the whole town knows it.

Well, my goodness… I just meant to rest a moment and look at me, I’ve gone running my mouth, telling all these stories about that boy. I suppose I’d better keep looking for Jesus. If you ask me, looking for him in these markets makes about as much sense as looking for the living among the dead. That boy is more likely to be up in the Temple, sitting on the large stones, listening to the teachers ask questions of their pupils than be among this wild time.

Actually, knowing Jesus, it wouldn’t surprise me if HE were the one asking questions.

I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere. He may have left us but he’s not one to stir up too much trouble. This is as much commotion Jesus has ever made and will probably end up being the story we all tell on him at his wedding. Kids… I’m off now. If you should see the boy, let him know his folks are looking for him. Jesus. Jesus!

blessed

That's how I'm feeling today - very, very blessed. Last night we had our (first) Taize service and it was beyond my expectations. The music was breathtaking and the silence wonderful prayer. It makes my soul glad that something so meaningful to me was meaningful to others. Thank you to all you helped with the service, all who attended, and all who had us in your prayers.

Promises, Promises

Texts: Jeremiah 33:14-16; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Even though we’re only a few hours into the Advent season, you can already tell it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Lights and wreaths are appearing around town. Plastered on the storefronts downtown are advertisements for different choir as well as announcements about different worship services including our own Taize service. Many of our own homes are filled with advent wreathes made out of fresh greenery, pine cones and holly – or some made of the less shedding plastic; we also have advent calendars that offer chocolate or toys to mark the countdown; there are even Jesse trees or Nativity scenes that will be added to as we get closer and closer to Christmas Day. Our own church was decorated just yesterday for the season – and this morning our wreath is in place and our first candle lit.

Evidence of the Advent season is everywhere. Yet amid all the sparkle and the greenery, there’s something I haven’t seen. Nowhere around town, in my own home, or even in this church, have I seen images of Jesus descending in clouds, a group of saints – any of the various imagery that is associated with the Second Coming.

When we celebrate Advent, we’re celebrating yes, the birth of Christ, as well as Christ’s presence amid us now, but we are also celebrating and looking forward to the Second Coming – when the baby who was born in a manger comes again in full glory and power.

The Second Coming – even though we proclaim belief in it every time we say the Apostles’ or Nicene Creed - is not something we talk about. At least not in great detail. Even though it’s certainly present in our sacred texts, it’s just not part of our daily faith life, not part of the active living of our faith. Last Monday I was at the Christmas parade downtown, and after the umpteen Corvettes and Mustangs that went past, a float went by with a manager scene, a Christmas tree, and a guy in white surrounded by two females in white with horns. It wasn’t until I saw the signs “past, present, future” that I got it. Or right. Rather embarrassing lack of awareness from a minister. The Second Coming is not something that’s part of my consciousness nor is it in the forefront of the minds of most people I know.

The early church was completely different. The Second Coming was a huge part of early Christians’ conversations – was part of their daily faith life. The first generations of Christians believed that Christ would be coming back in their lifetime. Paul writes to the Thessalonians that he wishes God would strengthen their hearts in holiness that they may be blameless before God at the coming of Christ not because it’s just something you say. It’s not as though he’s saying “hope you have fun ‘til Christ comes back.” Paul means and believes what he’s says. He believes that Christ is coming back – and soon.

The belief in Christ’s coming was one that was talked about and celebrated and looked forward to for centuries after Paul. Advent stems from the Latin word adventus meaning coming and when Advent was first officially established around the 6th century, the season was understood as one for preparing for the final coming of Christ even as the church celebrated the first coming. One of our favorite hymns we sang this morning –O Come, O Come, Emmanuel – comes from the traditional antiphons written during the 8th century which, using different names for Christ, call to Christ to come again.

The second coming stayed at the forefront of the Advent season truly until the time of World War II when Christmas became more of focused as a kid’s holiday. The focus of the season leading up to Christmas shifted from looking toward to the second coming to looking back at the first.[1]

Generations, not to mention religious and social changes, remove us from the community that first believed Christ would be coming any day now. We talk about grace, love, Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. But his coming again? I’d guess that for many of us, the only time we really talk about his coming again is when we here people proclaiming Christ is coming at 5:15AM next Tuesday or that he’s already here. When people like Jerry Falwell proclaim Christ is coming within 10 years – a proclamation made he made in 1999 by the way so keep your eyes peeled for the next few years – the second Advent may become part of our conversation. It shouldn’t take such proclamations for the Second Coming to grab our attention but it often does.

Confession: prior to my recent conversations about Advent, the last time I remember even thinking about the Second Coming was when I learned that Rastafarians believed that Haile Selassie – the Emperor of Ethiopia for which a great souvenir shop we went to in Addis Ababa was named after – was the Messiah. He never claimed to be such but it is said that Bob Marley’s wife Rita become a Rastafarian only after she met the Emperor when he took a trip to Jamaica. Although he died three decades ago, many Rastafarians refuse to believe in his death – the Messiah can’t die again, you see.

You don’t have to be a Rastafarian to have experienced the disappointment of mistaken identity or timing. I think we don’t really talk about the Second Coming in part because of false alerts throughout our history. The first Christians believed the Christ was coming back during their lifetime – understood that he had made that promise to them. When Jesus did not come back, the family of believers came to believe that they misunderstood Christ’s promise – that he would come back, yes, but not as soon as first thought. So they waited and waited and… well, it was worse than Waiting for Godot or Guffman.

Every now and again, someone would claim that Christ would come back in that lifetime or even to be Christ returned himself. But it never was true. Generations of waiting, centuries of people believing that Christ would return in their lifetime only to be disappointed, has translated into a current generation where we aren’t expecting Christ any time soon, where if we do think about the Second Coming we probably think it’s far off in the future. Nothing we have to address here and now.

Our laissez-faire attitude about Christ’s return isn’t the only reason we don’t talk about the Second Coming all that much. We don’t talk about it not only because we can’t predict when, but we really don’t understand how or what or any of those basic journalistic questions. Christ’s first coming – the one we readily and easily celebrate year to year – we understand that. True, Jesus’ birth was a little different than most, but the basic idea of a baby being born – we GET that.

But God descending in the clouds, with angels and saints… that gets more confusing – we don’t have a point of reference for such an event. Just after Paul speaks with great affection to the Thessalonians, telling them to stay strong for the coming, he speaks to them in more detail of that coming. He writes of an archangel’s trumpet blaring, and Christ descending, and the dead rising. No, Paul isn’t writing the first Christian zombie story,[2] at least I don’t imagine he is. Paul’s words, which echo Christ’s speaking of the Son of Man coming, draw upon language and imagery of his time – from the Roman imperial cult and Jewish apocalyptic expectations.

We could read the descriptions of Christ’s coming and think we know how all will happen. But even if we can envision what Paul describes, we must remember that Paul also says the Lord will come like a “thief in the night” and Christ tells us no one will know the hour of his coming. Though we may read about the promise of the Second Coming, we have no guarantee that we “get it.” Throughout the history of God’s relationship with humanity, God has made promises we do not understand until those promises are fulfilled before our eyes – and even then we may still scratch our heads in wonder.

The words of Jeremiah we read this morning, the prophet bearing the word of God to a people in the midst of the fall of their nation, are words of hope in a time filled with despair. As the Israelites are being exiled from their own country, Jeremiah proclaims the promises of God, promises of a Branch to spring up for David – the most beloved of Kings – promises of safety. The people heard these promises and understood them to be about an earthly king like David, a king who would bring back the great nation they once where, make Jerusalem strong again, with power and might make them safe again.

We look at these promises of a Branch and see something else. We include this text in our Advent celebration because for us, it points to the king of kings, Jesus Christ. The Israelites never got their great king like David, never got an earthly nation like the one they knew under him. Instead, another kind of king came bringing with him heavenly justice and righteousness. When he did come, many of the people who had been waiting didn’t recognize him – he wasn’t what they had been waiting for.

God’s promises are true but as they are from God, we may never fully understand those promises until them have been fulfilled AND God points that fulfillment out to us over and over. God’s promises will be fulfilled – in those days and in that time – in God’s days and God’s time and in God’s ways, ways which are unknown to us.

The unknown of God can be intimidating and has been one reason we don’t talk about or focus on the final coming of Christ. We could continue to let the unknown about Christ’s second coming keep us from looking forward to that coming, preparing for that coming, talking about that coming. Or we could do as Paul suggests. We can abound in love for one another and for all, find ourselves strengthened in holiness. We can trust in Christ’s coming, await it, join together in the community of faith so that we may be blameless when Christ comes again – whenever that might be.

There are many ways we may live out Paul’s words. One of those ways is before us today. If you grew up Episcopalian, Catholic or Methodist (I happened to grow up two of those three) you probably heard the Mystery of Faith spoken during communion liturgy: Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again. Even though we may not usually say it as part of our liturgy, at this table we do celebrate Christ’s death and resurrection AND look forward to his coming again. At this table we believe we are gathered in the presence of Christ, and the Saints – those believers in all time and place – and strengthened in our faith. At this table we experience the Advent of Christ here and now even as we await the final coming of our Lord.

As you celebrate this Advent season, do not forget the final Advent for which we wait. And when you come to this table, when you partake in this meal, this day and all days to follow, remember Christ’s promise to return, be renewed in your waiting by the power of the Spirit. At this table, may God strengthen our hearts in holiness that we may indeed be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints. Amen.


[1] Ace Collins. Stories Behind the Great Traditions of Christmas. p22.
[2] Interesting note, there actual is a Christmas tide zombie story by Christopher Moore. Haven’t read it but it’s got an catchy title: The Stupidest Angel – A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror.

Advent Worship Service

On December 6th we will celebrate the Advent season in a style of worship new to Covenant. In the spirit of Taize—an international ecumenical community in France—this service is contemplative in nature, prayer, simple songs, scripture, and silence filling the worship space. The first time I attended a Taize-style service I’ll admit, I was a little nervous. I was used to the standard Presbyterian service: a few hymns, confess via prayer, listen to a few scriptures and a sermon. Though this service was rooted in scripture, the silence and simplicity was a something of a shock to me. I was used to spending worship time processing – processing what I heard in a sermon, how the prayers and hymns enhanced the sermon. Sitting amid in the quiet I realized how much time I spent processing—thinking—and how little time I spent listening. So I gave into the silence—definitely a challenge for this energetic woman—and found myself deeply moved.

Worshiping in the contemplative style has become a staple in my journey with God. It’s a wonder what can happen when you quiet everything inside and open yourself up to the Spirit of God. For those of you who have not experienced contemplative worship, I encourage you to try something new. As we celebrate the coming of Christ open yourself up to new ways Christ’s Spirit can move you. I look forward to worshiping with you on Wednesday night at 7:30pm.

Gloria

If you ever happen to find yourself at Columbia Theological Seminary in Atlanta, Georgia, there’s a tale you might hear about two young women and their first preaching course. They were given an assignment – to read the story about the hemorrhaging woman who touched Jesus’ cloak and was healed. They weren’t to read this story in their rooms, or on campus, or anywhere they knew well. They were told to get out of their comfort zones, to go somewhere that would open up this story and make them see it in a new light.

The two women came up with a plan. They decided they would dress in the schlubbiest of clothing, sweats, ratty t-shirts, and go to the Ritz Carleton in downtown Atlanta for high tea. There they would sit amid the luxury, the elite, and read their story of the outcast woman who dared so much because of her faith. So they went, they sat, and they read. What happened next has been embellished on over the years. At first people said they were just asked to leave. Then people started saying they were escorted out of the building by large bellhops. In the last version I heard the two women were arrested – on what charges I don’t know – and their preaching professor had to come bail them out.

Given the way stories grow, it shouldn’t surprise any of you to learn that none of what is said around the seminary campus is true. What really happened was a lot less exciting. My friend Teri and I sat in the Ritz for an hour, felt uncomfortable, and while we got the occasional odd look, no one called the cops. Along with a story that has been retold and embellished upon many times over, we came away from that experience with a firm belief that to truly understand scripture, you have to live with it and let it take you to unknown and uncomfortable places.
Funny things happen when you live with a text. In my own home I can read this portion of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount and nod my head, think “yes, yes,” thankful for so much – I have food on my table, warm clothes to wear, great doctors to help keep my body health, a favorite coffee shop that keeps me in good drink. With so much to be thankful for, I can get on board the “don’t worry, be happy” train so many who read this text endorse. Surely the Father does indeed know what I need and gives them to me. In our comfortable homes, surrounded by those who love us and bounty we can be thankful for, this scripture can be pleasant, even easy.

But if you take this scripture outside of your home, outside of the places you are comfortable, let it take YOU places, it may not be so pleasant or easy. Try reading this scripture amid the homeless and the hungry. Think of “don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear” when you’re watching someone in a threadbare coat diving through trash to find something to eat.

Lilies of the field may be beautifully clothed, may not toil or spin, but they don’t know what it’s like to be hungry, lonely, cold. They don’t know what it’s like to be made to feel ashamed because your family Thanksgiving dinner is at a local soup kitchen because you can’t provide a meal at home.

Truly, it is one thing to read about the birds in the sky when your Thanksgiving table is covered with more mashed potatoes than would be humanly possible to eat, cranberry sauce that comes alive in your mouth, turkey and stuffing so rich and moist you can’t help but give thanks. I would imagine your glorias might sound a little different if what you’re giving thanks for is that you found enough food to keep you going, for at least another day.

When Jesus’ words are brought to a place where people have nothing, the “don’t worry, be happy” reading doesn’t hold. Too many times in our church’s – that is with a capital C – history, people of faith have been told and have told others not to worry about their state in life, but to strive for God’s righteousness. The here and now isn’t important – it is your salvation, or the kingdom, or heaven you need to focus on. Don’t worry that you have nothing in your belly, nothing to feed your children with – focus on this far-off kingdom.

Too often this way of thinking, of reading such scripture, has been used to promote complacency toward injustice. Too often scripture has been used to excuse turning a blind eye to the poor. We’re on a mission to save souls, not bodies! Let these poor strive for righteousness and they’ll get everything they need. They’ll find their eternal salvation. No need to worry about what they will eat, or drink, or wear.

I cannot imagine that the God who calls us to look out for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the alien, the Lord who promises that “you shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God,” has no concern for whether or not God’s children have food and drink. That the Christ who tells us that those who offer food, drink, clothing, compassion will sit at his right hand would be a Christ who is telling us not to give a care to those needs.

Indeed, I understand that the Lord who tells the soil, the animals of the field, not to fear, the Lord who has promised God’s people abundant rains and grain DOES care about our existence in this world. Our Lord is one who longs for us all to be in plenty and be satisfied, to not be put to the shame of want or need. Indeed, our God is one who points to this world and says, if I can care so much for that which has no mouth to praise me, no hearts to serve me, for that which is here to today but gone tomorrow, don’t you know how much more I care for you?

At various times in our Church’s history, we have been taught and have taught “try to save your soul and don’t worry about the rest.” That’s not the kingdom Christ spoke of, not the only salvation he brought. The kingdom of God Christ commands us to put first, to strive for is a kingdom of justice, a kingdom of equality, a kingdom of righteousness. A kingdom where all people have food on their plate, where they have drink, clothing, joy aplenty. Where none fear, none worry, none feel shame.

We have been giving the astounding gift of being the body of Christ. Teresa of Avila, the 16th century Spanish mystic, once said that Christ has no body now on earth but ours, ours are the only hands with which he can do his work, ours are the only feet with which he can go about the world, ours are the only eyes with which his compassion can shine forth upon a troubled world. We gather here tonight from various churches, traditions, to affirm that even with our differences, we ARE one, WE are the body of Christ. As this body, we are called to work for God in the world.

If God loves the birds of the air enough to feed them, then surely God loves each human being enough to keep in food, clothing, shelter. If Christ’s hands are our hands, Christ’s feet our feet, eyes our eyes, then surely we are called to feed, cloth, shelter. Surely we will strive for the kingdom on earth where all live in God’s righteousness, all will know justice and freedom.

I know that each church family represented here tonight works towards caring for the poor among us. We work in soup kitchens, we give money or cans to the food pantry, we build houses. Together as the body of Christ, we do even more. SACRA – the organization our offering is going to – finds many different churches joining together resources and time to help those in need in our area. In our own churches and together, we try to ease the burden of poverty for those in our midst. We may give thanks for that work, for servant hearts filled with love for those in need.

We may also give thanks that God has called us to even more. It is good to care for people, to make sure they have food and clothing, to meet their needs. But that is not all we have been called to. God has given us the opportunity to strive for the kingdom – this kingdom of God where none would go hungry, none would be naked, none thirst. We have been given a greater calling and vision than “what will we eat or drink or wear.” In striving for the kingdom of God, we have been given both the opportunity and the responsibility to strive for a world where such questions do not exist. To strive for a world where none would live in poverty, none go without. We must use our voices to speak for those in need, must work in our churches, our cities, our nation to fight for justice. We have been given an awesome opportunity and we must take it.

As we celebrate all the wonderful things we may be thankful for, let us remember this calling. For though it may seem an awesome task, and it is, how great is our God that we could have such a task. How thankful we may be that our God is a God who promises we will eat in plenty and be satisfied, that God’s people will never again be put to shame. How thankful we may be that not only are those promises for us, but as the body of Christ God may use us to fulfill those promises. Glory be to God. Amen.

All Things Must Pass

Text: 1 Samuel 2:1-10; Mark 13:1-8

One of my dearest friends from college is in town this weekend which of course means I’ve spent a good portion of the last few days reminiscing about the good ole days. The first time Paula Jo and I met our first day freshman year, an event which involved accidentally breaking a bathroom door together; the time we were both in Romeo and Juliet and my dear friend decided to shake Shakespeare up by add-libing a few Texas colloquialisms; the time we drove a UHaul through the drive-through of a Taco Bell that was missing its clearance sign and caused (only minor) damage.

One of the other memories Paula and I share is of a morning in September our senior year. All of our friends got the news of planes crashing and buildings falling separately, from professors in class or listening to the radio while driving to campus or watching TV in the student center while wasting time before class. By that early afternoon, we had gathered together our friends at Paula’s, even calling those friends who had graduated and were in now Dallas, telling them to drive up to Sherman so we could all be together. The rest of the day we spent talking, watching only snippets of news, and consoling ourselves with mindless entertainment where you know good will win out over evil and all will be right with the world.

I can’t speak for all of you, but I can say that for me and my friends that day shook us in a way we had never experienced. When I was growing up I’d hear about wars and the threat of wars but never, ever actually believed anything would happen HERE. Look, teacher, at this mighty country! We’re the United States – we’re too mighty, too tall, too distant, too powerful for anything to happen to us, to happen here. I thought and spoke so highly of my country, this mighty nation which – though it certainly had made missteps – could not be brought down low.

That morning was a reminder of vulnerability long denied. No matter how high, no matter how strong, no matter how great, even the most amazing of buildings, nations, can fall. Last Sunday Rob Hill, our guest preacher for the 10:30 service, while expressing concern about where our nation is going, spoke of how all superpowers fall, the pattern they often do so in. That’s not something we really talk about - how this superpower we live in will one day fall. But, given all the superpowers of the world that have come before are no longer superpowers of today, it’s safe to say we will. Nothing in this world is forever – no matter what the diamond commercials say. Some things pass violently, quickly as we saw 5 years ago, some pass slowly, even peaceably. Even when we intellectually understand – to look at the great accomplishments of our time, our species, I doubt many of us think “this too will pass.”

It’s hard to admit in part because we have too much invested. We build up these great structures and great nations, we put to work the best of our ability, often the best of our hopes, ambitions, dreams. Buildings that rival any architecture seen before inspire us, nations which were built on the promises of possibility and freedom give us hope. To see these crumble, the stones thrown down, is heartbreaking and dream-crushing. Reverend Hill wouldn’t expressed concern about the state of the nation, he wouldn’t care, we wouldn’t care, if we didn’t believe there was something uniquely good about what we have been or at least could be.

Buildings and nations aren’t the only things we build up. We also have a tendency to build up our leaders – politicians, church leaders, general do-gooders. While we may be skeptical of people in power in general – politicians in particular – there is often at least one person who sneaks in, who surprises us with their integrity, with their passion for doing what we would call good. We lift these people up, put them on pedestals, look to them to guide us, even save us from whatever state we’re in. Not only do people come claiming to be our saviors, we place people in the high esteem and import we should save for only one without them evening saying “I am he.”

Just as buildings, nations fall, so do people. The news has been littered lately with high profile falls from grace. We have put much stock in the minister who’s moving people to righteousness, a congressperson who speaks of morality, the philanthropist who gives and gives of him or herself. And then we find out about those skeletons, find out that those who promote a certain standard of being don’t live up to it.

While it is good to put faith in people, to expect things from people, it is just as important to understand that people are… people. We are limited, faulted. That’s why we confess every Sunday. And so as faulted, fallen people, yes, our great leaders will disappoint us – sometimes in small ways, sometimes in shockingly great ways. Though we often like to paint them in broad, perfect brushstrokes, not even Mother Teresa or Ghandi were without their faults.

Even though all things must pass, even though no one can be perfect and righteous all the time, still we keep looking to buildings, nations, leaders – that which is of this world, of our hands, of our desires and ambitions, for our hope, for our guidance, for our salvation. While it is a good and even necessary thing to find those things in this world to an extent, we should not find – will not find – our ultimate hope, guidance, or salvation in this world. For this world is not the ultimate. It is not all that there is, all that will be.

Jesus knew of our tendency to find our meaning, our being in this world and continually challenged us to look beyond what we saw and knew. The words Jesus told the disciples don’t paint a happy picture – nation rising against nation, kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes, famines, and this is just the beginning. They aren’t easy words and but they are words the disciples needed to hear.

We aren’t the ones who look to our own accomplishments in awe. The Temple the unnamed disciple was in awe of wasn’t just an impressive building. While the huge stones, gold, bronze, marble trimmings, beautiful gates, walls and cloisters and courts around it were worthy of a taking snapshots, maybe even buying a souvenir snowglobe to remember it buy - it was what the Temple meant that was truly impressive. The Temple – first built by Solomon and recently redecorated and expanded by Herod – was once where the Ark rested, where God lived. The Temple was where you sacrificed, where you found forgiveness for your sins, where you could petition God. The Temple is physical evidence of Israel’s chosen status, of their relationship with God, of God dwelling among them.
For the Temple to come down, for not one stone to be left on another, it wouldn’t just take a big wind, it would take a big change, would mean a big change. When the Temple fell during the Babylonian invasion and exile, the people of Israel had to completely rethink what it was to be God’s people; their lives were altered forever. It is understandable that for many a Jew person in Christ’s time, the fall of the Temple would be the end of the world. The disciples, having heard his foretelling of the fall of the Temple, want to know more – want to know when and how they could tell and…

And Jesus does not give them detailed answers. He warns them of being lead astray. The signs he mentions are horrible, but sadly not unusual. Before Christ, during Christ’s time, and after Christ, we have had wars and famines and many other frightening things. No matter how many times people have tried to claim it’s the end, so far it hasn’t been. For these are just the beginning of the birthpangs, so Christ says. What comes after, he doesn’t say.

The details of how this world will pass and God’s kingdom be brought in are not his concern rather that this world WILL pass, that there is more than what we see, that a new world, God’s kingdom will be birthed. He wants us to know that even the world we know will not always be with us. An end will occur, we just don’t know when.

The end, the end times, the apocalypse, the second coming – all of that can be a frightening thought. And yet Christ says, “do not be alarmed.”

“Do not be alarmed?” My taste of rumors of war my senior year of college terrified me, put my friends on alarm. That semester many of us didn’t make it to class all that much – would rather spend time with each other than learning about the subjects that had seemed so important only a few weeks.

When your way of life is threatened, even your life itself, it’s a hard to not be alarmed. When everything gets turned upside down, when those you thought were good and true prove false, it’s hard not to lose faith, lose hope. In her song of praise Hannah shouts with joy for the changing of fortunes. Such a thing is worthy of shouts of joy – when it is your fortunes are rising, when you are the once-barren who now has seven children. But when you are the once prosperous, the once proud, the once strong, the once mighty that has been brought low, it is frightening. If you are not the people with the Temple of God among you, if you are not the mighty superpower, if you are not the follower of a perfectly righteous human being, than what or who are you? What or who do you have?

All things must pass. Not one stone of the Temple will remain on top of another. Over enough time, not even one stone will remain. Not one stone except one – THE One, the Rock, the Everlasting, the one who will not be brought down low, the one who will not pass. The stones of the temple may be thrown down, may crumble under the weight of time or war – but God, that rock will not.

If your earthly leaders fall, your worldly kingdom comes to an end, your awe-inspiring buildings are demolished, you still have an ultimate leader, a kingdom, a reason for awe. When Christ tells the disciples to not be afraid because of war or threat of war, because of the end, that is because he knows that even this world which both sustains and houses our lives is not the source of our LIFE, and our end in this world is not the end of our life. Because even if the world we know no longer exists, if kingdom after kingdom falls, another world, another kingdom, God’s kingdom, will rise. Do not be alarmed because this – this is not the ultimate.

It is good to strive, to create the best nations we can have, beautiful buildings, look up to strong leaders and righteous people – as long as we do not pin all our hopes to these, as long as we understand that because they of this world, they too will pass away. Only God is the everlasting one, only God the rock which does not fade, there is none like God. We cannot put our ultimate hope in buildings or nations, in politicians or preachers, in anything or anyone of this world. We must place it with God. With the Great I Am – who was, and is and always shall be. Amen.

Don't Forget

VOTE!

Hola all. Still on vacation, having a wonderful and relaxing time. I've visited my grandparents and my sister Beth and am currently staying with a dear friend from seminary. This dear friend was ordained last night in a beautiful service at her home church. Much of her family was there, friends from our time together in Atlanta, friends from college and her home church - it was a wonderful celebration of God's call in her life and her response.

It probably will be no surprise to read that I cried. Not just a few dainty little tears. Snotty, possibly splotchy tears. Of course, I was in rather good company. Our Atlanta friends cried, her grandma and aunt cried, boyfriend's mom cried... I've been on the other side - been the one being ordained (a year ago this NOV 13!) and I cried a little then but nowhere as much as last night. To witness my dear friend acheive this dream of hers, to watch as God's call in her life was affirmed by so many, really hit home to me how our lives aren't about reaching goals or anything like that. It's about walking with God, enjoying the journey. My friend reached a "goal" but it's not like this is the end of anything (other than her having to deal with the various committees and exams she had to endure for ordination) but a scenic overlook stop on that journey. We took some pictures, enjoyed the moment, but it's not like now that she's ordained God's done walking with her. There's so much more ahead for her and I can't wait to see what she does, says, thinks... It's also a reminder to me that like my friend, I'm just walking (walking) walking in the light and enjoying the exercise.

Ugly Side

Texts: Job 1:1, 2:1-10; Mark 10:13-16

If you flip through the pictures from our trip to Ethiopia, you may notice a pattern – tree, tukel, church, Amy with some kids, tree, monkey, church, Amy and kids. It’s probably no secret – I love kids – and whenever we came across them in our travels, I just had to engage them - usually with bubbles. We had the foresight to bring little containers of bubbles, like the kind you would get for a wedding, and just about any time there were kids around, those bubbles came out. At the Bedele congregation, walking down the street, heck, even if our land cruiser was stopped only for a few moments to so we could buy some bananas from the side of the road, I was breaking out those bubbles. It was an easy way to communicate when your shared vocabulary didn’t go past “you, you, you” and “feringi” and the wonder that filled those kids’ eyes, one of those things that gets you right here.

One of the things that got me right here in a different way, that shocked and disturbed me, was that there were some children I wasn’t so eager to engage. Some children I actually unthinkingly took small steps away from. The first time I caught myself doing this was at the Gore hostel for children – a wonderful place our church has supported that gives a home and vocational training to children without living family or family that can support them. As we were walking up the steps to the girls dormitory, we meet several of the young girls who lived there. One of them was a beautiful little girl, about seven or eight, with dark, deep eyes, and, oh, and an infected growth about the size of half a tennis ball on one side of her face. Here’s where I took that step back. Such a beautiful child marred with such an unfortunate and treatable disfigurement. I was startled, and yes, even sickened by that sight. And I was shamed. I doubt I was the only one who had such a reaction. As we talked with the children I couldn’t help but notice how self-conscious this child was about her face, trying to keep the side with the growth, the ugly side, out of view. It broke my heart that she had been made to feel ashamed by the imperfection on her cheek – and that I was one of those who helped enforce such feelings.

The second time I caught myself taking a step back was when we meet a group of young boys who were playing in the streets near one a prison. We had stopped at the prison to purchase some basket weaving from the prisoners – part of how they support themselves – and three young boys with gorgeous big smiles and genuine curiosity about these foreigners who rolled up in a nice Land Cruiser came running our way. As I went to do my usual thing – shake hands, act silly, bring out some bubbles – I realized these children didn’t have any hair. Instead, on their heads, was a fungus of some kind. I shuddered. And then I felt shame once again.

And then… The Spirit has a clever and crafty way of sneaking up on you and giving you just what you need in the moment. And in that moment, our Mark text popped into my head as clear as anything else and some how I knew this story was speaking to this moment. That the children Jesus welcomed with open arms were the children standing before me. That when Jesus said “let the little children come to me, do not stop them” he just wasn’t refuting an age-based prejudice. For the longest time I thought the Mark text was about just that, it was an ageist thing. The disciples thought children weren’t worthy or worthy Jesus’ time because of their age. The young didn’t matter.
I still think an ageist reading of the text is valid but in that moment in Ethiopia I realized that there was more to this story, a something more that I never could appreciate being amid the wonderful – clean – children in our nice, pristine church. The children Jesus welcomed were just as susceptible to diseases and deformities as the children I meet in Ethiopia. In our 21st century world, 1.5 million children each year die from diseases relating just to lack of safe water and proper sanitation.[1] I can only imagine the number and percentage of the 1st century world. Both groups of children were/are exposed to diseases we in our developed world don’t run across on a regular basis and the good medical care we do have access to – not an option in either setting.
When Jesus opened his arms to the children the disciples would have shooed away, he was opening his arms to children with fungus for hair, growths on their faces, deformities that made them outcasts, diseases and health conditions that caused suffering and for many would prove fatal.

These children were being brought to Jesus not so they could learn about from a wise teacher – a special temple field trip – rather they were being brought to him that he might TOUCH them. The children I took steps back from are the children being brought to Jesus for his powerful touch for when Jesus touches someone, they are healed, body, mind, soul.

It may seem odd, then, that the disciples are trying to keep children who could use that healing touch away from Christ. They’ve known healing is what he does. He’s cured a blind man, a deaf man, a paraplegic, and all kinds of sick in villages, cities, farms – everywhere. Jesus heals – it’s a huge part of his ministry and who he is. Jesus also welcomes children which the disciples should know. They witnessed, after all, so long before this moment Jesus setting a child in front of them and saying “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

Perhaps the disciples are worried about Jesus’ energy. While he’s God, he’s also human and that humanness needs a break every now and again. Perhaps they were concerned about the diseases those kids might be carrying. Sure Jesus can heal, but kids, everyone knows kids are the worst carriers of disease – ask any school teacher about cold and flu season.

Or perhaps there’s something more going on with the disciples. Maybe I just want to put myself in good company, but I feel a kinship of sorts with the disciples in this story – wonder if perhaps they too were recoiling at the sight of children – those who are often viewed as the personification of goodness and innocence – marred by physical imperfections.

The visual evidence of disease is hard to stomach for many people, not just myself or the disciples. Look at Job’s wife. As her husband Job lost everything – his property, his children – which of course meant she lost everything too – she stood by, kept silent or at the very least said nothing of note. She stood by and watched as her once strong, proud husband went from the top of the world to a pile of ashes. It was only once her husband was stricken by sores which went from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head that she speaks up. Much has been made of her statement and Job’s response but. What I find particularly interesting today is her timing. When she and her husband lost their possessions, nothing. When they lost their children – their flesh and blood – nothing. It wasn’t until her husband was covered in physical evidence of misfortune, physical imperfections, that she said “why do you persist in your integrity? curse God and die.” Perhaps she was of the “if you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything” mentality. Or perhaps the sores which Job scraped with a piece of broken pottery served as the final proof – there was something wrong with Job.

Much of the ancient Israelite world operated under the assumption that if misfortune befell you, you must have done something to deserve it. Job’s children died: perhaps he or they did something to offend God. Job lost his property: maybe he’s not as righteous as they say. Job is covered with incriminating sores – well, it’s hard to deny his guilt now. It’s written all over him. For only could a sinner be inflicted with such horrible condition. Job’s wife looks upon the evidence of her husband’s unrighteousness and tells him to die. Nothing about this man who tries to cling to his integrity when the evidence of some secret immorality is so visible is worth holding onto. Just die already, Job. What’s the point of holding on?

This understanding of illness present in Job’s time is also present in Jesus’ time. In the Gospel according to John, the disciples – this group which would have kept the little children away from Jesus – see a blind man ask their teacher “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”[2] They assumed that since this man bore what they saw as a physical imperfection, he or his parents sinned. Somewhere someone sinned and this man’s blindness is evidence of that. Illness, deformity, blindness – all of these were understood by many – including, it would seem, the disciples – as physical marks of moral imperfection.

If the little children people were bringing to Jesus looked at all like some of the children I meet in Ethiopia, then the disciples saw young children who bore what some understood as marks of sin. No wonder they spoke sternly. There’s that old “saying” that what bothers you most about someone else is what you don’t like about yourself reflected in them. The disciples looked upon these children and whether they were consciously aware of it or not, were perhaps reacting to something inside themselves. Saw the marks of illness on children and thought of their own ugly side. The people were bringing to Jesus – bringing before the disciples – the embodiment of their own – our own – fallen state. Somehow children with such imperfections embody our ruined innocence better than anyone else. Because a child with a big grin, welcoming spirit, loving eyes, is the perfect illustration of innocence, of the grace and goodness God created us in. And the marks of disease which mar their little bodies are the reminders of our imperfect, our fallen, our sin-filled state.

Though they had seen Jesus welcome those whom others considered outcast, sinners, worthless, the disciples still struggled to believe. Jesus, why would you want to touch these who bear the marks of sin? Why would you hold them, bless them?
As he has before and he would again, Jesus explained that he came not for the righteous but for the sinners, for those who bore marks, external and internal. Jesus explained that it is to these little children – these imperfect children of God – to whom the kingdom of God belongs. Jesus looks upon these children, sees the growths on their faces, sees the imperfections which make others cringe, sees their “ugly side,” and says “let them come to me.” He opens his arms to those others would shun, he touches them, blesses them. He loves them imperfections and all.

Even in his presence, the disciples couldn’t fully appreciate who Jesus was, who Jesus loved. Even with our years of tradition, even with songs like Jesus Loves Me and Jesus Loves the Little Children – all the children of the world, we don’t fully believe that Jesus sees us as the sin-filled creatures we are, and touches us, heals us. When I saw those children in Ethiopia, I—like the disciples—backed away because I looked at them and saw sin. Not their sin or their parents sin, but my sin. I saw the sin of children in one part of the world being exposed to conditions and diseases no child should ever have to know while in my own part of the world most children do not. I saw the horribly unfair imbalance where the world I am a part of has so much more. I saw the injustice that as a citizen of the developed world I have a hand in. I saw that injustice, saw my sin, and I couldn’t face it and so I stepped away.

We don’t always fully believe that we don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of Jesus’ embrace. We listen to the voices of those like Job’s wife who would have us believe that we are hopeless in our fallen state. We listen to those voices instead of the one that says only those who come as little children, those who come as God’s good creation with imperfections, ugly sides, those who come with marks that make others cringe, only these will enter the kingdom of God. We don’t always listen to the voice which says “let them come to me,” “let yourself come to me,” to the voice which dares us to see ourselves as touched, healed, loved.

Children of God, you are loved, you are touched, you are healed. You come into this world as good and by God’s grace – no matter what you may find yourself covered with – you are still called beautiful children of God. Our own grace-filled state, this is a truth that many of us struggle with – I know I do. We have heard the voices of those who would deem as unworthy of love – even Jesus’ love – too long, too loud.

I’d like to invite you to listen to other voices. The voice of Jesus in this passage, the voice of your brothers and sisters – children of God all of you. I invite you to stand, as you are able, and join with me in the first 4 questions of the Belonging to God Catechism, a catechism for children that we can all appreciate and need to hear.

Who are you?
I am a child of God.

What does it mean to be a child of God?
That I belong to God, who loves me.

What makes you a child of God?
Grace – God’s free gift of love that I do not deserve and cannot earn.

Don’t you have to be good for God to love you?
No. God loves me in spite of all I do wrong.


[1] UNICEF Press Release, Sept 28, 2006
[2] John 9:2

do not go, my love

It's funny what gets into your head and refuses to leave.

Several years ago my sister Beth gave her high school senior recital and sang an early 20th century piece called "do not go, my love." It is a haunting vocal/piano piece that is based on this poem by Sir Rabindranath Tagore :

The Gardener XXXIV: Do Not Go, My Love

Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I fear lest I lose you when I'm sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.
I ask myself, "Is it a dream?"
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart and hold them fast to my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

I've been searching for this song recorded but can't seem to find any recording I like. There are some nice ones with men singing it, but since I first heard it with a woman, that's what I'm partial to. There are some women singing but their voices are a little old school warbly.

I mention this current obsession of mine because it just reminds me how much a first impression really does matter! If it's a good experience, the first time you do or experience something often becomes your baseline. For example, even though I can say "forgive us our sins" and "debts," my own personal Lord's Prayer - when it's coming soley from me and not worship leader Amy - is "trespasses" because that's what I grew up with and enjoyed. Even though I haven't been Catholic for more than half my life.

Oh, so if anyone knows of a nice version of said song, let me know!